The GRAY
PHANTOM
by HERMAN LANDON


aSITY ON
WIVERS

ПаНУ
VND THE
CHIGAN
''LIBRI
GAN.Sa
ARIES





The
GRAY PHANTOM





UNIU
828
2258gr
COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY
W. J. WATT & COMPANY
PREBS OF
BRAUNWORTH &00.
ROOK MANUFACTURERS
DROOKLY, N. Y.


GRAD
CIFT
8-09-01
TO
H. B.,
THE OTHER HELEN





CONTENTS
PAGE
.
1
CHAPTER I
A TRAGIC INTERLUDE . . . . . .
CHAPTER II
“MR. SHEI” . . . . . . . .
.
15
CHAPTER III
HELEN EQUIVOCATES .
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
34
RECREST
55*
CHAPTER IV
AZURECREST · · · · · · · · · ·
CHAPTER V
PERPLEXITIES . . . . . . . . . .
CHAPTER VI
THE PHANTOM ORCHID . . . . . . .
PLEXITIES
78
CHAPTER VII
MR. SHEI Shows His HAND . .
.
.
.
93
CHAPTER VIII
THE VOICE ON THE WIRE .
.
.
.
.
.
III
vii


viii
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER IX
THE HOUSE OF LAUGHTER
.
.
.
.
.
.
119
CHAPTER X
A SHOT
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
129
CHAPTER XI
VESDROPPER
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
142
CHAPTER XII
MR. SHEI STRIKES . . . . .
.
.
.
152
CHAPTER XIII
A MESSAGE FROM MR. SHEI . .
.
.
.
163
CHAPTER XIV
THE ELUSIVE MR. SHEI . . .
.
.
.
.
CTOR 1 TAGALA
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
187
CHAPTER XV
Doctor TAGALA
CHAPTER XVI
CHECKMATED . . . . . . .
.
.
.
200
CHAPTER XVII
Doctor TAGALA'S DISCOVERY
.
.
.
.
.
210
CHAPTER XVIII
THE FIGURE ON THE STAIRS .
i
228


CONTENTS
ix
PAGE
CHAPTER XIX
A FUTILE SEARCH
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
239
CHAPTER XX
TRAPPED
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
. 251
CHAPTER XXI
MR. SHEI's STRATAGEM
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
269
CHAPTER XXII
THE PHANTOM'S RUSE
. . . .
.
.
.
281
CHAPTER XXIII
THE END OF THE GRAY PHANTOM .
.
.
.
291





The
GRAY PHANTOM





THE GRAY PHANTOM
CHAPTER I
A TRAGIC INTERLUDE
OURS afterward, when the tragic spell had
broken and scraps and odds of the affair
began to throng the memories of those
present at the opening performance of “His Soul's
· Master," several persons remembered that a curious
hush had preceded the fateful moment.
No one could tell why, but of a sudden all sounds
· had ceased. Subdued whispers, the creaking of seats,
and the froufrou of garments had stopped as abruptly
as if a silencing signal had gone through the little audi-
torium. The spectators had sat motionless, momen-
tarily holding their breath, and even the voices of the
actors had faltered for an appreciable second or two.
The stillness had been charged with an uneasy tension,
and it seemed as though a telepathic whisper of warn-
ing had been communicated to the gathering.
Vivian Tennant, as frivolous as she was delicately


THE GRAY PHANTOM
molded, declared the following day that the silence
during those few moments had been so intense that she
was positive she had heard a pin drop from the coiffure
of the woman on her left. Alex Hammond, forty and
cynical, would have ascribed the spell to a touch of
necromancy had he been a believer in such childish
things. Mrs. Hungerford Cather, a frail little widow
with a melancholy disposition, said she felt just as
though she were at a séance and a ghost was expected
to appear any moment. The others described their
impressions with varying degrees of vividness, but all
of them agreed in having felt the creeping approach of
a silent and invisible horror.
Only Helen Hardwick, whose fresh young charm
and frank brown eyes made her seem strangely out
of place in that motley gathering of rouged lips,
sophisticated banter and gowns suggestive of the
Parisian boulevards, was singularly uncommunicative
in regard to what she had experienced during the wierd
interlude when the Thelma Theater became the scene
of one of life's grimly realistic tragedies. And her
silence was all the more remarkable because she had
seen, heard and felt more than any of the others.
The Thelma, with its walls of common red brick
and severely plain architecture, might have suggested
anything but the setting of a dark and mysterious
crime. Outwardly the building, located in a section of
New York largely given over to tenements, unsoaped


A TRAGIC INTERLUDE
children and garlicky odors, presented an air of solidity
and matter-of-factness that left the imagination un-
touched and gave no hint of the interior. The inside
was as colorful and fanciful as the outside was un-
lovely and prosaic, and it was rumored that Vincent
Starr, the eccentric owner, had spent a fortune on the
decorations.
Like many another rich man, Starr had his hobby.
The newspapers and the critics had scoffed and railed
when he opened the Thelma and dedicated it to the
uplift of dramatic art. He held the Broadway produc-
tions in lofty contempt, declaring that they catered only
to the vulgar tastes of the rabble. Admission to the
Thelma was by invitation only, and the auditorium
seated exactly ninety-nine persons, for it was Starr's
firm opinion that out of the city's five million only an
infinitesimal few were able to appreciate true histrionic
art. Members of the daily press were never admitted,
and the only critics present at the performances were
the representatives of two or three obscure journals
who shared Starr's esthetic views.
The owner and director of the Thelma was preju-
diced against music at theatrical performances, and
where the orchestra pit should have been was an
exquisite statue in marble representing Aphrodite
springing out of a foaming sea. Along the walls were
friezes picturing the nine muses, the work of a famous
mural painter, and the domed ceiling showed colorful


