THE GREY PHANTOM’S ROMANCE

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 809, 1 November 1929, Page 5

THE GREY PHANTOM’S ROMANCE

The Astonishing Adventures of a Lovable Outlaw. Copyright by Street and Smith Corp. Serialised by Ledger Syndicate

CHAPTER XIX. —Continued. There had beeu nothing about her disappearance in the newspaper the Phantom had just read, and he surmised that Mi'. Hardwick had used what influence he had to keep the matter out of the Press. The door across the street still held his gaze; and of a sudden, out of the jumble of his fears and perplexity, came another harassing thought. What if Helen had never walked out of the door across the way? What if she should still he inside the house? The Phantom's eyes narrowed os the suspicion came to him. It was groundless, so far as he could see. and there was no reasoning behind it. It had come out of nowhere, like a stray figment of the imagination, yet it tormented him with an insistence that he could not shake off. He walked to the end of the block, then crossed the street and moved up the side on which the Bimble house stood. There were a few pedestrians in the street, and to attempt to force the main door might prove unsafe. The basement entrance was dark, and he was at work on the lock. it yielded in a moment, concealed by the shadows, so easily to his deft manipulation that he could understand how the prowlers of whom Bimble had complained had managed to emer the house.

Pulling the door shut, he took out his electric torch, determined to settle his suspicions by making a systematic ] search of the house. He proceeded swiftly but with care, searching every fiock and cranny and occasionally tapping the walls and floors to make sure there were no hollow spaces. He explored cellar and basement without finding anything of suggestive nature, then walked up the same stairway he had ascended after his first trip through the tuunel. He was now in the laboratory, sweeping floor and walls with the electric torch. At first glance it looked exactly as it had when Helen met him at the head of the stairs with a levelled pistol, yet he sensed ’he long work bench with its collection of chemical apparatus, over the Mack-framed photographs and X-ray Prints, and then he glanced at the tall 'age3 along the wall, in which the skeletons stood, erect and grim as ghostly sentinels. it was then his mind grasped the difference. On his first visit there had been at least a dozen skeletons in he room: now he counted only seven, 'fie famous Baschenell. to whom imble had pointed with so much Price, was among the missing ones. e Paused only for a moment to won- ,^ r what had become of the others, “r Bimble and the servant might re“rn any time and interrupt his ~ arc “- and he wished to be at the urktsh coffee house not later than halt-past ten. win, 6 inspected room after room, but ithont result, finally mounting to the In . and making the same thorough nllki Bation there. He had found hi, 'whatever to reward him for tin.) orts ' He came to the con- , * 10 “ that his suspicions had been hart y unfoim ded. for if they had *Ol an v basis in fact his investigation hi-, bave uncovered some clue or ,l l jL > b°’ n ti n s in that direction. One , * bad been accomplished, however, ais reflection as he walked down Rimhi ta * rs ' He bad eliminated Dr. Dicio from I be range of his susbs and would waste no more time

and effort trying to explain the eccentricities of a scientist. Deciding to leave the way he had entered, he crossed the laboratory and moved toward the stairs. With his hand on the doorknob, he looked back and once more let his electric torch play over the floor and walls. Again, without exactly knowing why, he counted the cages, vaguely feeling that there was a hidden significance in the depletion of the grisly company. Finally, he extinguished his flash and resolutely turned away. Again he was berating himself for bothering his mind over trivial things. Doubtless Dr. Bimble had a souud and simple reason for removing a number of the skeletons. As he walked down the basement stairs he resolved to banish the anthropologist and his collection from his thoughts. An odd sense of apprehension took hold of him as he reached the bottom step. He looked about him sharply; the darkness was so thick that he could see nothing. He pricked up his ears and listened, but he could detect no sound except those coming from the street. Yet he had a feeling that he was not alone, that another being was lurking somewhere in the darkness. It was a familiar sensation and he had learned to heed its warning, for he had experienced it before in moments of danger. He stepped down on the floor, at the same instant reaching for the pistol he had taken from Dan the Dope. Before he could draw the weapon a voice spoke sharply: “Stay right where you are, friend!” Then a click sounded, followed by a blaze of light. He turned quickly in the direction whence the voice had come. He saw the glint of a pistol barrel pointed toward him with a steady hand, and behind the pistol stood Lieutenant Culligore.

