“Fear?” said Nellie.
“Yes — fear! And several times some of them, particularly Burnside and Wade, called very late at night. Much later than you’d think men would call in regard to an ordinary bit of proposed legislation.”
“Had Fram entertained this pet idea of his for a long time?” Nellie asked.
Nan shook her head. “I’ve worked for him for about a year. I didn’t hear him mention the thing till about six weeks ago. Then he suddenly began harping on it all the time. Finally, on a moment’s notice, he packed and went to Washington to lobby for the bill.”
Nellie had noticed the same thing that Benson had about the Senators who often visited the psychiatrist. “These men,” she said, “are all well known for one thing: activities in soil conservation. They haven’t anything to do with the type of legislation Fram wants pushed. Why did he pick on them?”
“I don’t know,” said Nan.
“Did any other representatives call on Fram?”
“A congressman came once,” said Nan. “Congressman Coolie.”
“Also interested primarily in dams and erosion and reforestation,” nodded Nellie. “He’s the chief leader of bills of that type in the other wing of the Capitol Building. It’s strange.”
She tried another tack. “Tetlow Adams! He’s a power in the land. You say he came to see Fram about his son?”
“That’s what he said,” Nan replied. “I overheard him once or twice when the doctor didn’t shut his inner door tightly. Mr. Adams has a nineteen-year-old boy who is acting strangely.”
“Didn’t he ever bring the son in?”
“No,” said Nan, “he didn’t. He always came and just talked about him. I thought that was queer, though I didn’t think about it very hard.”
“He always talked to the doctor only about his son?”
“I can’t say that,” admitted Nan. “Twice I heard a little, when, as I said, Dr. Fram didn’t shut his inner door tightly. But each time, after I’d heard only a little, he got up and shut the door flush.”
“It could be,” murmured Nellie, “that you were supposed to hear just that much — and no more.”
“It’s hard to believe anything like that. As I say, Dr. Fram isn’t a phony. He’s eminent in his line. And in a whole year of contact with him, I’d say he is a nice, honest, pleasant person.”
“Who set you up to be kidnapped,” Nellie pointed out.
“We don’t know that.”
“No, we don’t know it. Perhaps he is innocently surrounded by some sort of crooked work and hasn’t yet suspected it. Perhaps he has been forced into something; an unwilling tool. Perhaps—”
The door opened. In the doorway stood the bony man and the two who had carried Nan Stanton downstairs in the coffinlike steel locker.
The bony man was smiling a little. One glance at the smile made Nellie wish he wouldn’t. She had seen murderous smiles before. This was a perfect example of one.
“My, ain’t they a nice pair?” mocked the bony man, looking the two girls over.
They were a nice pair. Nellie, with her tawny-yellow hair and blue eyes, was a perfect foil in beauty for Nan Stanton’s brunette loveliness.
But the minds of the three kidnappers were obviously on things other than pulchritude. The bony man had just sounded off to be smart.
Nellie felt cold all over. This was it, she thought, in a corner of her brain. The bony fellow had been waiting orders from someone as to the disposition of the two prisoners. Now he had received his orders. Deadly orders!
The wings of death were hovering very low over Nellie Gray and Nan Stanton!
“You’re going to have a little sleep,” said the bony man, smirking. “You’re going to go by-by to slumber land, just like the kids’ programs say on the radio.”
He stopped smiling.
“Out! Come with us. And you”—he glared at Nellie—“any of your panther tricks and you won’t go out the easy way.”
Nellie and Nan went to the door. The men stood back — way back — till they had passed. Then the men fell in behind, herding the two girls along.
Nan was white and scared and mystified. Nellie was not so mystified. The few words of the bony man, and the fact that they weren’t clubbed or shot down at once, had given her the key to the next act.
They were to be killed, but in such a way as to make it seem to be an accident and not murder.
The two went along a narrow corridor and up a greasy flight of stairs. They stepped into a small garage room.
Not a big one. A small room. That was because it was a back room, partitioned off from the main garage. It was a workshop, with a bench along one wall. The partition was flimsy, of planks instead of concrete and cement blocks; but it would do to keep any casual visitor to the garage from knowing what was going on back here.
“Got the sedan ready, Buck?” the bony man called.
A man standing next to a two-year-old black car of moderate price nodded and opened the back of the sedan.
“In there,” rasped the bony man, shoving Nan.
So then Nellie got the rest of it.
Carbon monoxide. The two girls would be killed by the stuff so often responsible for accidental deaths. Then they would be found by the roadside somewhere, in this car or another impossible to trace. And that would be that. The motor of the sedan was running gently. But no exhaust smoke showed at the rear. That was because a hose ran up from the exhaust pipe into the body of the car. The interior of the sedan was already faintly blue and nauseous with gasoline fumes.
“Tie ’em?” said the man called Joey, looking at the two girls.
The bony leader shook his head. “That’d leave marks. You know how a bruise shows up — afterward. No! Just bundle ’em in and—”
Nan screamed and tried to run. Joey caught her, but was careful not to hit her.
Nellie said, voice amazingly calm; “We just won’t get in there. And what do you think of that?”
“You won’t, huh?” snarled the bony man.
“No! And you can’t make us. Before you could shove us in there bodily, we’d have plenty of bruises to give your little show away. And if you club us, that will show later and ruin the accident theory. And certainly you can’t shoot us.”
The bony man slowly drew an automatic. He leveled it, not at Nellie’s body, but at her legs.
“If we can’t make it look right,” he said, “we’ll make it very, very wrong. Now this is what I’m going to do if you don’t get into that car. First I’m going to put a slug in your right kneecap. Then I’ll smash the left one into gravel. Then I’ll—”
“I’ll get in,” said Nellie, slumping.
“I thought you would,” nodded the man. “It’s a lot easier to just drift off, than to go through the things we can dish out to you. All right, go on.”
Nellie got into the car. She coughed, and her eyes watered. Nan got in dully, too. All the fight was out of her. The man nearest the sedan slammed the door. Then he did something to the handle. They’d fixed the car so that the two couldn’t possibly get out, once they were in. They had fixed it so there was no chance at all of the girls escaping from the closed deadliness of the interior!
Nan was already choking for breath. In addition to the unobtrusive carbon monoxide fumes were the noxious, raw gas fumes.
But now Nellie was not choking! That had been an act. She was breathing through her handkerchief. The men outside, seeing the two doomed girls only dimly through the inner fog, only grinned at that. Let her breathe through the thing. It couldn’t help.
What they did not know was that the handkerchief held in it a small vial which, when broken, flooded the fabric with a concentrate of oxygen in a volatile solvent. It was a product of MacMurdie’s laboratory, and The Avenger and all his aides carried a few of the glass capsules at all times.