THE GRAY PHANTOM
glimpses of Dionysian festivals. Scattered throughout
the auditorium and in niches in the walls were superb
vases containing flowers whose fragrance filled the
air.
The effect of the whole was sumptuous rather than
harmonious, and it was characteristic of Vincent
Starr's freakish tastes and clashing impulses. And
among the audience at the première of “His Soul's
Master” there was not one but thought that the brilliant
and fanciful setting lent a touch of incongruity to the
tragic byplay enacted off stage.
The moment she stepped into the box reserved for
her father and herself, Helen Hardwick felt she was in
a strange and somewhat oppressive atmosphere. The
faces in the audience were un familiar, and everybody
stared at her in a way she could not understand until
she suddenly remembered that among these people she
was something of a celebrity. Vincent Starr, who
sneered at the biggest dramatic successes of the year,
had not only accepted her play for production at the
Thelma, but was himself playing the principal rôle,
and he was indulging in much self-flattery over having
discovered a budding genius in the author of "His
Soul's Master.” That explained the curious glances
turned in her direction.
It was both amusing and bewildering, she thought.
Nothing but a whim had caused her to enter her play
in the prize contest conducted by Starr to obtain suit-


A TRAGIC INTERLUDE
.
6
able material for his theater, and its acceptance had
been the greatest surprise of her twenty-three years.
Her only other serious attempt had been a sketch pro-
duced by a dramatic society at Barnard in her junior
year. "His Soul's Master" had been a slightly more
ambitious effort, and it had been inspired by vague
emotions which she herself could hardly understand,
but for all that it was a simple, artless thing with a
theme as old as the story of the Garden of Eden. It
was nothing more than an allegorical fantasy depicting
the forces of evil and good struggling for possession
of a man's soul. How a play of that kind could have
appealed to an eccentric and highly sophisticated genius
like Vincent Starr was beyond her.
But the curtain had been up only a few minutes
when she began to understand. In the part of Marius,
the mortal for whose soul the spirits of light and dark-
ness were contending, Starr had found a rôle that
matched his temperament to perfection. The opening
monologue, in which Marius revealed himself as tiring
of a life of refined villainy and roguish adventures, had
not proceeded far before she saw that the rôle had so
gripped and stirred him that he was living the part
rather than acting it. The lines throbbed and sparkled
with life and passion, and Starr was completely sub-
merging his own emotions in those of the hero.
It did not take Helen long to see that it was the
character of Marius, rather than the flimsy fancy


THE GRAY PHANTOM
nu-
woven around it, that had caused Starr to accept her
play. She had heard he was vain and egotistical, and
no doubt he reveled in the opportunity for self-exalta-
tion that the rôle afforded him. As the play went on
from scene to scene, another impression began to take
root in her mind. Here and there in the lines she
noted an odd cynical twist or a bit of ambiguous
phrasing that she was sure had not been in the manu-
script. The tempting voices and gestures of the spirits
of darkness were more appealing than she had in-
tended, and the exhortations of the spirit of light were
correspondingly feebler. She thought she understood
why Starr had found excuses for not admitting her to
any of the rehearsals.
She was inclined to resent the liberties he had taken
with her lines, but again she was carried away by his
impassioned rendition of Marius. The very lifeblood
of the character seemed to pulse in Starr's veins.
Marius had seemed very real to her while she was
writing the play, but not so real by far as she now saw
him on the stage of the Thelma Theater. She leaned
forward and watched him with growing interest and
wonder. It was as if a being that had existed only in
her thoughts and in her heart had suddenly material-
ized in flesh and blood.
It was weird. Now and then there came a touch of
subtlety, an odd turn of speech, or a telling gesture that
she instantly recognized, although she knew it was


A TRAGIC INTERLUDE
interpolated by the actor. She had heard and seen
them all in imagination, but not clearly enough to
reproduce them on paper. The gestures impressed her
most. She knew and recognized them all, from the
slightest to the most elaborate, although she had visual-
ized only a few of them clearly enough to be able to put
them into the play. It seemed as though the actor, in
expanding and vivifying his rôle, had made use of
material that had existed only in the playwright's
mind.
Impulsively she reached out her hand and placed it
over her father's. Mr. Hardwick, curator of the Cos-
mopolitan Museum and an authority on Assyrian
relics, started as if his mind had been roving among
prehistoric scenes.
“Why, child, your hand is cold !” he whispered
anxiously. “Aren't you well?”
“Yes, dad. I'm all right.” Her large brown eyes
avoided his searching gaze. "How do you like my
play?”
She scarcely heard his answer. For a moment she
had turned her eyes from the stage and let them
wander over the dimly lighted auditorium, and of a
sudden a face in the last row of seats held her glance.
It was a striking face, though Helen would not have
called it beautiful. Somehow the curve of the
haughtily tilted chin repelled her. The features were
perfect in a cold, unalluring way, and the faint curl


THE GRAY PHANTOM
of the lips and the designing look in the eyes made
her think of a Velasquez portrait. The woman sat
alone, the seats to right and left of her being unoccu-
pied, and the heavily shaded electric light on the wall
at her side drew a thousand flashing tints from the
jewel in her hair.
It was not the face that held Helen Hardwick, but
rather the fixed, shrewdly scrutinizing look with which
the woman was regarding Vincent Starr. She fol-
lowed his every motion and gesture with the sly per-
sistence of a cat watching a mouse. Now and then
she bent forward, and her lips twitched in a knowing
way, as if she were thinking of something that pleased
and amused her even while it startled her a little.
Helen, studying her with a puzzled look, found her-
self wondering whether it was the man or the actor
that interested the woman so profoundly.
With an effort—for the woman in the rear of the
house had already begun to pique her imagination-
she once more turned her eyes to the stage. Again
she marveled and wondered. She had an odd feeling
that something was going on before her eyes which
her reason told her could not be quite real. Starr's
perfect mastery of the rôle seemed almost super-
natural. The slight, quick motions of the hands, the
occasional backward toss of the head, the odd habit
of gazing down at the finger tips when in deep thought,


