THE GREY PHANTOM’S ROMANCE

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 814, 7 November 1929, Page 5

THE GREY PHANTOM’S ROMANCE

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

CHAPTER XXV (Continued) "Pinto was in a terrible quandary. Since, as he thought at the time, the Phantom could not have murdered Mrs. Trippe, it might be questioned whether he had murdered Gage. The whole case might be reopened, *n which event he feared the linger of suspicion must inevitably point to him. Again Pinto thought of his wife and baby, and, the more he thought of rhem, the more nervous he became. He did a foolish thing, as men often do when fear conquers reason. He could think of nothing to do but cover up the crime until he could get a chance to think the thing over, and so he carried the body upstairs and concealed it behind some packing <ases. Later, after it developed that the Phantom had not been in gaol and had no alibi, he saw no reason tor concealing the body longer. He explains at length what happened when he went to the storeroom to drag it out and was interrupted by you.” Bimble smiled blandly, but he was studying the Phantom's face out of the corner of an eye. “What do you think of Pinto’s confession?” The Phantom considered while he Slanced at the papers Bimble handed him. The statement was there, just as summarised by the doctor. Granting a crude intellect and a mind not too analytical, he thought it quite Possible that an innocent man might a ct exactly as described in Pinto’s statement. Further, the story had all the earmarks of truth, for a guilty mind would have tried to invent a less Grotesque tale. Of a sudden the Phantom found that all his calculations a nd theories in regard to the murder had been upset by Pinto’s surprising And unexpected explanation, _ ,T Vhy as k me?” was his reply. Tou know the murderer.” “Perhaps. I was just curious to near what you would think.” There was a wrinkle of perplexity on the Phantom’s brow. Assuming that Pinto was innocent, the difficules in the way of solving the mystery and exculpating himself had been lastly complicated. “M Pinto didn’t do it.” persisted the noctor suavelv, “who do you suppose did?”

, The Phantom could not tell why, but jne question gave him a mental jolt. |n the past few hours his concern for i elen had claimed all his tb gilts, and before that he had been so Mrmly convinced of Pinto’s guilt that there nad been no room in his miud for suspicions. The possibility hat some one other than the policeman might be involved had not octllrred to him.

He looked up and found the doctor’s eyes searching his face with an '’nd intensity. Bimble seemed intent °n ascertaining what deductions his Prisoner would make from -Pinto’s statement, and apparently this had Deen the only reason for his call.

The Phantom shrugged his shoulders. “With Pinto eliminated, I’m entirely at sea. In view of the bolted door and the size of the window, I don't see how anyone else could have murdered Gage, unless —” He checked himself abruptly, and of a sudden he saw a great light. In the next instant a smile masked his agitation. “Unless,” he finished with a chuckle, “I did myself.” Bimble seemed satisfied. “Excellent logic, my friend,” he murmured as he stepped to the door. With his hand on the knob he turned and fixed his gaze on the Phantom’s face. “I shall pay you another visit as soon as I hear from my men.” His tone carried a sinister emphasis, but the Phantom scarcely noticed It. "With Pinto eliminated,” he said half aloud when the door had closed, “only one other person could have committed the murders. And I know that person. “My question seems to have stumped you,” he observed.

CHAPTER XXVI. THE PHANTOM’S VISITOR

With quick and nervous steps the Phantom walked back and forth within the narrow semi-circle allowed him by the chain. The solution of the mystery had come to him in a flash of intuition, but his elation had been brief. It was now half-past eleven, and after cudgelling his wits for hours, he found the problem of how to extricate himself and Helen from their predicament as insolvable as ever.