CHAPTER XX. FINGER PRINTS The detective’s face was dull and unimpassioned as a caricature carved out of wood. He stood pointing the pistol with a listless air, and his eyes were heavy and sluggish, as if he were not fully awake. He lowered the weapon almost as soon as he saw the Phantom's face, but did not put it out of sight. "Oh. it's you. Granger.” He spoke in a drawl, and there might have beeu the faintest trace of disappointment in his tones. “I thought it might be someone else.” "The Grey Phantom, for instance'. “Well, maybe. There's no reason, though, why the Phantom should be prowling around here, is there?” "Apparently not.” The Phautom advanced leisurely and looked sharply at the speaker's stolid face. The question had been spoken in a tone faintly suggestive of an underlying meaning. “It seems both of us are taking advantage of the absence of Dr. Bimble and Jerome to do a little investigating on the quiet.” Culligore yawned ostentatiously. "The doc. ought to have new locks put on his doors. It’s too easy for people to get in.” , "He is a simple and unsuspecting soul. But tell me, lieutenant, Aiow it happens that the Phantom's trail leads into Dr. Bimble's basement. “Does it?” . , “Well 1 don't suppose you would be here unless it did. Your object m coining here wasn't to interview the skeletons upstairs, was it. Culligore laughed softly. I might nut the same question to you. "Then we’re on an even footing.

And, since we don’t seem to get any- j where, we might as well drop the sub-1 ject of our mutual presence here. Each | of us can take it for granted that the other has a tip which he wants to keep to himself. Seen anything of the Grey Phantom lately?” “Not exactly.” “What’s the idea of the ‘exactly'? j You either have seen him or you I haven’t seen him. Which is it?” “Neither the one nor the other,” I said Culligore mysteriously. “With a j man like the Phantom you can never be sure. Even when you think you see him, he isn’t always there. Say. that was a queer case you tipped me off on this morning.” “It was. Simple enough, though, so far as the murder of the housekeeper is concerned. Apparently there’s not the slightest doubt that the Phantom did it.” “Think so?” The two words, spoken in low and casual tones, caused the Phantom to raise his brows. "Don’t you?” Culligore tilted his head to one side and squinted vacantly into space. "Things aren’t always what they seem,” he drawlingly observed. “I’ve been see-sawing up and down ever since I was turned loose on this case. One hour I feel dead sure the Phanj tom did it; the next I don’t know what j to think.” “All the facts seem to point to the j Phantom’s guilt.” “That’s just the trouble.” Culligore scowled a little. “There’s such a thing as having too many .the evidence wasn’t so perfect I’d be more sure of my ground. As it is, I wouldn’t bet more than a pair of Bowery spats on the Phantom’s guilt. I’m not sure he killed either Gage or the housekeeper.” The Phantom eyed him intently, trying to read his mind. “I see,” he murmured. “You don't want to believe the Phantom has fallen so low as to ” “You’re talking rot” snorted the lieutenant, as if touched on a sensitive spot. “What I want to believe makes no difference. If I could lay my hands on the Phantom this minute, I'd put the links on him so quick it would take his breath away. Even if he didn’t kill Gage and Mrs. Trippe, there are "one or two other things we can send him up for.” "I suppose so,” said the Phantom thoughtfully. "Much as you would hate to pinch him. you can’t let sentiment interfere with duty.” “Sentiment he damned!” grumbled the lieutenant, reddening a trifle as he saw the knowing grin on the Phantom's face. “I never was long on that kind of stuff. By the way, what’s your opinion of the case. Granger?” “I haven’t any.” The Phantom wondered what was going on in the back of Culligore’s mind. He knew the dull features were a mask and that the lieutenant, practising a trick cultivated !by members of his profession, was i studying his face every moment witb- ! out appearing to do so. “You seem to | be holding something back,” he added, j “Think so?” Culligore uttered a flat, toneless chuckle. “Aren’t you holding something back yourself? What’s the use trying to hog it all for your paper?” “Didn’t I tip you off on the doings in the Gage house this morning?” “You did,” said Culligore dryly, “and I’m still wondering how you knew about them. Did you just walk in on a hunch and discover a dead woman, and a cop chained to an opium-eating runt, or did some one put you wise before-hand?” The Phantom felt he was on dangerous ground. “It was only a hunch. We newspapermen have them you know, and once in a while they pan out. But what do you make of it, Culligore? How do you explain the cop being handcuffed to Dan the Dope?”

