The Avenger 31 - The Cartoon Crimes (3 page)

“Who the hell are you, busting in here?” bellowed Walling at the green-masked man. “What are you doing with that thing?”

The Green Archer shot him twice.

“I’m . . .” Walling’s tight jacket ripped at the seams as he clutched at the red spots growing on his chest. Then he fell.

The killer turned and walked out into the night.

Gil got up now. “What can I tell them?” he said. “I don’t even know if I really saw what I saw.”

Someone was pounding on the study door. “What’s happened in there?”

In seconds they’d open the door.

“They’ll never believe me.” Gil ran around the dying Walling and raced through the window.

There was no trace of the Green Archer out there in the dark.

Gil sprinted across the grounds, toward the woods beyond.

They rose up all around him, like hundreds of thick black lines drawn down across the night. Gil, breathing in gasps through his open mouth, put out a hand against the trunk of a tree. He’d been running for a long time, a long time through the night forest. He had to stop now to catch his breath. The night air seemed to burn his throat as he gasped it into his lungs; he could feel his heart beating, almost hear it. It shook his whole body. Wiping his perspiring forehead, he leaned against the tree.

“A damn stupid thing . . . stupid thing to do.”

They were going to think he’d done it, killed that old fool. But running away—he’d felt he had to, back there in Walling’s study.

“But I . . . I really did . . . see somebody there.”

He was certain. There had been a man in green.

“Then why didn’t you stay there?” he asked himself as he started to run again.

This forest paralleled the coastline for several miles. Even if they came looking for him, he’d be hard to find here.

“What are you going to do?”

He was nearly thirty miles from his own home. He couldn’t go there now, anyway, that’d be the first place they’d look. He couldn’t go back to Walling’s for his car, either. So wherever he went, he’d have to go on foot.

Gil trotted on.

He had to stop again after another few minutes, sooner this time. He was breathing hard, and his chest hurt.

“Out of shape, too much sitting around. Boy, in high school I could—”

Though it was painful, he held his breath. He listened.

“No, nothing. I thought I heard something, somebody, coming this way through the woods.”

He tugged out his handkerchief and wiped at his face.

A twig snapped. Dry leaves crackled.

Gil ducked and put the tree trunk between him and the approaching noise. Narrowing his eyes, he tried to see what was coming.

There wasn’t anything. The only sounds were the usual sounds of the forest by night.

“I didn’t imagine those noises. There is somebody on my tail.”

But who was it? Not the police yet, too soon for that. Somebody from the Walling place, one of the guests, maybe.

More dead leaves crackled.

“He’s not very good at it. It’s almost as though he wanted me to—”

Gil saw him then, striding through the dark, straight for him. It was the man in green.

Jeanne Lewing crossed again to the front windows of the living room. “These business dinners of Walling’s usually don’t run this long.”

Nellie, sitting with legs tucked under her in an oval-back armchair, said, “Eleven
P.M.
isn’t that late.”

The red-haired girl continued to watch the darkness outside. “I don’t know . . . The things that have been happening lately . . . I worry a lot more than I used to.”

“You still haven’t told me exactly what has been happening.”

“I didn’t want to spoil dinner . . . and I suppose . . . I’m reluctant to talk about some of these things,” said Jeanne. “I really thought . . . hoped, at any rate . . . that none of this would happen again.”

“Gil had some kind of breakdown once,” said Nellie. “Is that what you think is happening again?”

“I don’t know . . . but I’m afraid it might be.” Jeanne left the window and walked slowly toward the empty fireplace. “He seems to be having . . . some kind of hallucinations.”

“He’s seeing things that aren’t there, you mean?”

“That’s just it, Nellie. I’m not sure if they are or not,” said Gil’s wife. “Everything always seems to happen when he’s alone, when neither his assistant nor I are around.”

“How often?”

“Oh, so far it’s been only once a week, I think. Although . . . Gil may not be telling me about every . . . every occurrence.”

