THE GREY PHANTOM’S, ROMANCE

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 807, 30 October 1929, Page 5

THE GREY PHANTOM’S, ROMANCE

The Astonishing Adventures of a Lovable Outlaw.

Copyright by Street and Smith Corp. Serialised Tty Ledger Syndicate

CHAPTER XVI t —(Continued.) The Phantom quavered inwardly. Typewriting was not among his accomplishments, and the entire proreeding was strange to him. He hesitated, noticing that, the rumble of the presses had already ceased. "Well, never mind,” grumbled Slossdick, his pencil already at work on an eight-column caption. “Give the dope to Fessenden and let him write it. Then go home and get some sleep. You look as if you needed it. And for the love of Mike, steer clear of the booze! Fessenden!” In response to the explosive shout, a lanky and dyspeptic-looking man appeared at the door to the cubby-hole. After receiving a few terse directions from Slossdick. he led the Phantom to his desk and sat down before his typewriter. He inserted a sheet of paper in the machine while listening, and his fingers were racing over the keys even before the Phantom had finished his recital. “Bully yarn you’ve turned up.” came his appreciative comment over the clatter of the keys. “A peach!” The Phantom walked away. The story would, of course, rouse another storm of indignation against himself, hut there was no help for that. On the whole, he had bettered his chances and enhanced his temporary safety by giving the “Sphere” a start of twenty minutes or half an hour in its race against competing newspapers. His shadow was nowhere in sight as he emerged from the building. Either the man’s suspicions had been disarmed by the Phantom's move, or else he had grown tired of waiting and dropped into a nearby restaurant for a bite of food. Standing at the curb, the Phantom glanced stealthily to right and left. There was no sign of espionage in either direction. At last he was free to begin his search for Helen Hardwick, but the trail seemed to have neither beginning nor end. In vain he searched his mind for a starting point. His hands were in his pockets and presently his absently groping fingers touched a piece of paper. He drew it out, starting as his eyes fell on the ducal coronet. “Guess I’ll see Granger,” he reflected. “I have a strong hunch he is my starting point.” "How is your guest, Peng Yuen?” was the Phantom’s first question after entering the shop on Pell Street. The Chinaman’s eyes widened. "The guest? Ah. yes. I remember. I think the gentlemen is well.” “Has he telephoned any one, or sent out any messages?" "No; he has remained in his room all the time. He asked me this morning for something to read, and I gave him a translation of ‘Chin-Kong-Ching.' ” "Good. T have come to have a talk with hint.” "Very well.” The slight figure, arrayed in loose-fitting, straw-coloured garments, stepped to the wall with the softly-gliding gait characteristic of his race. He pressed a button and the Phantom passed through an opening which instantly closed behind him. Granger. lying ou a couch, looked up drowsily. The little room had neither windows nor visible door. Air was wafted in through a mysterious recess in a corner of the ceiling and a shaded lamp shed a greenish light over the scene. The walls were covered with vellow satin embroidered with quotations from Chinese philosophers. On a table standing near the couch were the remnants of a breakfast. "Fairlv comfortable, I see.’ The Phantom sat. down. His glance, though seemingly casual, was taKtng in every detail of the reporters appearance. "How are you feeling.

“Rotten!” Granger rubbed his eyes and scowled disgustedly. “I asked the Chink for something to drink, and he brought me a mess that tasted like vinegar and molasses. Then I dropped a hint that I would like some reading matter, and he handed me a book that put me to sleep before I had turned the first page. Say, how much longer are you going to sport my clothes and wear my name?” “No longer than I have to. Your name suits me w r ell enough, hut our tastes in clothes differ.” Granger grinned. He was comfortably stretched out ou his back and his eyes w r ere lazily studying the arabesques in the ceiling. Anyhow, my clothes are harmless. That’s more than can be said for my name. On the square, I am surprised to see you this morning.” “Why so?” There was a twinkle in the reporter’s eyes as he turned them on the Phantom. “Because you went in for a lot of trouble when you annexed my identity. I was pickled last night, and you took my breath away when you yanked off the moustache. Till then" I hadn’t had the faintest idea that my abductor was the Grey Phantom. If I hadn’t been so flabbergasted I might have given you a friendly tip.” “A tip?” “To the effect that Tommie Granger was a marked man. I’ll tell you something interesting if you promise not to fall out of the chair. lam a member of the Duke’s gang.” CHAPTER XVIII. THE BIG STORY The- Phantom’s brow s went up. For several hours he had been aware of Granger’s membership in the criminal organisation, but the glib admission surprised him. He had intended to pull the Duke's communication out of his pocket with a dramatic gesture and startle a confession out of the reporter; and he was wholly unprepared for the latter's frank and voluntary avowal. “Surprised you. didn’t it?” Granger chuckled as if mildly amused. “I can hardly get used to the idea myself. Membership in that gang of cutthroats and grafters is nothing to be proud of, exactly. I’ve always had a sneaking admiration for the Grey Phantom, but the Duke's different. He's smooth and artful enough, but he's made of coarser stuff.” “Yet you are a member of his organisation?” “Sounds contradictory, doesn’t it? Well, since I have told you the beginning. I'll have to tell you the rest. The cause of it all dates back to my birth. I came into the world with the face I’m wearing today, though it’s undergone a process of beautification in the intervening years. You see, my face is the mainspring that has determined most of my actions in recent years—some of the more important ones, anyhow. I wouldn’t be a newspaper man today if t had been born with a different face.” "I don’t see the connection.” “Let me tell you how it came about. On seven different occasions, and in as many different places, I have been mistaken for the Grey Phantom and put in durance vile. The clippings in my scrapbook tell all about it. I was in Cheyenne, Wyoming, tlie first time it happened, and after I had satisfied the police dunderheads as to my identity the editor of one of the local papers asked me to write up my impressions while in gaol, and tell how it felt to be mistaken for a celebrity like the Grey Phantom. I did. and that gave me a taste for newspaper work. The editor gave me a Job on the spot and I’ve “But what has all this to do with your membership in the Duke’s gang?” interrupted the Phantom impatiently.