A TRAGIC INTERLUDE
the set and swing of the shoulders, the minor but char-
acteristic peculiarities of speech and gesture-all be-
longed to the Marius she had seen and known, and
Starr's re-creation of him struck her as uncanny.
Of a sudden she felt a little dazed. She shot a
quick glance over the auditorium. No one but her-
self and the woman in the rear seemed to have noticed
anything unusual. Again her eyes went back to the
stage; and then, as if a hazy idea in the back of her
mind had all at once leaped into dazzling clarity, she
bent abruptly toward her father.
“Dad-look!" she whispered tensely, tugging at
his sleeve. “Don't you see? It's "
She stopped, shrugged a little, and her hand
dropped limply to her knee. The fall of the curtain
and the flare-up of the lights seemed to have blotted
out an illusion. Mr. Hardwick, gray and lean and
looking rather uncomfortable in his full-dress suit,
adjusted his glasses on his thin nose, and looked at her
gravely.
"My goodness, child! What is the matter ?” he
murmured.
“Nothing, dad. I forgot that—that you wouldn't
understand.” She drew the palm of her hand across
her forehead. “Isn't the air stifling?”.
"Too much excitement for you, I am afraid." He
smiled as if his practical sense had found a satisfactory


10
THE GRAY PHANTOM
IS
answer. “Your mother was just like that. Whenever
she got a bit wrought up, she always said things that
I couldn't understand. Now- "
The hangings parted and Vincent Starr stepped
inside the box. Helen gave him a swiftly appraising
glance. His face was flushed and he looked tired, as if
his last ounce of energy had been spent in the emo-
tional tempest of Marius, but a swift look of animation
brightened his face as she introduced her father. The
first thing one usually noticed about Vincent Starr was
his pale, placid eyes. They seemed to give the lie to
his magnetic smile, his vivacious manners, and his deep
and perfectly modulated voice. As once or twice
before in his presence, Helen felt fascinated and re-
pelled. .
“You are doing my daughter a great honor," mur-
mured Mr. Hardwick.
“Not at all.” Starr laughed softly, but Helen
thought she detected a slight discord that might have
been due to either nervousness or fatigue. “Miss
Hardwick has placed me under a very great obligation.
Her play is splendid. The last act is particularly
strong, as you will see in a few minutes. You must
give me your opinion of_ "
Helen heard no more. She had glanced toward the
rear of the house just in time to see a mysterious smile
on the face of the woman seated in the last row. In
vain Helen tried to read and interpret it. Presently
rea


A TRAGIC INTERLUDE
11
the woman took a pencil from her bag and began to
write on a page torn from her programme. Finally
she summoned an usher, handed him what she had
written, and nodded in the direction where Helen was
sitting. The attendant glided away, and a few moments
later he stood bowing before Starr.
“A lady sent you this, sir,” he announced.
Starr murmured an apology to Helen and her father
and unfolded the note. His face, dark and almost
effeminately smooth-the face of a dreamer rather
than a man of action—showed a look of boredom hint-
ing that he was weary of receiving notes from feminine
admirers. Then, as he glanced at the writing, his ex-
pression suddenly changed. A look of fear crossed his
face, but it vanished so quickly that Helen could not be
sure she had read its meaning correctly. He crumpled
the note in his hand and glanced at his watch.
"It's almost time for the curtain,” he murmured,
quite himself once more. “I hope to see both of you
later."
With that he was gone. Helen stole a glance at
the woman in the rear. Her face bore an expression of
amusement and sly triumph, but it afforded no clew
to what the note had contained. Then the lights faded
out and the curtain rose upon the final act. The scene
depended for its full effect on almost total darkness,
and the only illumination in the house was a smolder-
ing camp fire in one corner of the stage and the small


12
THE GRAY PHANTOM
red lights over the exits. Marius stood in the center,
almost totally wrapped in shadows, and in the distance
were heard the strains of strange, wild singing. The
spirits of evil were creeping out of the darkness to
make their last sorcerous appeal.
Helen felt herself tingling with suspense. She did
not know why, unless it was due to the look of fear
she had seen in Starr's face as he read the note. She
glanced toward the rear, but the auditorium was now
so dark that she could no longer see the mysterious
woman, although she imagined her hair ornament was
gleaming dully in the gloom.
Of a sudden she opened her eyes wide, straining her
pupils against the darkness. She could not be quite
sure, but she thought a shadow had emerged from one
of the exits and was gliding silently toward the woman
in the rear. She sat very still while little shivers ran
up and down her back, and she was vaguely wondering
at an odd change in Starr's voice. It drooped, grew
hoarse and uncertain, and there were pauses between
the words. She felt he was trying to conquer a sense
of unreasoning dread. A feeling of dizziness seized
her, but her imagination formed a picture of a dark
shape stealing softly, silently toward where the
woman sat.
Acting on an irresistible impulse, she rose and hur-
ried from the box, deaf to her father's mild remon-
strance. Without volition on her part, her feet seemed


A TRAGIC INTERLUDE
13
to carry her swiftly up the heavily carpeted aisle. She
heard a jumble of noises in her head and felt a tighten-
ing at the throat. She rounded the last tier of seats
and rushed forward, guided only by a feeble red gleam
over one of the exits. A dim shape, a shade darker
than the surrounding dusk, was moving a few feet
ahead of her.
All at once, as if the hesitancy in Starr's voice had
cast a deadening spell over the actors and the audience,
an uneasy silence fell upon the house. Helen sensed
it as she sped along in the wake of the creeping
shadow. A few steps more, and she could make out
the woman's figure, vaguely outlined against the gloom,
and just behind it stood the shadowy shape whose
furtive movements Helen had followed since she left
the box.
The happenings of the next few moments were like
a swift, horrible dream. Suddenly she felt limp and
cold. Within reach of her arm a hand moved, and the
motion seemed to strike a hideous note through the
surrounding stillness. A cry rose and died in her
throat. She staggered back against a post and stood
there motionless while a dark shape brushed past her.
She recoiled as a hand touched hers in passing, and she
caught a fleeting but unforgettable glimpse of a face.
It was gone in a moment, but the swarthy features,
framed by coarse black hair that reached to the shoul-
ders, the fat, short nose, the thick and jutting lower


