HANDS UNSEEN

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 887, 3 February 1930, Page 5

HANDS UNSEEN

A New Grey Phantom Detective Story

By

HERMAN LANDON

Copyright by Street and Smith Corp. Serialized by Ledger Syndicate

CHAPTER XXI. BEHIND THE BOLTED DOOR Culligore grunted suspiciously. “There are a lot of queer things that need clearing up. How that room you speak of dropped out of sight all of a sudden, for instance. I’ll bet a pair of pink socks that William, if he was here, could tell us several interesting things. He had a linncli from the start that he knew who killed Craig but was keeping his mouth shut for some reason. Didn't he strike you that way. Phantom?” “Well, he acted a bit suspiciously," said Vanardy, noncommitally, “but I doubt it he knows any more -.bout: the murder of Craig than I do.” “Maybe not,” agreed Culligore, with jußt the merest hint of a. double meaning. "You might as well come across with the truth, Phantom. I believe you when you say you had a tussle with William, but it didn’t come oif where you say it did, and it didn’t turn out quite the way you told me.” “What do you mean?” demanded Vanardy, sharply, feeling as if the lieutenant’s drawling spoken words had emitted an electric tensibn into the air. "You know what I mean, all right.” The automatic rose a little higher in his hand. “William was murdered about half an hour ago, and you have as good as admitted that you were the last man to see him alive. Easy, noyr; I’ve got you covered.” A little silence came, broken at length by Helen's laugh, incredulous and a little hysterical. “How absurd!” she exclaimed. Culligore did not answer, but he maintained a firm hold on his pistol and watched his quarry with gleeful intentness. The hall was so still that the intensified breathing of the three characters in the little drama could be heard distinctly. Vanardy had fallen back a step as the lieutenant spoke. This latest development in a long series of surprises had a r.umbing effect. A medley of jarring impressions flashed through his mind, and then an old and tingling sensation, the sensation of tire hunted facing the hunter, swept his mind free of the enveloping fog. “1 infer you intend to place me under arrest?” he remarked quietly. “Well. I intend to hold you here till Bowman comes. He is bossing this job. I telephoned him a while ago, and he ought to lie here any moment. I’ve caught you, and that satisfies me. I swore I would seme day, and I’m as good as my word.” "I suppose it is useless to tell you that you are making a mistake?” “Oh, I’m always willing to listen to reason. It'll take a lot of hard tacts to convince me, though. Don’t band me any more yarns like the one you sprung a while ago.” “It happened to be the truth.” Culligore shook his head. “It won’t go down, Phantom. You can’t show me the place where you tell me you had your tussle with William. There’s a good reason, for there’s no such

place in this house. William was murdered in one of the bathrooms on the second floor. The murder was done with a knife. I'd been prowling about the house a bit, and i heard a noise coming from that direction. That's how I happened to discover the murder. William was lying on the floor in his bathrobe, with hands and feet tied. I don’t think he had been dead more than a few minutes when I found him.”

“And from that you deduce that I murdered him?” “if you didn’t, you have a lot to explain, and your explanations so far haven’t been very satisfactory. If my hunch is right, William was murdered because some one thought he knew too much about the Craig job and was about ready to squeal. You admit yourself that you had the opportunity to kill him.” Vanardy saw the implication. The combination of motive and opportunity had sent many a man to the electric chair, and in the case of The Grey Phantom it would have a damaging effect, even though based on the flimsiest foundation. “And not only that,” Culligore went on, as if clinching the evidence, “but you were about to beat it away from here when I caught you in the vestibule.” Vanardy saw that for the present arguments were of no avail. Tie glanced at Helen, saw the strain of horror and stupefaction in her face, then turned again to Culligore. “I can’t explain things that J don’t understand,” he pointed out, “and just now I have no time to solve riddles. Miss Hardwick is in very great danger. She fell into the hands of the same scoundrels who kidnapped her father, and they will no doubt try to get her back into their clutches. Let me take her away from here, and I give you my word of honour that 111 be back here by noon.” Culligore shook his head. “It’s too thin, Phantom. Your word was alwavs good in the past, and 1 might he willing to take a chance on you if vou hadn't tried to string me a while ago. Mr. Stanhope will look out for Miss Hardwick, if she needs looking after.” , , Vanardy smiled bitterly. He could think of no one at Tuckaway Camp, with the possible exception of Culligore, to whom he was willing to entrust Helen's safety, and he trusted the lawyer least of all. Even Harry Bell, despite his eccentricities and cynicism, would have been preferable. He was about to reply, but just then Helen touched his arm. “i stay here with you,” she announced simply. Culligore gazed at her in frank admiration for a moment, then his face fell back into its habitual impassivity. “That seems to settle it,” he observed. "You refuse?” Vanardy asked him. “Got to,” said Culligore brusquely, as if to cover up momentary weakness. “You’re too slippery to take chances with.”