Soon Bimble would receive word from his messengers that they had been hoaxed, and then Helen would be subjected to another agonising ordeal in the dark room. The Phantom shuddered as his imagination pictured her strapped to the chair in that chamber of ghastly things. Again he looked sharply about the room, hoping against hope that something would suggest a way of escape to him. He found nothing. The only objects were the cot and the table, and they offered no solution whatever. His pockets contained nothing but a handkerchief and a watch, together with the cigarettes and matches Jerome had brought him with Iris dinner. At least a score of times during the afternoon and evening he had given the chain a minute inspection, only to be convinced that it could not be tampered with. With the aid of a small nail or a penknife he might have been able to pick the lock that held it to his ankle, but not even a pin had been left him. The Phantom was all but ready to admit defeat. His only fortifying thought was that he had never yet been the loser in a" game of wits, and that for Helen’s sake he could not fail now.

He rose quickly from the cot as the door opened, and Dr. Bimble strode into the room. His face was dark, and a look of sullen anger had taken the place of his usual smile. “You lied!” he declared gruffly. “1 half suspected you would, but I hardly thought you would attempt anything so clumsy as this. What have you gained by it?” “Time,” said the Phantom, pretending a coolness he did not feel. The doctor laughed derisively. There was a dull flush in bis cheeks and an ugly giitter in his eyes, but again he took care not to step within the Phantom’s reach. “Time! Bah! Really, Vanardy, you’re simpler than I thought. Just as if a few hours more or less could make any difference! Y'ou will either tell me what I want to know, or, Miss Hardwick will go to the madhouse or the grave. She will be as harmless in one place as in the other. I trust you understand?” “Your meaning is perfectly clear. ” The Phantom spoke in level Tones. “If you would come a step closer, I should take extreme pleasure in beating you within an inch of your life. But you have no inclination in that direction, I see. Like most of your kind, you are a coward.” "Words never hurt.” “Furthermore,” continue*] the Phantom, “you will be in jail before Miss Hardwick goes to either of the places you have just mentioned.” “Jail?” The doctor stared as if he thought the statement utterly preposterous. “Jail! Ha, ha; Good joke

coming from a man who can’t move six feet.”

“Enjoy it while you can. As you may remember, I perpetrated the same kind of joke on the Duke, and he doesn’t seem to relish that brand of humour.” The doctor winced as if an unpleasant thought had been suggested to him, then walked stiffly to the door. “Remember,” was the parting shot, “if you persist iu your obstinacy', it will be either the madhouse or the grave for Miss Hardwick.”

He slammed the door as he went out. and the Phantom's face sobered the moment he was alone. His threat had not been altogether an idle oner for it had driven a wholesome misgiving into the doctor’s heart, yet the Phantom was painfully aware that he was in a desperate situation. Throwing himself on the cot, he turned the problem over and over in his mind. Black as the outlook seemed, he could scarcely believe that all was lost. He still had faith in his star, and it was this that had braced him and enabled him to speak with such confidence in Doctor Bimble's presence.

After a while something drew his gaze to the window. He listened intently. A faiDt scraping sound reached his ears, and it occurred to him that it had been going on for several minutes, though he had been too preoccupied to notice it until now. He got up and stepped as close to the window as the chain permitted. Now he heard it again—a slow, dull grinding and scraping that remotely suggested

that someone was attacking a metallic object with a blunt tool. He waited breathlessly. Evidently someone was trying to enter the room, and he wondered whether the intruder was coming as friend or foe. Perhaps the amazing luck that had so often turned a critical situation in his favour was once more coming back to him. A click sounded, then the boards in front of the window came apart, and the Phantom gasped as Thomas Granger jumped into the room. “You!” he exclaimed.

"Not so loud!” whispered the reporter. He was still wearing the Phantom's clothing, and the garments were wrinkled and streaked .with dirt. "The house is full of members of the Duke’s gang. Holy smoke, you’re certainly in a fix.”

He stared at the chain, then looked quickly about the room. “Don’t ask me how I found you. I had a devil of a time, and it’s a longer story than I’ve got time to tell. Lookouts are stationed in front and in rear, and it was only by' sheer luck and some quick fist work that I got through. How am I to get you out of here?”