“I don’t explain it. I suppose Pinto will tell us how it happened when he comes to.” “Think there's an}- connection between the handcuffed pair and the murderer of the housekeeper?’-’

“How could there be The medical examiner said the housekeeper must have been dead from twenty to thirty hours when the, body was found. Besides, where do you find any connection between a murder on the one hand and a cap chained to a dope fiend on the other. To my way of thinking, the two cases are separate. The one of Pinto and Dan the Dope is all a riddle, and the only clear Ihing about it is that the Phantom had a hand in it,” “The Phantom?” “Yep. The Phantom was in on it. Surprised, eh? Well, there are some things we don’t tell the newspapers, and this was one ol' them. Just how the Phantom figured in the thing I can’t tell, but he was in the Gage house last night or early in the morning. Beats the dickens how that fellow can walk past our noses without getting caught.” The Phantom stared. He did not think he had left any traces of his connection with the affair at the Gage house, and Culligore’s statement startled him for a moment. “How do-you know,” he asked, getting a grip on himeslf. “Finger prints,” said the lieutenant. “This is oil the q. t. I examined the handcuffs, and there were three sets of prints on them, showing that three different persons had handled them. There were only two or three marks of each set, but enough to Identify them. One set was Dan the Dope’s, the other must have been Pintos, and the third was the Grey Phantom’s.” “ The Phantom bit his lip, chiding himself for having been caught off his guard. He might have known that the smooth and shiny surface of the handcuffs would register finger prints, hut he had been bodily and mentally exhausted at the time, and his habitual sense of caution had failed to assert Itself. “Wonder what the Phautom was up to,” he murmured, feeling a trifle uncomfortable beneath Culligore's covert and incessant scrutiny. “Hard telling. Lots of queer things happen in this world.” Culligore grinned while absently toying with the pistol. “For instance, this morning after 1 left you on the cornel - ——”

“You had me shadowed,” interrupted the Phantom. “What was the idea, Culligore?” “Just a hunch. My man trailed you to the Sphere office. Then, thinking you wouldn’t he out for a while, he went into a beanery for a bite and a cup of coffee. After coming out he hung around the entrance to Hie Sphere Building for ■ a while longer, but you didn’t show up. Finally, lie went inside and inquired for you. They told him you lxad left.” Culligore paused for a moment. He was turning the pistol in his hand with a playful air. The Phantom felt a curious tension taking hold of his body. “They told my man.” continued the lieutenant, speaking very softly, “that you didn’t write the story yourself, but told the facts to a reporter named Fessenden. As I understand it, they gave Fessenden a new desk not long ago. It’s a nice-looking piece of furniture, with a smooth, glossy finish. Maybe you noticed it?” “No; not particularly,” said the Phantom, finding it a little hard to

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keep his voice steady. The role he was playing had claimed all his thoughts while he was in the Sphere’s office, and he had not noticed details. “Too bad you didn’t,” Culligore was still speaking in low, purring accents. Gradually and without apparent intent, he turned the muzzle of the pistol until it pointed to the Phantom's chest. “Well, I understand Fessenden was sitting at that nice, new desk while you told him the story, and you were sitting right, beside him. with one of the corners of the desk toward you. Some people have a habit when nervous of drumming with -their fingers on whatever object is before them. It’s a bad habit, Granger.” The Phantom nodded. A thin smile played about his lips and his eyes glittered like tiny points of steel between half-closed lids. “Very bad habit, Granger. Well, my man saw finger prints on the smoo-th and shiny surface of the desk, right where you had been sitting. He touched them up by sprinkling a little grey powder over them, after which they were photographed. It didn’t take very long to Identify them. Steady now! This little toy of mine can he real ugly when it gets mad. What 1 want you to explain is how Tommie Granger’s fingers happened to leave the Grey Phantom’s finger prints on Fessenden’s desk.” There was a humorous glint in Lieutenant Culligore’s lazy, mouse-coloured eyes as he noted the look of consternation that was slowly creeping into the Grey Phantom’s face. He drew a step nearer, and now the menacing muzzle was less than six feet from its target. There was a touch of carelessness in his manner of handling the weapon, but his aim was sure and a slight pressure on the trigger would have meant death. But the Phantom's look of dismay was not due to fear. Many a time he had laughed in the face of dangers far more serious than the present one. The thing that appalled him was the realisation that twice within a few hours he had committed a stupid blunder. The Grey Phantom, once the astutest and craftiest of rogues, had bungled like an amateur. The thought was galling. Was it •that his hand had lost its old-time finesse and his mind its keen edge, or had his mental stress and fagged nerves been the cause of his bungling? Again, perhaps, he had been distracted by the haunting vision of a pair of troubled brown eyes.

