The Avenger 29 - The Nightwitch Devil Read Online Free PDF Page A

think we’re going to find in this burg?”
    “I have a fervent hope that it’s a damsel in distress. To me an investigation, no matter how stimulating a problem it presents, is nothing unless there is a charming young girl somewhere close to its center.”
    “What I’m getting at,” said the giant, “is do you think they got witches?”
    “Witches, warlocks, and Mr. Lucifer Satan in person, according to Fergus.”
    The big man glanced round at the bleak fields, the trees that hadn’t yet begun to bud. “Two or three hundred years ago, I guess, they all believed in that black magic stuff around these parts.”
    “At least a dozen of them—a baker’s dozen, that is—apparently believe in it right now today.”
    “I don’t think there can really be witches,” said Smitty. “Any magic that’s going to be worked nowadays, it’s going to be done by scientists. You take, for example, the possibilities of atomic energy. Why, I bet—”
    “Colonial Inn coming up on our right.”
    Smitty guided the car into a parking place on the small town square. “What about the spy angle on this thing?” he said as he turned off the ignition.
    “I’d say there has to be one.”
    “Yeah, what makes you so sure?”
    Easing out of the car, Cole said, “Richard seems to have a hunch there’s a connection between MacMurdie’s hobgoblins and the increasing sabotage rate in this part of New England. I have a great deal of faith in his hunches.”
    Smitty scratched his head. “Maybe so.”
    Cole was studying the statue of a Civil War general that stood on a high pedestal at the square’s center. Several seagulls were resting on the general’s shoulders and hat. “There are a good many things you can use a quiet harbor town for,” he said. “And now let’s join Mac.”
    The lobby of the inn was filled with furniture of the last century, bentwood rockers, plump Morris chairs, marble-top tables. The small middle-aged clerk had come out from behind the reception desk to stand with his back to the empty fireplace.
    “Yes, gentlemen?” he asked.
    “We’d be obliged,” grinned Cole, “if you’d announce our arrival to Mr. MacMurdie.”
    From an easy chair in a dim corner of the room came a cough. A thin, sparse-haired man rose up out of the chair. “Would you be friends of Mr. MacMurdie’s?” he asked.
    “Friends,” replied Cole, “and colleagues.”
    The thin man rubbed at his head, then poked his finger into the left-hand pocket of his gray vest. “Name is Miller Storm,” he told them. “I’m chief of police.”
    Frowning, Smitty said, “Where’s Mac?”
    Chief Storm said, “Was hoping you could tell me.”
    “Isn’t he here?”
    “Nope.”
    “Went off late last night,” put in the little clerk, getting behind his desk. “Nobody’s seen him since. All sorts of folks been asking after him. Some girl I think was that Miss Barley, and Sam Hollis over to the newspaper. I begin to wonder what was up, so to speak.”
    “Burt went and took, a look around Mr. MacMurdie’s room,” said the chief. “Called me next.”
    Cole asked, “Something wrong in the room?”
    “Nope,” said Chief Storm, “ ’cept your friend ain’t in it.”
    “We’d like to have a look ourselves,” said Cole.
    “No reason why not. Won’t tell you nothing though.”
    Smitty crossed the lobby to the desk. “You say Mac went out someplace last night?”
    The clerk swallowed. “I didn’t see Mr. MacMurdie myself,” he said. “But Wally Reisberson—he does some cleaning up for us—told me he saw him jump out of his window at about midnight.”
    “Most interesting,” said Cole.
    “Any idea what your friend was up to?” Chief Storm asked.
    “I must admit to being completely baffled,” answered Cole. “My associate, Mr. Smith, and I are traveling to Boston on business. Knowing that Mr. MacMurdie was vacationing here, we decided to pay him a visit.”
    Chief Storm asked, “Know Dr. Ruyle?”
    “It seems to me Mr.