Read The Avenger 22 - The Black Death for Free Online Page A

Hannon,” Benson added, “is the inventor who has also, besides Smitty, been working on a television-scrambling device.”
    “It looks as if he found the answer,” said Cole Wilson. “Then it looks as if he took the answer, sneaked off and hid, and has been using it ever since to organize this cult.”
    “His disappearance could be accounted for by his hiding out somewhere,” said The Avenger calmly. “Or it could be accounted for by his being taken away by force, or by his murder and the disposal of his body. I think Hannon is our next subject in this affair of the black death.”
    He looked at Smitty and Nellie.
    “Two people are listed as closest to Hannon. One is a daughter—all the family he has—who lives in his apartment with him when he is in town and at his Long Island home when he is not actively engaged in some business deal. The other is a young man named Daniel Miller, who was his assistant for years and left about eighteen months ago to set up in business for himself as a free-lance mechanical engineer. I’d suggest that you two see what you can learn from them.”
    The pale, deadly eyes went to Cole Wilson’s face.
    “Cole, you and I might go out to his Long Island home. His workshop and laboratory are out there. We may find out something by a look around.”

    Outside, Smitty looked solemnly, at Nellie and said: “Maybe we’d better split up in the interests of efficiency. You interview this Daniel Miller, and I’ll take on the daughter, Alicia Hannon.”
    “Oh, no, you won’t,” snapped Nellie. “She may be young and good-looking. If so, you’d be so busy gawking, you wouldn’t have time to ask questions. We’ll work together.”
    The giant grinned. He’d only been working to fluster the little blonde. Both knew that he hadn’t room for anyone else but her. But that didn’t keep her from getting jealous of others.
    They looked up Miller first.

    Daniel Miller, it appeared, had done very well by himself, since, leaving Hannon’s employ. He had a suite of four offices on the top floor of a Forty-third Street building. The suite was knee-deep in Oriental rugs, and the furniture was walnut. There were two very eye-filling girls they had to pass before they could get into the private office. When they did, they found the proprietor as impressive as his layout.
    Dan Miller was twenty-eight or so but looked older because he was so large. He was over six feet and solidly built. He had a big blunt jaw and incisive dark eyes. He shook your hand in a steam-shovel grip and asked in a deep rumble what you wanted to see him about.
    “We wanted to see you about Mr. John Hannon,” Nellie replied, with a sweetness that brought a black look to the giant Smitty’s moonface. “We’ve been trying to get in touch with Mr. Hannon on a rather urgent matter, and no one seems to know where he is. We heard you knew him well, and we thought you might be able to tell us how to contact him.”
    Miller looked distressed. Also, he looked suspicious.
    “I do know him well,” he admitted. “I worked for him for years. He’s one of the world’s finest. But I can’t tell you where he is, because I don’t know. I’ve tried to find out, too. No one seems to know where he has gone. I don’t like the look of it. But,” he said suddenly, “why are you trying to find him? What’s your interest in him?”
    Nellie decided to come clean.
    “We’re with Richard Benson,” she said. “I don’t know if the name is familiar to you, but—”
    “I’ll say it’s familiar!” exclaimed Miller. He grew instantly more cordial. “As a mechanical engineer I know the name very well indeed. His new tin-reclamation process was introduced just as I was designing some new-type assembly lines for can factories. So you’re working with Benson. But why is he interested in Mr. Hannon?”
    “We want to know if his disappearance could have anything to do with a television-scrambling device he was working on.”
    Miller