CHAPTER XXI. THE PHANTOM TURNS A SOMERSAULT He looked hard at Culligore. Some faces were like an open book to him, and this was one of them. The lieutenant was no man’s fool. Behind the mask of dullness and stolidity were shrewdness and quickness of wit, and he knew that the man before him would not permit private inclinations to swerve him from his duty. Culligore was as dangerous an adversary as he had ever faced. But there was still another quality behind the mask, and it was this that gave the Phantom his cue. Quickly he looked about him. The way to the basement door ivas barred by the lieutenant, but the stairway leading to the laboratory was unobstructed. With an appearance of utmost unconcern the Phantom turned away and started to ascend the steps. “Stop!” commanded Culligore, following the retreating man's movements with his pistol. “I’ll poll you if you take another step.” The Phantom stopped, turned and grfnned. “Oh, no, you won’t,” he drawled. “Can’t you see that I’ve got you covered?” “But you won't shoot. It takes a particular kind of nerve to kill a defenceless man in cold blood, and you haven’t got it. Good-bye.” He took another step, but a short and peremptory “Halt!” brought him to a stop. There was something in

the lieutenant’s tone that gave hint j pause. He turned and looked down, j “You’ve sized me up just about right,” admitted Culligore. “I can’t kill a man who hasn't got a chance for his life. But if you move another step, you'll get a slug of lead in your leg. If you think I’m bluffing, just try.” ! The Phantom hesitated. The words j and the tone left no room for doubt as to the speaker’s earnestness, and | even a slight flesh wound would ham- j per the Phantom’s movements and frustrate his plans. He came down the few steps he had covered and stood 011 the basement floor. “All right, Culligore. You win this time, but don’t think for a minute that I’ll let you carry this joke much further. I have very strenuous objections to being arrested at this particular time. Mind if I smoke a cig“l do,” the lieutenant said drily. “I have heard about your cute little wavs, and I’m not taking any chances. You don’t play any of your tricks oil me, Mr. Phantom.” “You surely don’t think that I’ll permit you to drag me off to a cell?” “How are you going to help yourself?” “Why, man. it can't be done! Its been tried before, you know. And just now I’m a very busy man and can’t afford to waste time. Besides, what charge do you propose to arrest me on? Not the murder of Gage and Mrs. Trippe?” “There are other charges waiting for you in court. You’ve been having a gay time for a good many years, but this is the end of it. You’ve done some very fancy wriggling in the past, but you can’t wriggle out of this.” “Perhaps not.” A great gloom seemed suddenly to fall over the Phantom. “It looks as though you had me, Culligore. A man can’t fight the whole New York police force single-handed. All you have to do is to blow your whistle and—” “Whistle be hanged! I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of saying that it took a regiment to get you. I mean to arrest you alone, just to prove that you’re not as smart as some people think.” The Phantom glowed inwardly. His adroit and subtle appeal to the lieutenant’s pride had produced the desired effect. Culligore felt so sure of his advantage that he would not summon help, and this was an important point in the Phantom’s favour. Yet he knew the situation was critical enough. On former occasions he had gambled recklessly with death, often winning through sheer fearlessness and audacity, hut much more than his life was at stake now. He looked in vain for a loophole in the situation. All he could do for the present was to spar for time. “I see,” he murmured. “The achieveI meat of taking the Phantom singlehanded would put a gorgeous feather in your cap. But look here, Culligore. Fame is a fine thing, but you can’t eat it, and, it won’t buy clothes. Isn’t it just as important to find the murderer of Mrs. Trippe and Gage! “I’ll attend to that, too.” The j lieutenant inserted a hand in his | pocket and drew out a pair of hand- ! cuffs. “Out with your hands, Phani tom.” , .

j The Phantom promptly put his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “Why be in such a rush, Culligore? You "know I can’t get away from you so long as you keep me covered. Let’s discuss things a bit. Y'ou ! don't think I committed those murj ders?” j “Not exactly,” said the detective | thoughtfully, the steel links dangling j from his hand. “Whatever else you | may be, I don't think you're a murI derer.” “And that shows that you have more grey matter than some of your I colleagues.” “Thanks,” dryly; “but you’d better j save the compliments. I haven't I quite made up my mind about the i murders yet. if you didn’t commit ! them, there are a lot of things that j will have to be explained. The threatj euing letter, for instance.”