CHAPTER II
“MR. SHEI”
NOR a moment longer she leaned against the
K pillar. Then she heard laughter-laughter that
was low and sibilant and edged with the insinu-
ating twang that sometimes characterizes the laughter
of a madman. It was soft and gentle, yet she thought
it was the most fearful sound she had ever heard. It
gripped and shook her, and she knew instinctively that
it came from the woman in the rear.
Something urged her forward, but her nerves and
limbs rebelled. Others beside herself must have heard
that soul-shaking laughter, for the hush that had fallen
over the house ended abruptly in a jumble of loud
sounds. The curtain descended with a rhythmic chug-
ging, there were exclamations of surprise and horror,
and the audience sprang from their seats as the lights
went on. With startled faces they looked to left and
right and rear, and several of them excitedly inquired
what had happened. No one seemed to know, but as
if moved by a single impulse, they scrambled in the
direction whence the laughter came. Then they
stopped, huddled in a half circle, and stared.
15


16
THE GRÀY PHANTOM
What they saw seemed all the stranger by contrast
with the flowery scents in the air and the rich and bril-
liant hues of the surroundings. All eyes were fixed
on the woman whose peculiar demeanor had aroused
Helen's interest. Her extravagant attire and her wild,
gypsylike beauty seemed typical of the oddly assorted
characters who made up Vincent Starr's circle of
intimates. A filmy drapery embroidered with gold-
touched flowers hung like an iridescent fog over her
gown of silver tissue. Her bare arm was Aung out
over the top of the next seat, and her head had fallen
back against the elbow.
Murmurs of awe and consternation fell from the lips
of the onlookers. Before their eyes the pallor of death
was creeping into the woman's face, and her cheeks
and forehead were beaded with the perspiration of the
death struggle. Now and then her figure writhed with
a slow, snakelike motion. A film of gray was gradually
dimming the luster of the eyes. Only the lips were still
red.
As if to Aling a taunt in the face of approaching
death, the woman was laughing. It sounded wildly
unreal and fantastic, and the spectators stood as if
gripped by an unearthly enchantment. It seemed as
though the woman's spirit was flitting away on waves
of hysterical mirth.
The sounds grew husky, then ceased. The woman's
glazing orbs looked out over the fringe of faces. A


“ MR. SHEI”
17
fluttering ray struggled with the blinding film before
her eyes, and she seemed to be looking for someone
who was not there. She stirred as if trying to gather
her waning energies. Her lips trembled, a few faint
sounds broke on the tense silence, and again her gaze
strayed gropingly over the crowd.
“Mr.—Mr. Shei,” she whispered.
Those closest to her recoiled as from a physical
blow. The name spoken by the dying woman had con-
tributed the final touch of weirdness to the scene. The
two words went from mouth to mouth in a succession
of solemn whispers. Faces turned rigid and white, and
men and women looked at one another with mute fear
in their eyes.
Then someone with more presence of mind than
the others, suggested calling a physician. A strain of
drawling laughter from the dying woman mocked the
proposal. It rose to a shrill pitch, then died abruptly
in a low sing-song moan that was like a chant of death.
The lips were still moving, but the onlookers knew,
even without the sagging of the body and the broken
light in the eyes, that the woman was dead. A spell
seemed to have lifted and an oppressive essence
appeared to have gone out of the air.
“Awful!" wailed a woman, edging away from her
place in the huddled throng. “I shall hear that laugh
as long as I live. And what was that she said about
Mr. Shei?"


18
THE GRAY PHANTOM
The name and the prefix were all anyone had been
able to make out, but they had been enough to send a
thrill of fear and astonishment through the crowd. Of
the mysterious "Mr. Shei" little was known except
that he was a versatile and very elusive criminal, with
a penchant for deep scheming and spectacular tactics,
and that so far the police had matched their wits
against him in vain. He flashed in and out like a
meteor, without leaving trace or clew, and his audacity
and impudence were as dumfounding as the magnitude
of his exploits.
“Did she mean," inquired someone, “that Mr. Shei
was here—that she saw him?"
“What else could she have meant?” The speaker
cast an uncertain glance at the dead woman. The
grayness and the rigidity of her features clashed
bizarrely with the. brilliant coloring of her gown.
“Likely as not Mr. Shei murdered her.”
“But there is no wound. And she made no outcry.
She only laughed. And such a laugh! I can hear it
still !”
• "Mr. Shei is diabolically clever," observed another,
"and he goes about his business in his own way. It
would be quite in character for him to kill without
inflicting a wound and to let his victim go to her death
laughing.”
The group fell silent. Helen, who had remained in
the background, trying to control her sense of horror


“MR. SHEI”
19
while she pondered what she had seen, touched the arm
of the woman in front.
“Who is she?" she inquired.
“Don't you know?” The woman, busying herself
with a vial of smelling salts, gave Helen a puzzled look.
"Why, she is Virginia Darrow. Never attend her
studio parties? That's strange. But I forget that you
are something of a stranger among us, Miss Hard-
wick."
Helen smiled faintly, and the next moment her
attention was attracted to her father. Mr. Hardwick
had joined his daughter shortly after the lights went
on, and until now he had been a silent spectator. With
difficulty he elbowed his way through the crowd to the
dead woman's side, and regarded her closely. Pres-
ently he raised her right arm, which had hung limply
at her side. Just above the elbow was a small, faint
discoloration, not unlike the puncture made by a hypo-
dermic syringe. He nodded thoughtfully and seemed
about to speak, but just then Vincent Starr, followed
by several members of his company, came up the aisle
and wedged a path through the huddled spectators.
He seemed to take in everything at a single compre-
hensive glance. He was pale, and his fingers trembled,
but Helen noticed that he had taken pains to arrange
his attire before coming out to ascertain the cause of
the commotion. His long and glossy hair was neatly
combed, his cravat was carefully adjusted, and just the


