"Avenger - 4305 - Cargo Of Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Avenger)

Benson shrugged and arose. He put on his hat and coat.

Watching him. Nellie smiled. "You'll go, of course?"

"Naturally. I hardly think that child could have been coached to put on such a performance over
the phone."

"Be sure to call in regularly. Dick," she said.

He nodded and went out.


Ten minutes later a taxi deposited him at the Suydenville Hotel, in the East Fifties, not far
from the Queensboro Bridge. It was a neat little place, but rather old, and was patronized now
almost exclusively by a clientele of refugees from the Scandinavian countries.

Benson entered and looked around swiftly. There were two or three groups of people sitting
around in the lobby, all talking earnestly, doubtless about the war situation. No one seemed to pay
him any particular attention as he crossed to the desk, The clerk looked up and nodded, and Benson
said, "Excuse me, has anyone left a message for Mr. Foster?"

"Foster?" repeated the clerk. "I'm sorry. sir, but no message has been left for you."

Benson frowned. He thanked the clerk and turned away. One of the phones in the booths at the
other side of the lobby was ringing and a bellboy answered it. The boy emerged from the booth and
called out, "Phone call for a Mr. Foster!"

"Right here," said Benson. He gave the boy a coin and entered the phone booth closing the door
behind him. He picked up the receiver. "You are calling Mr. Foster?" he asked.

It was a woman's voice at the other end, muffled and low, and tinged with a note of hysteria.
"Thank God! I was afraid you wouldn't come. I was afraid Hilda might not be able to get you!"

"You are Hilda's mother?" Benson asked.

"Yes, yes. Please--every second is precious. Just to make sure you are the right man, will you
tell me your real name?"

"I am Richard Benson."

"The Avenger!"

"Yes."

"You must help me. Mr. Benson! You must help me to save Hilda! For myself I do not care. They
are following me, but I had to phone now, or it would have been too late. Listen carefully. At
exactly nine thirty, one of their men is to be at the foot of Edge Street, along the Marabout Creek.
From there he will be guided by a flickering flashlight. But I have arranged it so that their man
will not keep the appointment. You must be there instead. It is the only way. But go armed and be