“Everything. I’ve been plugging away at the newspaper game ever since I got. my start, in Cheyenne. I never stayed long in a place, for I have something of a roving disposition and like change of scenery now and then. My face got me in bad almost wherever I went. I had no sooner struck a new town than some ambitious dick thought he saw a chance to get famous by pinching the Grey Phantom. Of course, that always meant a stretch in the lock-up —anything from two days to a week. I used to lie awake night imagining that I was in reality the Grey Phantom and dreaming of great criminal exploits. That got me interested in crime and criminals, and I began making a study of the subject. “Finally, I drifted into New York and landed on the “Sphere.” One night, while prowling about the Chatham Square section, I dropped into a Turkish coffee house. It was a low joint, a hang-out for thugs and thieves. While sipping my coffee I made a study of the different types around me. One fellow interested me in particular. He was an evil-looking cuss, but there was something about him that fascinated me. He looked something like a Stevensonian pirate, and he had a great sear over his left eye. Presently I began to notice that he was looking my way now and then, and finally I motioned to him to come and sit beside me. We talked in whispers, like everybody else in the joint, and by and by lie asked me if I was not the Grey Phantom. “He seemed disappointed when I told him I was only the Phantom’s double. We talked on for a while, and the next night we met again in the same place. The fellow piqued my curiosity, and I tried to draw him out whenever I had a chance. I knew lie would shut up like a clam if I told him my profession, so I let him think I was a crook, though I didn’t go into details. We met night after night, and each time we were more confidential. I could tell he had something on his mind that he didn’t know just liow to put into words, and, of course, I did my best to lead him on. He approached the subject by slow and easy stages, dropping a cautious hint now and then. Finally, when he had convinced himself that I was to be trusted, lie told me he belonged to a big criminal band and asked me if I would like to join.” “So that’s how you happened to become a member of the Duke’s organisation?” observed the Phantom. “To cut a long story short, that was the way it happened. I thought I could work the salamander stuntplay with fire without getting burned. The idea of getting on tlie inside of a big gang of crooks and studying its members at close quarters appealed to me. Aside from that, I saw a chance to turn up a big story for my paper, for it was my intention to get the goods on the gang and. eventually, hand it over to the police. Ylut”— and a rueful smile wrinkled Granger’s face —“I soon discovered that one can’t play with fire without getting scorched.”

“That explains,” mumbled the Phantom thoughtfully, at the same time extending the communication handed him by the Duke’s messenger. “There’s a message worked into the design which is readable only under the lens. It’s a pleasant reminder of what happens to traitors.” “Yes. I know. I received several such reminders before you came along and borrowed my clothes and name. I wasn’t really a traitor, though. 1 merely refused to obey certain orders they gave me.” “You might have known that you would be expected to take part in the gang’s activities. You didn’t expect to be a member only in name?” “Well, I thought I could stall for a while, till I got the dope I wanted. You see, I was hoping they wouldn’t ask me to do any of the rough stuff till I had been a member for a while. I soon discovered my mistake.” “And so the big story will never materialise ?” “I’m afraid it won’t. My obituary is the only kind of story that’s likely to grow out of this adventure of mine. The Duke’s crew doesn’t stand for any nonsense. I’ve been told that members who don’t obey orders usually disappear under mysterious circumstances. I never got next to the inner circle of the gang. I suppose they didn’t trust me because 1 took a drink too many now and then. Anyhow, I didn’t get the stuff I was after. I was a sort of probationer, reporting to one of the big chief’s lieutenants, and I didn’t get as much as a glimpse of the inner sanctum.” “Too bad, Granger.” The disappointment written on the reporter’s face seemed so ludicrous that the Phantom could not repress a smile. “Maybe it isn’t too late yet. By the way,” starting suddenly front his chair, “have you any idea where Helen Hardwick is?” For a moment or two the reporter lay rigid on his back; then he jumped up and stared in dumbfounded amazement at the Phantom. “Why do you ask?” he inquired hoarsely, after a pause during which each man looked the other straight iu the eye. “Answer my question and I’ll tell you my reason for asking it.” Granger swallowed hard. “Has anything happened to Miss Hardwick?” “She has disappeared. Left, her home two days ago and hasn’t been heard from since. Her father it as asked the police to search for her.” “Good Lord!” Granger groaned. “This is awful!” The Phantom gripped his arm. “Tell me what you know,” he commanded. “Your looks show that you are not entirely ignorant of the matter.” The reporter’s face twitched. “I can guess what’s happened to her,” he declared, speaking in thick accents, “but I haven’t the least idea, where she is." "Will, what do you think has happened to her?” “She’s been kidnapped.” As if to steady his nerves, Granger picked up a cigarette and lighted it. “How do ydu know that?” “Because I”—Granger drew in a whiff of smoke —“because I know the Duke's crowd wanted tier abducted. They asked me to do it, and I balked, f couldn’t —well, it simply went against the grain to do a thing like that.. It was my refusal to do as they told me that got me in had with the gang.” The Phantom’s blood was slowly receding from his face. For a moment he sat rigid, lips tightly compressed, as if stunned. “Why did the Duke’s crowd want Miss Hardwick kidnapped?” (To be continued tomorrow.) |