“Forged.” “And Gage’s dying statement.” _ “Pinto lied, or else Gage was mistaken.” “Think so?” The lieutenants upper lip brushed the tip of his nose. ‘lt’s a queer thing that nothing but the Maltese cross was taken.” “That was only a detail of the frame-up. Listen, Culligore. isn’t it your idea that the two murders were committed by one and the same person?” “It. looks that way, but ” “Well, then, I happen to know who killed Mrs. Trippe, because I was there when it happened.” Culligore stared; and the Phantom knew he had gained another point. “There when it happened? You saw the murder committed?” The lieutenant seemed at once amazed and incredulous. “Just where Avere you? In the storeroom?” “No; the murder Avas committed in Gage's bedroom, and the body Avas afterAA'ard removed to the storeroom by the murderer.” For a moment Culligore’s astonishment Avas so great that he forgot to maintain his aim. He gathered him self quickly, hut his face bore a look of bewilderment. “He moved the body, eh? I wonder Avhy. If the job AA-as done by a certain person 1 liaAm in mind. I don’t see Avhat object he could have in carrying the corpse from Gage's bedroom to the storeroom. The natural thing Avould have been to leave the body on the spot. You’re not kidding

“Absolutely not.” The Phantom grinned at Culligore's perplexity. Evidently the lieutenant's theories and calculations had been completely upset by Avhat he bad just heard. “Who is the certain person you had in mind, Culligore?” “Never mind that. Let me get this straight. You Avere in Gage's bed-' room Avhen Mrs. Trippe Avas murdered?” “Not in the bedroom, hut ” the Phantom checked himself on the point of explaining that he had witnessed the murder from his place of concealment in the narrow opening hack of the window frame. In a flash it dawned upon him that he had another advantage over the detective. He had found the loophole in the situation for which his mind had been searching for the last ten minutes. Culligore, of course, Avas not aAvare of the existence of the tunnel. The stairs leading to the cellar Avere at the Phantom’s back. If he could elude the detective long enough to slip doAvn the steps and crawl into tiie mouth of the tunnel, he would be temporarily safe. It Avas a slender chance, but he had no other. “Where Avere you, then?” demanded Culligore. “My secret.” The Phantom assumed a mysterious expression, meanwhile edging ever so slightly toward the stairs at his back. “I saw Mrs. Trippe and she saw me. She was in a terribly frightened condition, and she called out that some one tvas killing her. Then, of a sudden, a hand appeared, holding a knife. Before 1 could utter a word or move a muscle, the knife had done its work.” Culligore muttered something under

his breath. He scanned the Phantom s face keenly, but what he saw evidently convinced him of the narrator s truthfulness. A noise, scarcely louder than the falling of a pin. sounded at the head of the stairs. The Phantom's sensitive ears detected it, but the lieutenant appeared to have heard ! nothing. ! “Well, what happened after that?' The Phantom waited for a moment before he answered. A draft faint fis a ‘ breath told him that the door at the top of the stairs had been opened, lie | had a vague impression that somebody was looking down on them, and he wondered Avhether Dr. Bimble or Jerome had returned. Not the slightest flicker in his face shOAved that he had noticed anything. “I didn’t see any more. The —the curtain fell a moment or t aa'o after the blow A\*as struck.” Culligore regarded him narrowly. Another faint sound came from the head of the stairs, and in the same instant the draught ceased, indicating that the door had closed. The lieutenant, his every faculty bent on the task of ferreting out the thoughts in the Phantom's head, had heard nothing. He seemed inclined to doubt and scoff, but a stronger instinct compelled him to give credence to the story he had just heard. “And all you saw of the murderer | was a hand and a knife?” ! “That Avas all.” _ “Do you remember the tvoman s exact AA ords?” The Phantom searched his memory for a moment. “She said; ‘He's killing he! He's afraid I'll tell! He locked me in—’ She never finished the last sentence, but she had said enough. Evidently, the murderer of Gage kneAv that the housekeeper Avas aware of his guilt, and imprisoned her ' in the bedroom so that she would not reveal Avhat she kneAV. Later he returned with a knife in his band, having decided it Avould be safer to kill her. The housekeeper must have had some Avarning of his arriA’al; perhaps she saw or heard him coming.” Culligore looked as though he had a baffling problem on his mind. “Who do you suppose was the ‘he’ she referred to?” “I think that’s fairly plain. She had previously made it known that she suspected Pinto of having murdered her employer.”

The lieutenant arched his brows and seemed to be reA-olAiug a new idea in his mind. “Just the same, we can't be sure she meant Pinto, so long as she did not mention him by name. The fact that she suspected him once doesn’t really proA r e anything. Something may haA-e happened in the meati- | time that caused her to change her opinion. That ’he’ might have beta an entirely different person—maybe somebody she'd never seen before, and whose name she didn’t know.” “Possibly,” admitted the Phantom, thoughtfully. Culligore had turned his thoughts into a new channel. "Besides." added Culligore quickly. “e\‘en if Pinto was the ‘he’ she had in mind, she might ha\’e been mistaken, just as you claim Gage was mistaken.” (To be continued tomorrow)