| Vanardy gave a shrug and a nod, j each of which might have indicated ! submission to the inevitable. “Sorry,” | he murmured, and then, as if cata- | pulted forward by an invisible force, he hurled himself on the lieutenant. Helen uttered a dazed cry as she saw him leap straight at the levelled pistol. She pressed her clasped hands against her breast, trembling with the terrifying suspense of the moment, and then she saw one man go clown while another snatched her into his arms and ran. A hoarse shout sounded in the rear. She closed her eyes and surrendered herself to an ecstasy of shivers and thrills as she was carried swiftly down the corridor. The arms that held her were very strong, and they seemed to transmit a sense of security to her quivering nerves. A hubub sounded behind them. Doors were slamming and there was loud shouting. Opening her eyes and glancing back, she saw a number of scurrying forms through a blur. She gave a hysterical laugh. “It was splendid. Phantom Man!” she murmured. “Splendid!” Vanardy, with his burden in his arms, brought up against the outer door, secured with a heavy chain. A swift glance over his shoulder revealed Culligore hurrying toward him, suddenly transformed into a bundle of fierce mental and physical energy. There was not time to undo the chain and open the door, and each second w*as priceless. To the side was the majestic sweep of the staircase, offering the only avenue of escape from immediate capture. In a moment he was racing upward, shielding his burden as well as ho could from a possible bullet from the pursuers. She clung to him with a warm, tender tenacity that was like the confiding abandon ol’ a child. “Stop, or I shoot!” bellowed a voice in the rear. He hurried up the remaining steps, swinging her directly in front of him so as to protect; her with his body. A bullet, aimed low and evidently with a design to cripple rather than kill, stung the stairway post as he reached the upper landing. A single thought went singing through his brain as he turned toward a door, but a form loomed suddenly in the dusk, evidently that of a servant aroused by the shouting, forcing him to make a quick turn. Again the broad sweep of the stairs, dimly illuminated by a hall light, offered him his only chance of temporary safety. There was no time to plan his movements in advance. Later he might find a way of escape over the roof, and perhaps down the side of the house. The only thing that mattered now was to gain a few moments' time. TJp the stairs he fled, his pulses beating fiercely from exertion, and the sheer ecstaoy of flight. Again he turned blindly toward a door, hut it was locked. He tried, another, but it refused to open, and already an approaching din warned him that the pursuers would soon be at his heels. Luckily there were no lights up here, and the danger of being struck by a bullet was correspondingly less. Again he turned toward the stairs, but a scurrying form intervened. Something clutched at his legs, but he shook it off with a vigorous kick. Escape in the direction of the remaining flight of stairs was cut off, so he turned again into the hall, dashing down its length until he came to a door. The nearest of the pursuers was only a few feet behind, and the door was his only chance of evading immediate capture. It opened readily, and in a moment he was inside, slamming it shut in the face of the leader of the pursuit. With an exclamation of relief he let Helen slide from his arms, then quickly shot the bolt. But his relief, he well knew, was only temporary. Unless there should be a second door, or a window offering easy access to the roof or to the ground, his capture was only a question of moments. Already there was a tumultuous pounding on the door, warning him that an attempt to force it would be made before long. Helen was trembling violently,

