The Avenger 32 - The Death Machine Read Online Free PDF Page A

briefly. “No, nothing stands out in the fabric of my memory. You must understand, Mr. Wilson, that a man of my prominence and reputation is often the object of curiosity. One grows immune to the stares of the multitude.”
    “Did you call the cops when you found your invention gone?” asked Nellie.
    Dr. Heathcote was concentrating on pouring the steaming eggnog into the bathroom drinking glass. “I did not, Miss Gray. Not wishing to have the knowledge of the nature of the box become widespread, I refrained from utilizing the police.”
    “Might be worthwhile poking around your Berkeley residence,” suggested Cole, “in hope of unearthing a clue or two.”
    “Trail’s cold by now,” Nellie said.
    “One never knows, pixie.”
    Benson asked, pointing at the sketchy diagram which sat on the coffee table before him, “Have you given any thought to constructing a counterbox? A device which would be a defense against this one.”
    “Ah,” said Dr. Heathcote after taking a slurping swallow of his eggnog, “indeed I have, Mr. Benson. Unfortunately, my recent lecture commitments have been so heavy . . .” He shrugged sadly.
    “Cole,” said the Avenger, “I’d like you and Nellie to go over to Berkeley and look over the doctor’s house. If you don’t object, Dr. Heathcote?”
    “Not at all, not at all.” He began poking the forefinger of his free hand into the various pockets of his wrinkled suit. “I’ll turn the latch key over to the personable Mr. Wilson. I’d accompany you, but I must stay in San Francisco in order to fulfill . . . no, that’s not the key.”
    “What about us? Smitty asked.
    “I have another strand for us to follow,” said the Avenger.
    “Excelsior!” said Uncle Algernon. “Here’s the key.”

    “This certainly carries me back to my carefree youth,” remarked Cole. He and Nellie were walking up a winding stone stairway which climbed up the side of a wooded hill. “Those cherubic fraternity boys in the frat house we just passed, sitting on the stoop of an evening and strumming a guitar as they sip their ale.”
    “They’re probably all wondering,” said Nellie, “when they’re going to be drafted.”
    The pair was a mile above the large sprawling campus of the University of Berkeley. The houses on this particular steep, hilly street were few.
    “Wonder how the culprits managed it,” said Cole. “These stairs look to be the only way to reach Uncle Heathcote’s domicile. Puts one rather out in the open, as well as ruling out the use of an automobile.”
    “Middle of the night,” said the little blonde. “Head up here then and nobody’d probably notice you.”
    “Mayhap.”
    Nellie asked, “Do you believe in any of this?”
    “In Uncle H’s magic box, do you mean?”
    “After seeing him, I have the impression he couldn’t construct a Soap Box Derby entry, let alone anything as sophisticated as this box.”
    “You’ve been spending too much time in proximity to me, princess. Some of the notorious Wilson cynicism has rubbed off on you.”
    “Being objective isn’t being cynical.”
    “Could it be that what is really bothering you is the heredity question?”
    “Heredity?”
    “It perhaps has occurred to you that Smitty may have inherited some of Uncle Heathcote’s eccentricity. Granted, nothing has showed up as yet. When a girl is contemplating wedlock, however, she must—”
    “I’m not contemplating marriage with Smitty . . . or with anybody else.” She increased her pace, reaching the crest of the hill far ahead of him.
    “Yon shingled villa must be the one we’re seeking,” said Cole when he reached her side.
    Three houses, several acres apart, sat on the wooded plateau. Of the three, only the one Cole had indicated was dark.
    “Yes, it even seems to have taken on some of Dr. Heathcote’s rackety packety look.”
    Taking the girl’s arm, Cole escorted her up the flagstone path to the front door.
    “Weeds,” observed Nellie.
    The lawn was