20
THE GRAY PHANTOM
vur 11.
proper width of cuff showed beyond the edge of his
sleeve. She watched him narrowly while he questioned
those about him. Somehow she sensed that it was in
keeping with Vincent Starr's character to be squeamish
about the minor details of his appearance even when
face to face with a tragedy. Suddenly, as she heard
him issue orders to right and left, she remembered the
note Virginia Darrow had sent him, and she wondered,
without knowing exactly why, whether he would say
anything about it.
At the same time she was forced to admire his quick-
ness of wits and the ease with which he mastered his
feelings. In an incredibly short time the police had
been notified of the occurrence and the doorkeepers
had been given orders to allow no one to leave the
building. Starr, in his habitually suave tones, asked
his guests to be seated and expressed his regrets that
such an unpleasant affair should have taken place
under the roof of the Thelma. There would be an
investigation and a great deal of questioning, he ex-
plained, but it would be only a formality. If the
mysterious Mr. Shei-he smiled queerly as he spoke
the name—had invaded the Thelma, he would un-
doubtedly be caught.
The crowd scattered among the seats in the audi-
torium and lapsed into the small talk with which one
sometimes masks an inward turbulence. Helen, seated
beside her father on a lounge in a corner, let her glance


“MR. SHEI”
21
roam aimlessly over the scene. She supposed she
would be questioned along with the others, and she
wondered how much or how little she would be able to
tell. Now that she tried to clarify the confusion in her
mind, she saw that during the evening she had received
two sets of impressions. Both had been equally strong
at the time, but now they seemed to clash and quarrel
with each other, and one of them had all but vanished
with the drop of the curtain. Yet she felt it was the
more important one of the two. The other had to do
with the face she had glimpsed in the shadows. With
the varicolored lights glowing on all sides, her recol-
lection of it seemed unreal and fanciful. It appeared
to be a thing of darkness and dreams. Her one re-
maining impression of it was a sense of malignity and
horror. She felt words were inadequate to describe it.
She shrugged her shoulders slightly, as if to banish
harassing thoughts, and turned to her father. His face
was drawn and a trifle pale, and she remembered the
family physician had once said something about an
incipient heart ailment and the necessity of avoiding
excitement. She tilted her face close to his.
“I'm sorry I got you into this, dad,” she said.
Mr. Hardwick drew himself up. His face brightened
with affection and the pride of parenthood as he gazed
at his daughter's figure, straight and slender and strong
as the trunk of a young birch. Her simple frock of
white taffeta with touches of coral at the waist pos-


22
THE GRAY PHANTOM
sessed that subtle individual charm which fashion
designers can only imitate. Her dark, loosely coiled
hair, with stray whisps caressing her healthily tanned
cheeks, seemed in constant mutiny against the petty
tyrannies of hairdressers.
"I might have known something was to happen."
Mr. Hardwick's tones were gently playful, as if he
were anxious to turn his daughter's thoughts from the
tragedy. “Something always happens where you are.
You are a storm petrel, my dear.”
"I was born under Uranus, you know. That explains
everything.” She smiled whimsically. There was a
touch of the child in the firm oval of her face and the
smooth curves of mouth and nose, but the deep-brown
eyes held a surprising store of worldly wisdom. She
quite baffled her father at times. The impulses of April
and June seemed to be constantly clashing within her,
and they filled his autumnal days with a never-ending
round of surprises.
"I wonder,” he said, eyeing her curiously as a new
thought came to him, “whether Uranus had anything
to do with your leaving the box just before before it
happened.”
“It's always safe to blame Uranus,” she parried.
“He is such a convenient scapegoat. I don't know
what I would do if— "
She was grateful for the interruption that came just
then. The law was already at work, and she sat back


“ MR. SHEI”
23
and watched the swift precision of its mechanism. Two
policemen, one heavy and red-faced, the other lean and
sharp-visaged, walked into the theater and stationed
themselves beside the body with the air of zealots
guarding the coffin of Mohammed. She gathered from
the few words they exchanged with Starr that a cordon
had been thrown around the building a minute and a
half after the call reached the precinct station. They
were followed shortly by a puffy little man who let it
be known that he was a deputy from the office of the
chief medical examiner. The latter had barely begun
the usual inspection of the body when two other men
entered the auditorium.
One of them, barrel-chested and somewhat pompous
in his manners, seemed to be a representative of the
district attorney's office. The other, angular and as
loose-jointed as a marionette, with lazy, cinnamon-
colored eyes and a complexion that seemed to indicate
that he drank too much coffee and smoked too many
cigars, was recognized by Helen at first glance.
Uranus had brought them together once before. She
remembered that his name was Lieutenant Culligore,
and that he was attached to the homicide squad of the
detective bureau. As his glance fitted slowly over the
room, his mind seemed to register each detail without
slightest effort. Helen noticed that he gazed at her a
trifle longer than on the others, but his face betrayed no
recognition.