though he knew it was from excitement rather than fear, and for a little he stood beside her, steadying her. “Won’t they break in the door?” she asked as they listened to the din outside. “We’ll be away from here before they do,” he assured her, voicing a hope he was far from feeling. “Wait here a moment.” He groped along the wall, fumbling for an electric switch in the hope that the light might reveal a convenient exit. He found a knob, pressed it, and then, as the light flared up, a gasp of astonishment escaped him. A little dazed, he ran his eyes over a familiar scene. The door he had entered at random while seeking a way of escape in the dark had led him into the blue room, the chamber of Craig’s death. “Open, or we smash the door!” bellowed a voice on the outside. Helen, smiling bravely, looked into his troubled eyes, as if seeking an explanation of the startled look that had leaped into his face the moment he recognised the surroundings. Without a word he hurried across the floor, parted the shutters, raised the window, and looked down upon a sheer expanse of wall. It was at least 30 feet to the ground, a dizzying plunge. With Helen in mind, Vanardy could not contemplate it without a shudder. She stepped over to him, laid a hand on his shoulder, and pointed to where the horizon was streaked with grey, luminous wisps, heralding the appi-oach of dawn. “Look, Phantom Man!” she murmured. “There are your colours in the sky. Oh, those beautiful streaks of grey creeping up out of the blackness! It’s a good sign.” Vanardy smiled, but a fresh onslaught on the door made him turn. Absently, while cudgeling his wits for a safe way of escape, he Closed the window and the shutters. Alone, he might have attempted the hazardous drop from the window, but with Helen it was impossible. Neither could he leave her behind, although she had nothing to fear from Culligore, for the blackguardly ruffians represented by Whipple were probably at this very moment hatching new plots against her safety. Doubtless they were by this time desperate enough for any infamy. A violent crash sounded at the door. Evidently the men outside were ramming a heavy object against the panels. Any moment the door might collapse. Despairingly Vanardy looked about the room, his eyes coming to rest on the fireplace, with its accumulation of dead ashes in the grate and the huge stone slab in front. There seemed to be no way of escape anywhere, only solid walls that mocked him with their impregnability. For once, it seemed, the Grey Phantom was hopelessly at bay. The din outside the door, growing in violence every moment, appeared to be sounding the dirge of his final defeat. Suddenly his head went up. A new thought came with startling vividness. The murderer of Craig had found a way out of this very room. He had made his exit without using either the door or the window, for both had been securely locked when the servants broke in. It stood to reason there must be an exit of some sort, so Ingeniously hidden that the most careful search had failed to reveal it. A new, faint hope sang a grimly exultant tune within him. The uproar at the door was a challenge to the Grey Phantom’s wits. The trust and faith shining in Helen’s brown eyes were another. If an exit was to be found, the Grej’ Phantom would find it. A new crash and a splintering sound drew his eyes again to the door. A few more powerful thrusts and the heavy panels would collapse. His glance slanted downward, in the direction of the narrow rift at the still which he had pointed out to Bell. It seemed incongruous, but the shadowy suspicion that had dawned