The Phantom regarded him thoughtfully. “Didn’t you know that Dr. Brimble was the Duke’s chief representative?” he asked. “Never had the faintest idea.” "This room is in the rear of the house, I believe.” “Yes, but ” “You were lucky to locate my window as easily as you did.” “That wasn't luck. I tried several

before I found yours. Twice I bumped into the Duke's men. I hate to think what the bunch would do to me if they caught me.” He made a wry face. “But this isn’t getting you out of here. Well have to get a move on.”

Strangely enough, the Phantom seemed absolutely calm and in no hurry whatever. “I haven't been able to get my bearings,” he announced. “Where is this house?”

“Next door to Dr. Bimble's.” The Phantom started. “The one with boarded windows and doors?” “That’s the one. The front is boarded up, and from the street it looks like a vacant house. Nobody would suspect that it was the headquarters of the Duke’s gang. I suppose Bimble owns or controls both houses, and there is probably a connecting 'passage somewhere.” The Phantom knitted his brows. He had seen no such passage when he searched the Bimble residence. However, that proved nothing, for it might be so carefully concealed that a hasty search would not reveal it. The arrangement, he thought, was rather ingenious. No one who had seen the anthropologist’s home, where everything suggested artlessness and love of simple comforts, would have suspected that the occupant was uHng the adjacent house for the conduct of criminal enterprises.

“Miss Hardwick is somewhere in the building,” he remarked. "Her safety is the first consideration.” “Worse still. You and I might be able to. fight, our way through, but with a woman on our hands it’s al-

most certain death. It wouldn’t be so bad if there weren’t so many against us. I have only one gat. How about you?” “A watch, a handkerchief, a package of cigarettes and some matches are my sole possessions just now.” The reporter scowled. “The Duke’s men would be sure to pounce on us before we could- get her out of the house, and I don’t suppose Miss Hardwick is bullet-proof.” “What would you suggest?” Granger reflected. “Have you any friends in town?”

“As far as I know, Peng Yuen is the only one. There may be others, but I wouldn’t know where to find them.”

“Peng Yuen doesn't look much like a scrapper. We can’t appeal to the police, for they are after you just as hard as the Duke’s men are. I'd give half my life to be able to meet that bunch in a fair and even fight. Too bad you haven’t any friends handy. Say”—and Granger looked as though he had suddenly snatched an inspiration out of the air—“what about the place where you live? Haven’t you got some friends there?” The Phantom looked thoughtful. Rumour had it that he had taken a few carefully selected members of his former organisation with him tfl his place of retirement. His lips tw itched a little. “It would take some time to get them here,” he murmured, “and we must act in a hurry.” “But it's our only chance. We ll wire them to get. a fast car and burn up the roads. I'm rather struck on

the idea of organising an expedition and rushing to the rescue of a fair lady in distress. Write out your telegram, and I’ll sneak out and file it.”

The Phantom, chuckling as though he had caught the contagion of the other’s enthusiasm, made as if searching his pockets for pencil and paper. “AU right. I guess, after all, it is the only thing we can do. A pitched, battle in the heart of New York will be something of a novelty. Have you a pencil and a scrap of paper?” Granger stepped up to the tabic and handed out the desired articles. With the reporter standing at his elbow-, the Phantom placed j£e paper on the table, poised the pencil over it, and stood as if framing a message in his mind. Suddenly, with a motion as quick as that of a metallic spring, bis hand darted out and gripped Granger’s. Then, with another surprisingly swift movement, he jerked the reporter down on the cot and shoved a knee against his chest. “Tommie Granger,” he said in low, measured tones that throbbed with exultation, “I’ve been waiting a long time to lay my hands on the murderer of Gage and Mrs. Trippe." The reporter’s face went white. With lips gaping, he lay rigidly still, staring into the Phantom’s hard face. There was a look of great fear I in his eyes, and for several moments ; he seemed incapable of motion. Then he began to wriggle, twist and squirm, but his efforts were rendered futile by the knee on his chest and the firm : clutch in which his hands were held.