24
THE GRAY PHANTOM
· Then began the questioning, conducted by the stout
man from the district attorney's office, while Lieuten-
ant Culligore made an occasional jotting in his note-
book. The members of the audience were interrogated
briefly and pointedly, and each one in turn was per-
mitted to depart after leaving his or her name and
address. Helen marveled at the matter-of-factness of
it all. It seemed almost ruthless, this volleying of
questions over a body which was scarcely cold, but she
recognized the brisk efficiency with which the proce-
dure was carried out. None of the witnesses had much
to tell that was significant, and the only important
points brought out were the dying woman's strange
laugh and her mention of Mr. Shei.
Culligore, as was his habit when impressed, curled
up his lip under the tip of his nose when these facts
were stated, and the stout man raised his brows and
nodded grimly.
“Looks as though Mr. Shei had been up to another
of his little tricks,” he muttered.
Culligore pursed his lips and chewed a dead cigar.
There was a slow twinkle in his eyes which seemed to
say that life wasn't quite so serious as it seemed.
despite the sordid and ugly affairs with which he came
in daily touch.
Helen did not know how it happened, but the house
was almost empty when her turn to be questioned came.
Her face showed no sign of the trepidation she felt as


“MR. SHEI”
25
she stepped forward. She knew, as she turned her
face toward the stout man, that three pairs of eyes
were watching her with more than ordinary intentness
-her father's, Lic:tenant Culligore's, and Vincent
Starr's.
The stout man gave her a listless look as he inquired
her name and address. She fancied he was sniffing
inwardly, and that after looking her over he had
decided that she probably could give no information
beside what had already been brought out. At any
rate, his questions were few and perfunctory and gave
her no opportunity to practice the evasions she had
mentally rehearsed while the others were being ques-
tioned. As she turned away, she saw a mildly reproach-
ful look in her father's face and one of amused under-
standing in Culligore's.
"Well, doctor?” The stout man turned on the med-
ical examiner, whose rubicund face wore a puzzled
scowl. “What do you make of it?”
The examiner wagged his head. Being a man of
science, he was strongly averse to forming hasty con-
clusions.
“There is an abrasion on the right arm that might
have been caused by a hypodermic syringe,” he an-
nounced.
“And the laugh-how do you account for that?"
"I am not accounting for it, but there are certain
drugs that produce exhilaration and laughter. Most


26
THE GRAY PHANTOM
of them have to be taken into the system by inhalation,
however, in order to produce such an effect.”
"I see.” The stout man looked a bit impatient. “In
plain words, then, it's a case of murder?”.
"I wouldn't say that. It might prove a far-fetched
guess.”
"All quibbling aside, don't the scratch on her arm
look as though somebody had shot a dose of poison
into her with a needle?”
The examiner pondered. "It could mean that, but
it doesn't necessarily follow. An autopsy will be
necessary to establish the exact cause of death. Why
should a murderer use a hypodermic injection when
there are so many simpler and easier ways of accom-
plishing the same result?”.
The stout man guffawed. “Mr. Shei never picks the
simple and easy way. When he wants to pull off a
crime, he always dresses it up in flossy trimmings.
And he always plays safe. Now, my idea is that the
safest thing in the world to kill a person with is a
hypodermic syringe. It makes no noise, there's no
smoke, no bullet, no powder marks, no anything, and
it don't leave any clews behind."
The examiner smiled skeptically, as if he had his
own views on the subject. “The autopsy will tell.
What I fail to understand is why you seem so certain
that Mr. Shei, as he calls himself, has had a hand in
this affair."
оа


“MR. SHEI”
“Miss Darrow saw him, didn't she?".
"She called out his name, if I understood the wit-
nesses correctly, but she did not say she had seen him.
It's possible she imagined she saw him. The same
drugs that produce exhilaration and laughter also pro-
duce hallucinations. However,” and he pulled a cigar
from his pocket and lighted it carefully, “whether Miss
Darrow did or did not see Mr. Shei is for you gentle-
men to decide. Good-night."
He strode out. The stout man made a wry face
and stroked his chin. Evidently the medical man had
given him something to think about. Helen, too, had
found food for reflection in the doctor's statement.
She stood beside her father a few feet from the others.
She had remained for no other reason than a feeling
that Culligore, who had been watching her covertly
from time to time, might try to detain her if she
made a move to go. She believed the lieutenant
had rightly guessed that she had not told all she
knew.
Starr, who had unobtrusively slipped out of the
building while the late colloquy was in progress, .
returned with the report that he had questioned the
doorkeepers and the watchman, and that they had seen
no suspicious looking characters about the place. They
were positive no one had entered or left the building
either before or after Miss Darrow's death. Starr
ended by inquiring whether it were not possible that


28
THE GRAY PHANTOM
the murderer, granting that Miss Darrow had been
murdered, was still hiding in the building.
The stout man rather scouted the suggestion, but he
instructed the two uniformed officers to make a thor-
ough search.
"If this is Mr. Shei's job, you can bet your sweet
life he's made a safe get-away,” he grumbled. “He
probably sneaked out through one of the fire exits.”
The two policemen withdrew. Starr, gliding about
with the softness of a panther, found a piece of
drapery and covered the body. Helen's lids contracted
as she followed his movements. It struck her as odd
that during the entire questioning he had made no
reference to the communication Miss Darrow had sent
him a few minutes before her death. She wondered
whether he had forgotten it or was deliberately with-
holding it. In the latter case, what could be his reason?
“How about the motive?” suggested Lieutenant
Culligore. It was one of the few times he had spoken
since the investigation began. “Know of anybody who
could have had a reason for geiting Miss Darrow out
of the way, Mr. Starr?”
Starr stood for a moment with head lowered, deep
in thought. Then he slowly shook his finely propor-
tioned head. “No, I don't. I knew Miss Darrow
quite well. As far as I am aware, she had no enemies.
I can't imagine why— ”
He checked himself. Then he gaped, and his eyes


