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

upset, like she was trying to make up her mind about something. Of course, maybe she’d just had a quarrel with her young man, I wasn’t sure. Anyhow, we got a call there’d been some kind of boating accident down in the harbor near Frenkel’s Boatyard. They had the victims in the boatyard proper. I was going to trot down, it’s a couple miles from here, but Anne said she’d cover the story and take some pictures.”
    “And it doesn’t usually take her three hours to do a job like that?” Smitty said.
    “Anne’s not like your average lady writer,” said Hollis. “She’s fast and efficient.”
    Cole moved toward the office door. “What about the beau you mentioned?”
    “That’s Gil Lunden, up and coming young lawyer he is,” said Hollis. “Matter of fact, I just now called him to see if Anne was maybe with him. Girl who does his typing said he was out seeing the widow Waxman about her will. Not likely he’d take Anne along.”
    “We better see what they know down at that boatyard,” suggested Smitty. “How do we get to the joint?”
    “Yes, that’s a good idea,” said the editor. “I tried to telephone, but nobody’s answering.” He gave them instructions on how to find the boatyard. Then he asked, “What’s all this about? I don’t like to pry, but I wouldn’t be a newspaperman if I wasn’t a curious bird.”
    “You’ve been very helpful,” said Cole. “We can’t though, tell you anything until we find Mac.”
    “I smell a story,” said Hollis.
    “I smell something, too, but I’m not sure what it is.” Cole opened the door, and he and the giant left.

CHAPTER IX

A Bit Of A Struggle
    “Dismal,” remarked Cole.
    A clammy mist was rising off the choppy waters of the Nightwatch bay. It seemed to come stumbling in huge billows toward them as they walked toward the boatyard.
    “Not a picture postcard view,” agreed Smitty.
    A bedraggled-looking seagull was staggering along the oily planks of the boardwalk which led to the high wood fence around the yard.
    “Not unless you’re used to having Gustave Doré do your postcards,” said Cole. “I don’t notice any evidence of the presence of our sought-after sob sister.”
    “Naw, this joint looks like it’s been closed up since Hector was a pup.” Smitty reached out a huge hand and rattled the rusty padlock on the boatyard gate.
    Eyes narrowed, Cole took in their surroundings. There was nothing around here but a few old shacks which were leaning against each other for support and a baitshop with a clocksign in its door promising to be back at 2. The broken windows indicated the promise would not be kept. “Does it occur to you, Smitty, that Miss Barley may have been lured here for some purpose other than a newspaper yarn?”
    The giant’s head bobbed. “Yeah, it’s starting to look like that.”
    “Think you might be able to boost me over the fence?”
    “I can pick you up and toss you over.”
    “A boost will suffice,” said Cole. “I want to make sure nobody is in there.”
    “Don’t seem likely.” Bending, Smitty cupped his hands together.
    Cole stepped aboard and was lifted up until he could grasp the fence top. “Well, up, up, and away,” he said as he climbed over.
    He landed, wide-legged and flat-footed, on the patch of weedy ground. When he faced around he said, “Don’t actually want to buy a boat, merely browsing.”
    “Nice and easy, raise up your hands, palsy-walsy,” instructed the thick-necked man who stood confronting him. He wore a peajacket, bellbottom trousers and, for some reason, a straw hat. He held a .45 automatic in each hand.
    “Don’t think I’m trying to find fault, but it’s too early in the year for a straw hat,” said Cole.
    “Up with the hands, smart guy.”
    Cole obliged.
    Carefully stuffing one of the automatics in a coat pocket, Straw-hat frisked Cole.
    The boatyard covered several rundown acres. It was mostly weeds intermingled with a few weathered piles of lumber and a few