Nellie placed her feet flat on the floor. “And how long has this been going on?”

“Not that long,” replied Jeanne. “Only since we’ve moved to this new . . . He’s under so much pressure, Nellie, and he still won’t accept much help. He has the idea he can handle
Wonderman
all by himself. But it’s been so successful, there’s been a demand for more and more material. Finally we talked him into hiring an assistant.”

Nodding, Nellie asked, “What exactly does he see?”

“Perhaps this doesn’t sound frightening, but it is. He sees characters out of his comic-book stories. The villains seem to come alive.”

Nellie said, “An artist I know is a great practical joker. Could this be something like that?”

Gil’s wife shook her head. “Anyone who knows Gil at all well wouldn’t do anything like this. They’d know it would upset him. I mean, you don’t kid a friend about something like a nervous breakdown he once had.”

“I understand
Wonderman
is extremely popular,” said Nellie. “That means Gil probably has a lot of fans now. It might be bobby-soxers pulling a stunt or—”

“No, that isn’t possible. Some of these things Gil’s seen . . . they’re from stories he’s just finished. Stories that haven’t even been printed yet.”

“Have you investigated these appearances? Looked for footprints or signs someone’s actually been in a room, or wherever?”

“Yes, both Gil and I have. There’s never been any sign . . . Oh, once there was a lamp knocked over in the dining room, but that could have been caused by anything.”

“How about the moment when Gil actually sees these people? Has he ever tried to grab one?”

“No. He’s . . . I think you can understand this . . . he’s scared of these things. By the time he does work up the nerve to look around, there’s not a trace.”

Watching her friend’s face, Nellie asked, “What do you think?”

“You mean do I think he’s— Oh, excuse me.”

The phone was ringing out on the table in the hall.

Jeanne ran to it and was there for nearly five minutes. When she returned to Nellie, her face was pale.

“What’s wrong?” asked the little blonde.

“That was the . . . the police,” Jeanne said. “They wanted to know if Gil was here.”

“Why?”

“They were calling from Walling’s . . . something’s happened there . . . to Walling,” Jeanne said slowly. “They wouldn’t tell me what. But whatever it is . . . they think Gil had something to do with it.”

“Dinna keep us in suspense, mon,” pleaded MacMurdie.

Josh Newton, slouched in one of the comfortable chairs in the large office of Justice, Inc., said, “We’re still thinking about it, Mac. You know, the twins are only a week old.”

“Aye,” said the Scot, “but ’tis time the wee bairns had names.”

“Rosabel and I got a whole list of possibilities,” said the black man.

Smitty was watching the morning street through the Venetian blinds. “Just so you don’t name any of them Algernon,” he said. The giant was officially Algernon Heathcote Smith, a name he did not relish. “I got that stuck on me because of a wacky uncle. Guess my folks were trying to get on his good side.”

“We got no relatives we want to impress that way,” said Josh. “Even so, with two new babies it’s a real—”

“Well, what have you and Rosabel decided?” asked the grinning Cole Wilson as he came strolling into the room.

“Haven’t picked the names yet.”

Smitty narrowed one eye, studying Cole’s face. “You got a bet down with somebody on what they’re going to name the kids?”

Cole spread his hands wide. “Do I look like the sort of chap who would wager on something so sacred?”

“Yeah,” replied the giant.

Sighing, Cole seated himself. He unfolded the tabloid Sunday paper he’d been carrying under his arm. “I would be willing to risk a small sum on what our next assignment is likely to be.” He removed the comic section and dropped it to the floor.

Glancing at the headline now revealed, Mac said, “Ye’re nae doubt referring to the Walling murder.”

“Indeed I am,” said Cole. “Seems the minons of law and order out on Long Island are seeking Gil Lewing for questioning in connection with the sudden death of the publishing magnate.”