“MR. SHEI”
29
widened, and he looked as though an important matter
had just occurred to him. Finally, with a sheepish
smile, he began to search his pockets.
“This dreadful affair has upset me completely,” he
murmured; and then, as if in answer to the question
that had flashed through Helen's mind a few moments
before, he produced a crumpled piece of paper. "If I
had not been so flustered I should have shown you this
at once,” he added.
He smoothed out the message and handed it to the
stout man. The latter's face clouded as he read it
aloud:
Mr. Shei, like a fool, rushes in where angels might
fear to tread.
V. D.
A pause followed the reading. Culligore's upper lip
brushed the tip of his nose, a sign that he had found a
problem to ponder. A blank expression came into the
stout man's face. He looked bewilderedly at Starr.
“What do you suppose she meant by that?” he asked.
“That's just what I wondered when the note was
brought me," explained Starr, a blend of sadness and
self-reproach in his tones. “Miss Darrow was a
strange woman, full of subtleties and queer whims.
The note startled me at first; then I decided it was only
a jest. At any rate, it was time for the curtain, and I
dismissed the matter from my mind. Now, in the light


30
THE GRAY PHANTOM
of what has happened, I can see it was meant as a
warning.”
“Warning?" echoed the stout man.
"Undoubtedly.” Starr gazed regretfully into space.
"In some manner Miss Darrow must have become
aware that Mr. Shei was in the house, and she chose
this method of warning me of his presence. I was a
fool not to see it."
He paced back and forth, running his fingers
through his thick hair and muttering self-reproaches.
The stout man looked as if he were trying to untangle
a mental knot. Again he read the note.
“If Miss Darrow wanted to tip you off that Mr.
Shei was in the house, why didn't she say so in plain
words?”
“Facetiousness,” said Starr grimly. “Virginia Dar-
row was the kind of woman you would expect to be
facetious at her own funeral. Why didn't I realize that
she was trying to warn me? I remember now that she
behaved in a peculiar manner all evening. Whenever
I happened to look in her direction, I found her gazing
at me in a strange way. I didn't understand then,
but I suppose now that she was trying to send me an
ocular message. When that failed, she sent me the
note. Oh, why didn't I—_”
He made a gesture of distress and self-disgust.
Helen, watching his every movement, remembered that
it was Miss Darrow's odd way of staring at Starr that


“MR. SHEI”
31
had first attracted her attention to the woman. The
recollection started a train of new thoughts, but Culli-
gore's voice interrupted it.
"If Miss Darrow was right and Mr. Shei was in the
house,” he told the fat man, “then you and I might as
well hand in our badges and look for new jobs."
The other jerked up his head. “You don't think
that- ” he began in startled tones, then broke off and
grinned complacently. “Not a chance of that. Mr.
Shei couldn't have been in the audience. I gave all of
them a pretty stiff quiz, and every one gave a good
account of himself. Anyhow, they're the kind that
get their names and pictures into the society columns
of the Sunday papers. A bunch of harmless nuts—
that's all.”
He looked at Starr, as if realizing that the epithet
had been a trifle brusque, but the manager seemed
amused rather than offended.
"I think you are right,” he murmured. “The audi-
ence was composed of invited guests. I am willing to
vouch for every one of them. Furthermore, you have
their names and addresses, and you can communicate
with them whenever you wish. If Mr. Shei was really
in the theater, he came here as an unbidden guest. In all
likelihood he stole in while the house was dark during
the first scene of the last act, and departed as soon as
he had accomplished his purpose.”
It sounded plausible enough, Helen thought; yet her
.


32
THE GRAY PHANTOM
mind was heavy with a giddying whirl of suspicions
and contradictions. She slanted a reluctant glance
toward the chair containing the body. With a shiver
she turned away, and a look at her father's drawn and
tired face warned her that he should be in bed. Then
she glanced at the man from the district attorney's
office, and finally at Culligore. His face was a mask,
but his occasional glances in her direction troubled her.
The two uniformed officers had not yet returned from
their search, and she wondered what they would have
to report.
Once more her eyes flitted over the little group, and
then, with a suddenness that choked a cry in her throat,
everything was blotted from sight. In a twinkling
impenetrable darkness had descended upon the house.
Somewhere a door banged. She felt her father's
tightening clutch on her arm. The stout man swore.
Dark shapes were darting hither and thither. She heard
a fragmentary cry, followed by a crash and a succes-
sion of thuds. A thrust sent her sprawling to the floor,
and her mind drifted into a state of semi-stupor during
which she was conscious of nothing but the swift and
silent movements of the shadowy shapes.
Voices and the return of light jolted her mind back
to consciousness. She struggled to her feet and blinked
her eyes at the strange scene. Her father, dazed but
apparently unharmed, sat a short distance away, with
his back to the wall. The stout man, seemingly uncon-


“MR. SHEI”
scious, lay in a twisted heap on the floor. Culligore
was staring about him groggily and muttering some-
thing about a blow on the head. A policeman, one of
the pair who had been sent off to search the house, was
helping Starr to his feet.
With the attention to detail that comes in moments
of great bewilderment, Helen noticed that Starr made
a ludicrous picture. His attire, so faultless and im-
maculate a few minutes ago, was now in a sorry state
of disorder. A streak of crimson stained his shirt
front, and he held a handkerchief to his nose. He
wabbled drunkenly across the floor, but all at once his
figure stiffened and a blank look came into his face.
His lips formed unspoken words as he raised a finger
and pointed toward a seat in the last tier.
As she followed the pointing finger, things swam in
confusion before Helen's eyes. Starr, speechless and
crestfallen, was indicating the chair where the body of
Virginia Darrow had been. As she stared stonily
toward the empty chair, Helen felt an impulse to cry
out. She came a few steps closer, then stopped with a
shudder and dazedly swept her hand across her fore-
head.
"It's—it's gone !" she cried huskily.


