Kenneth Robeson - The Avenger 02 by The Yellow Hoard

Author:The Yellow Hoard
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-02-20T14:50:41+00:00

The man with the reddish hair had been lounging in the doorway with one hand, for no particular reason, on the knob of the partly opened door behind him. When he lunged forward, guided by Nellie’s slim hand, he pulled the door closed with him.

Just closed, not locked. But it was enough. If the door had remained open, the girl could have darted out of the room and down the hall with at least a chance of escape. As it was, while she wrenched at the knob to turn it and open the door again, the two who looked like brothers were on her.

One of them slashed viciously at her sleek blond head with the barrel of his gun. She half turned, grasped his wrist, and snapped his arm down over her slender shoulder. The man squealed. For an instant he thought his arm was broken.

The other had a rough arm around Nellie’s body. The black-haired man was beside him, with a blue bruise on his forehead where it had contacted the chair. He was snarling.

Four men against a girl.

She sat on the chair again, staring at them with flaming gray eyes while they stared back in savage amazement.

“She must be an acrobat,” rasped the man with the reddish hair, hand to his back where he’d smashed to the floor. “One half-pint dame like that make so much trouble. I’d never’ve believed it.”

“Tie her!” snarled the black-eyed man. “We don’t make the same mistakes twice!”

Treating her with as much respect as they would have shown a six-foot professional boxer, the men tied her to the chair.

She had had her chance, and lost.

A man came in with a gray felt hat on the back of his head. His lips were one-sided and his eyes had a wise-guy expression that you see on the faces of many in poolroom hangouts. Evidently he had just come to the house, for he looked in surprise at the bound girl and with a wide grin at the shaken-up men.

“For―” he snickered. “You don’t mean to say this jane tumbled you up like this?”

“Shut up!” the man with the sandy-red hair rasped out.

“Ootsy-kootsy,” sniggered the man with the gray felt hat, with his hand digging into the other’s rib.

Evidently his prankster’s thumb had located the most ticklish spot in those ribs before. The man with the reddish hair emitted the high, whinnying laugh of a person who is forced to cackle when he is tickled, whether he likes it or not.

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