“That’s where Nellie went, ain’t it?” said Smitty, leaving the window. “Out to spend the weekend with those Lewings. We better give her a ring on the—”

“Nellie has already phoned in,” said the Avenger. He’d entered the room silently and was moving toward his desk.

“Is she okay?” the giant wanted to know.

“Yes, she’s fine.” Richard Henry Benson sat behind his desk and looked over the assembled members of his crime-fighting crew.

The giant Smitty towered above the rest. Three small inches short of being seven feet tall, Smitty was a radio-electronic engineer of considerable genius. Several of his inventions had aided Justice, Inc., in their pursuit of criminals.

Fergus MacMurdie, the sandy-haired Scot, operated a drugstore, but that was just a front for the chemical experiments Mac conducted in his lab.

Joshua Elijah Newton, the lanky Negro who was close to being a walking encyclopedia, was an honor graduate of Tuskegee, and he was also a good man to have on your side in a brawl. His wife Rosabel had, until recently, also been a member of the team. Now she was going to devote her time to the newly arrived twins.

And Cole Wilson, who seemed to take a light view of the world and the various villainies it contained, was a mechanical-engineering wizard and had a tendency to walk into almost any sort of danger with a grin on his face.

“Is there something for us to look into?” asked Josh.

“After talking with Nellie late last night, I’m inclined to say yes.”

“ ’Tis more than a simple murder, then?”

“Yes, Mac, quite a bit more,” replied the Avenger. “This killing may be only part of a complex plot against Gil Lewing. If that’s so, we want to determine the reason.”

Cole Wilson was bending down and shuffling through the colored funnies. “What he needs is Wonderman,” he remarked. “Look at the fellow here running right up the side of the Empire State Building. A man who can run up the side of the Empire State Building could solve a murder like
that.”
He snapped his fingers.

“We got more serious stuff to think about than funny papers,” said the giant.

Benson leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. “Lewing’s creation is apparently involved in all this.”

“Huh?”

The Avenger gave them a concise account of what had been happening to Gil Lewing.

“Whoosh,” said MacMurdie when Benson had finished. He scratched at his sandy hair. “ ’Tis a most strange yarn ye’ve spun, Richard.”

Smitty slapped his huge palms on his knees once and gazed up at the ceiling. “The guy’s goofy,” he decided. “I don’t see what we can do about that. I mean, what they need is some guys to throw a net over him.”

“Ah, Smitty,” said Cole, “and but a few moments ago you were accusing me of being heartless.”

“I feel sorry for the guy,” said the giant. “But this just don’t sound like something we can tackle. You can’t give a hallucination a belt in the mouth.”

The Avenger turned toward the lanky black man. “What’s your opinion, Josh?”

Josh sucked his cheek for a few seconds. “Couple funny things struck me, Dick,” he said finally. “Course, there’s nothing trickier than the human mind . . . but still. It’s odd that Lewing only sees these things when he’s all alone. A hallucination, a delusion . . . it might hit you at any time. In a crowd, in the middle of the night. But Lewing’s only come when he’s by himself and there are no witnesses.” He paused, cracking his knuckles. “Another sort of funny thing. These people he sees . . . they’re all characters from stories that haven’t been printed yet. Now, you might say . . . well, sure that proves he’s crazy, because nobody else has seen these villains, so how could they fake anything? But that sounds to me like a pretty strange kind of hallucination, one that only visits you with images out of your unpublished work. If Lewing is crazy, it’s a pretty selective kind of craziness.”

“Too clever,” murmured Cole. “The lads behind this are trying to be a little too clever.”

“But how could somebody dress up like an ape or whatever,” asked Smitty, “if they never saw the comic-book story about an ape?”

“There are several people who see Lewing’s drawings before they’re printed,” said Benson.

“Aye, his wife, for one,” said Mac.

“He’s got that assistant, too,” reminded Josh, “that Wayne Harmon guy. Besides which, he’s got editors, engravers, art department people up at Walling Publications.”