in his mind when he found it kept tantalising his imagination. THE MIRACULOUS ESCAPE! Another thunderous crash came, warning him that the crisis was at hand. Bowman must have arrived, and probably he had brought several officers along, for it sounded as if a dozen men were participating in the commotion. Doubtless they all felt certain that there was no escape for the Grey Phantom this time. Vanardy, absently jingling a few coins in his pocket, felt anew the challenge to his resourcefulness. Helen came forward, her eyes bright and tender. “I want you to know,” she whispered, “that, whatever happens, I have faith in you.” He smiled, and then a vaguely puzzled look came into his face. Of a sudden he became aware that the coins in his pocket were producing a discordant sound. It was a trivial thing in ccmparison with the terrific tension of the moment, but he was in the state of mind where minor details are magnified. A moment longer he listened to the one false note in the clinking of the coins as he rattled them in his pocket, and then he drew out a small handful of silver. Among the rest was the little Chinese brass coin. He stared down at it with a dull, wondering expression, vaguely conscious of Helen’s jiuzzled look, and then a white, dazzling light of comprehension seemed to leap up before his eyes. A loud, splintering roar sounded at the door. Helen crep closer to him, her hand ■ nestling within his arm. For an instant both stared at the door, momentarily expecting it to crash in. Then, with unwonted brusqueness, he disengaged his arm. He dropped the coins back into his pocket all by the Chinese brass piece. “We’ll win yet!” he exclaimed, springing forward with a light and eager step. “I just knew it!” cried Helen. “The Grey Phantom always wins!” CHAPTEL XXII. WHEN THE DOOR GAVE At length, with a hard, splitting crack, the heavy oak panel collapsed and fell inward. Bowman, stout and red-tisaged, mopped his perspiring face and, reaching a hand through the opening, slipped back the bolt and turned the key in the lock. At a twist oh the knob the door flew open The constable and Culligore entered simultaneously. Behind them followed two village officers, a couple of half-dressed and hysterical servants, and finally Harry Bell and the lawyer. The latter two had merely looked on while the door was being besieged. Culligore came forward with a briskness oddly out of keeping with his habitual dragging gait. He swept the room with a single glance, then came to a dead stop. With equal 1 , abruptness Bowman halted in his tracks, and stood gaping and popeyed. “He’s—gone!” said Culligore in a dazed tone. “Gone!" echoed Bowman in a small, throaty voice that contrasted ludicrously with his sturdy build. For several moments the two stared at I each other, then Bowman pulled him- ’ self together and bawled an order to ' his subordinates to guard the door. I “Betcha we’ll get him yet,” he i stoutly declared. “The ’scalawag i can't have got out of the room. Look! j Them shutters are locked, an’ we know he didn’t get out through the door. Old Nick himself can’t get out of a place that there's no way out of.”

You’re flattering Old Nick when you compare him with The Grey Phantom,” remarked Bell, edging forward. Ignoring him, Bowman went hustling about the room, looking under the bed and searching the dressing cabinet and the clothes press, Culligore assisted, but only in a halfhearted Way, as if realising that it was wasted effort. “Looks as though he’s given us the slip,” he muttered when every conceivable portion of the room had been searched. Bowman scratched his battling jaw and scowled heavily. “What did you expect?” drawled Bell, calmly lighting a cigarette. “Don’t you know that getting out of tight corners is the Grey Phantom’s favourite diversion?” “Well, it was a regular Phantom getaway, all right.” “Did you tell me that there was a young lady with him?” inquired Stanhope, looking somewhat ill at ease in his incomplete attire. “Miss Hardwick. Where she came from Heaven only knows. I caught them in the vestibule as they were about to slip out. Say you,” addressing one of the servants who stood shivering in the doorway, “run out to the garage and see if any of the cars are missing. The servant withdrew. Bowman looked suspiciously into the dim corners of the room, as if not yet ready to acecpt the staggering fact that the Phantom had escaped. Stanhope demonstrated his passion for regularity by adjusting the fender, which hail been jarred a few inches out of its place before the grate. Bell made himself comfortable in one of the two armchairs in the room. “Has it occurred to you,” remarked the lawyer, “that In making this extraordinary exit, the Phantom only duplicated the escape of Craig’s murderer? You brilliant detectives have not 3'et figured out how the murderer left the room—or how he entered, for that matter. Doubtless the Phantom followed the same method of departure as was used by the murderer.” Bell gave him an amused glance. "That makes everything perfectly clear, doesn’t it? Just show us how it was done, and the mystery will be cleared up.” Culligore’s eyes were fixed on Stanhope in a meditative way. “You almost hit the nail on the head that time, Mr. Stanhope. I agree with you tliat the Phantom probably got out in the same way as the murderer did. What puzzles me is this: Half a dozen people have searched this room , for a hidden exit, including myself. We | didn't find even so much as a mouse ! hole. The Phantom wasn’t in here | more than ten or fifteen minutes be- ] fore he found a way out. How do you j explain it?” . I With a shrewd look in his eyes he I searched the faces in the room. ' “That’s easy,” said Bell. “The Phantom happens to be just a little bit cleverer than the rest of us, including me and you.” (To be continued Tomorrow.)