HANDS UNSEEN

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 893, 10 February 1930, Page 5

HANDS UNSEEN

A New Grey Phantom Detective Story

By

HERMAN LANDON

Copyright by Street ana Smith Corp. Serialized by Ledger Syndicate

CHAPTER XXVII. (continued) Vanardy ignored him. With a calm and unhurried gait he proceeded to the wall. He made a movement with his hand, and an opening appeared in front of him, admitting a violent puff of wind and rain. His hand v.’ent quickly to his pocket; a bit of steel gleamed for an instant in the dusk where he stood, and then a sharp crack tore through the din of the elements. With a casual air he closed the opening, and sauntered over to where Culligore stood. “Beastly weather outside,” he remarked. “The roads will be all mud.” “Don’t worry about that,” said Hollister mockingly. “The road you are about to travel i 3 perfectly dry. By the way, what did you hope to accomplish by that pistol shot? I know there are other people in the house,

but they can’t help you. If you hoped that the report would be heard in the village a night like this, you are mistaken.” Vanardy merely smiled, and gave Culligore a reassuring glance. Then he looked serenely at the roughlooking assemly in the rear, singling out Whipple’s repulsive face for sustained attention. A moment passed, and then the door through which he had fired the pistol shot crashed open. A shout of consternation escaped Hollister as a number of lithe, swiftfooted figures dashed into the room, and, at a sign from Vanardy, hurled themselves upon the group of huskies at the farther side. The abrupt attack was irrestible. For a few minutes the scene was a blur of darting forms and frantically beating arms, interspersed with loud

shouting and pistol shots. Now and then a thud sounded as one of Hollister’s gangsters went to the floor. When it was over, five men lay securely manacled on the floor, while the sixth, Whipple, was squirming beneath the weight of an immensely fat man who had straggled in behind the others and was now energetically pounding his face with a pair of huge fists. “That will do, Wade,” said Vanardy quietly. “You insisted on having a part in this affair, but don’t go too far.” For good measure the fat man administered a few more blows to Whipple’s torn and swollen features, then left his unconscious victim and struggled heavily to his feet. “He had it coming to him, boss,” said Wade with conviction. “Say, why don’t you let us in for some real excitement? This was as tame as an old men’s picnic. I thought I’d have a chance to work off some of this fat.” Vanardy ■ slapped his huge shoulder and turned to Hollister, who was watchfully guarded by Culligore. The prisoner’s face had turned a greyish pallor, but a hideous smile lurked in the corners of his lips. “It seems the Grey Phantom always wins,” he muttered. “So it does, Hollister. I neglected to mention that I brought a number of friends out with me from New York this evening. All they needed to jump into the fight was a signal, and the pistol shot provided that. They have found life rather tame lately, and they needed at. bit of excitement.” “Excitement?” echoed the fat man disgustedly. “Call this excitement, boss?” Vanardy laughed and turned toward the door, which was still open. Propelled by a puff of Wind, Stanhope and Harry Bell came lurching forward with startled faces. Hearing the commotion they had run out on the porch and found the door leading to Parson Jim’s former retreat. They stared in wide-eyed astonishment at the scene.

Vanardy finished for him. “No wonder you went around looking as if you had a load of crimes on your conscience. Just forget it.” He pressed the lawyer’s cold hand. “Most of us have done things in the past that we would like to forget.” He turned away and came up to Culligore. “It was a good night’s work,” he remarked. “You have caught the murderer of Craig and William and rounded up Hollister’s gang. Not bad for a man taking a vacation. You ought to feel proud.” “I?” Culligore gaped for an instant; then grinned shamefacedly. “Say, this vacation of mine has been nothing hut a round of blunders. I’ll bet a pair of pink socks, though, that I don’t make the same blunders twice. What’s eating you, Bell?” and he turned to the private detective who stood regarding him with, a broad, impudent grin. “Why, nothing,” said Bell. “I was just thinking how funny you looked. Little old Harry Bell Is cleared, and that’s all that matters. He can go and sin some more.” THE GREY ORCHID A day of sunshine and balmy breezes followed a night of blackness and storm. There was a vagrant touch of spring in the air. In the street outside the Hardwick residence a man with a swarthy face was operating a wheezy hurdy-gurdy. Helen stood at the window with head held low, her soft brown hair full of captive sun glints. “Oh, Phantom Man,” she murmured, “I’m so glad!” Gently he raised her head and looked into her eyes. They were full of tenderness, but in their depths lurked a faint -shadow of fear. Often, when he gazed into her orbs, as at present, be had seen that little shadow there, dimming the brightness of her eyes. “But you are still afraid of me,” he remarked a little sadly. "No, not of you/’ she denied emphatically. “I trust you, hut —’’ She paused as if uncertain how to phrase her thoughts. “I understand- You are afraid of the big black clouds that are climbing up now and then on the horizon of my life.” He laughed gently, as if the metaphor struck him as too fanciful. “I don’t wonder at it, dear. Big black clouds sometimes mean that a deluge is coming. One threatened only a few weeks ago.” A whimsical smile tinged his lips. “I tremble yet when I think what might have happened. It was only a faint telepathic message from you that held me back.” Her lips parted in a smile; there was a gleam of pride in her eyes. “Do I really have such a wonderful influence over the Grey Phantom? I can hardly believe it.” “But it’s true.”

“Howling graveyards!” muttered Bell. “What’s happened now?” Vanardy explained in a few words, then turned to the lawyer, who stood white and trembling near the opening. “Ever see this man before?” he asked in an undertone, indicating Hollister.

“I —I think not,” stammered the lawyer after a few moments of uneasy inspection. “Perhaps you would recognise him if you were closer to him. He has changed a lot since you knew him as Parson Jim.” Stanhope startled violently. A trembling groan rose from his chest. Vanardy studied his face intently. “You were Jack Frey in those days, Stanhope,” he said quietly. "The tattoo mark above your wrist told me. But don’t be alarmed; your secret is safe with me. I can guess what happened. Craig left you for dead. He thought he had stabbed you through the heart.” Another trembling moan escaped the lawyer. “But your heart is on the right side, I believe,” Vanardy went on in a very low voice. “You are one of those very rare individuals whose hearts are misplaced. I believe the average is something like one in two or three million. I noticed when we were in the library that you touched your right side while complaining of a weak heart. Bell noticed it, too, but didn’t guess the reason. Brace up, man! You are perfectly safe.” The lawyer gave him a grateful look. “I’ve been dreading exposure all these years,” he mumbled brokenly. “You seel Craig and I, while partners back in the old days, did several things that were not strictly—ahem—legitimate. I can’t explain it all now, but as soon as I recovered my strength after Craig had left me for dead, I saw my opportunity to go away and begin life ail over again. When this dreadful business came up—the murder of Craig. I mean —I feared the past would be raked up and that I " “Would be exposed as Jack Frey,”

“Anyway,” she murmured thoughtfully, “it was all on account of me. You were tempted so severely only because I was concerned. I can’t forgec that. And I can’t forget what you have told me from time to time about your early days—how you never knew father or mother, how you fell in with street gangsters, bow you were the hero of all sorts of wild escapades, until finally—but that belongs in the past. And that’s where the big black clouds belong, too. Dad thinks you are wonderful, Phantom Man, even if he can’t exactly approve. He told me how you found him early this morning in the house of that dreadful Hollister, and he says he owes his life to you. How could I fail to have faith in you after that?” He looked out the window into the street that glimmered pleasantly in the sunshine.

“And perhaps,” she added wistfully, “the cloud will roll away some day.” His face sobered a little. “Perhaps,” he said dreamily. “But until it does, I must still do penance among my gardens out at Sea Glimpse. I must hurry back and see how the little grey orchid is getting along. Some day, you know, you are to wear it next to your heart.” “Some day—soon. Phantom Man!”

He stroked her luminous hair. “I hope so. And ] hope that, when I come back to you next time, I can look into your eyes and see no little shadow there.”

She threw back her head and smiled brightly. “Look close,” she told him. “Isn't it gone already?” His grey eyes looked intently into her soft brown ones. “Almost,” be said. The End.