CHAPTER III
HELEN EQUIVOCATES
CROSS the breakfast table Mr. Hardwick looked
anxiously at his daughter. The wild-rose
color that usually flooded her cheeks had faded
a trifle since last night, and her eyes were less bright.
Most of the time the curator's mind browsed among
relics of the past, but his perceptions were amazingly
keen where his daughter was concerned.
“Mr. Shei gave us quite a shock last night,” he
remarked.
Helen kept her eyes down while she poured his coffee
and added two and a half lumps of sugar and the usual
portion of cream. Then she stirred it for him, know-
ing he would be quite apt to forget to do so himself.
Despite the half dozen titles bestowed upon him by
universities and learned societies, she felt he needed
looking after.
“Don't forget that you have a lecture engagement
this afternoon,” she admonished as she passed the cup
across the table.
Mr. Hardwick nodded and sipped. "It is a most
extraordinary case. The murder of that poor woman
-assuming that it was a case of murder-seemed
34


HELEN EQUIVOCATES
35
wholly unprovoked. I gathered from the conversation
among the officers that no motive was in evidence. It
looks like a wanton, despicable crime."
Helen crumbled a piece of toast. “Professor War-
burton is coming to see you at three this afternoon.”
"I have a memorandum of the appointment on my
desk.” Mr. Hardwick smiled faintly. “Our minds
seem to be pulling in opposite directions this morning.
This Mr. Shei interests me. He appears to be a
remarkable criminal. His audacity and the originality
of his methods are unparalleled. I don't know that I
ever encountered anything quite so mystifying as the
circumstances surrounding the murder last night.
How the murderer went in and out without being seen
is beyond understanding, and the subsequent removal
of the body was the most amazing part of it all. There
seems to be neither method nor reason in that. One
thing appears certain. Mr. Shei could not have accom-
plished what he did unless he had been aided by accom-
plices. What do you think, my dear?”
Helen's head was lowered over her coffee cup. The
captive sunlight in her hair gleamed and flashed.
“Your extra pair of glasses are at the optician's,” she
reminded him. “Don't forget to stop for it.”
Mr. Hardwick looked at her helplessly; then care-
fully, and from force of habit, he folded his napkin.
"I wonder whether the police will ever learn Mr.
Shei's identity," he murmured musingly. “So far the


36
THE GRAY PHANTOM
scoundrel has contrived to mystify them completely,
but some day his egotism and love of self-glorification
are apt to cause his undoing. In the meantime, how-
ever, he is likely to do a great deal of mischief. The
fellow's effrontery is colossal, and his fearlessness and
brains render him most dangerous. In some respects
he bears a very close resemblance to that other notori-
ous rogue, now reported to be in retirement.”
Helen drew a quick breath. She bent her head a
little lower over her cup. Her right index finger traced
a design on the tablecloth.
“Another cup of coffee, dad?” was her only reply.
Mr. Hardwick appeared not to have heard. “You
know who I mean. The man they used to call The
Gray Phantom. For several years he was regarded as
one of the cleverest and most dangerous criminals the
world has ever known.”
Slowly Helen raised her head. Her eyes, as they
met her father's, were steady and bright.
“That was because the world didn't understand
him," she said with emphasis. “The Gray Phantom
wasn't really a criminal. He was only a~a sort of
human dynamo whose energy happened to be turned in
the wrong direction.”
“Isn't that a distinction without a difference? A
Robin Hood is an enemy of society despite the glamour
with which he surrounds himself. However," and Mr.
Hardwick's face softened quickly, “I am deeply in The
W


HELEN EQUIVOCATES
37
Gray Phantom's debt. He saved your life twice, and
but for him I would now be a lonely and heartbroken
old man.”
Helen nodded eagerly. “And the Assyrian collec-
tion, dad. You spent most of your life gathering it,
and you were almost overcome with grief when it was
stolen. The Gray Phantom risked his life and liberty
in order to recover it and restore it to you. He
wouldn't have done that if he had been just an ordinary
criminal."
“True," admitted Mr. Hardwick. “I shall be under
obligations to The Gray Phantom as long as I live.
The man has a number of excellent qualities, whatever
may be said of his past. On the whole, it is not sur-
prising that you have taken an interest in him.”
Helen's eyes were lowered again.
There was a mingling of tenderness and worry in
Mr. Hardwick's face as he looked at her. "I know just
how you feel,” he said softly. “A man who is trying
to live down a dark past always exerts a strong
romantic appeal on a woman of your impressionable
age. I don't know why it is, unless it pleases her to
think he is doing it for her sake. It makes me think of
your play, 'The Master of His Soul.' All last night,
until the interruption came, I was wondering whether
your Marius was not The Gray Phantom.”
Helen sat rigidly still for a moment. Then her lips
began to twitch. She flashed her father a smile.


38
THE GRAY PHANTOM
"Sometimes, daddy dear, you show a wonderful
understanding of things that have nothing to do with
Assyriology."
"I was right, then,” His face sobered. “I hope you
realize that, despite The Gray Phantom's admirable
qualities, there is a gulf between him and you. But
you are just as level-headed as was your mother, and
I have no fear that the impulses of your heart will get
the better of your judgment. We were discussing Mr.
Shei. There seems to be a striking similarity between
his methods and those of The Gray Phantom, except
that the latter was never known to stoop to murder."
He paused for a moment and studied her averted face.
“You puzzled me last night, dear. You will admit that
your conduct was—er, peculiar.”
“It's getting late, dad,” murmured Helen, a bit con-
fusedly glancing at her wrist watch. “You should
have been at your office half an hour ago. And this
is the first time I've known you to taken an interest in
a murder case.”
"Once during the evening you gripped my hand and
tried to point out something to me,” pursued Mr.
Hardwick, heedless of her remark. “You spoke in-
coherently, and I had not the faintest idea what it was
about. Then, a minute or so before the tragedy, you
left the box and hurried away. Still later, while the
officer was questioning you, I felt you were concealing
something."


HELEN EQUIVOCATES
39
Helen, her fingers tightening about a fork handle,
shook her head. “I answered every question he put to
me."
"I know, dear. Yet you withheld a secret of some
kind from him.”
“Not exactly. I-I merely refrained from telling
him something that—that I might have told.”
"Something you had heard or seen?”
She hesitated for an instant. "If I had told all I
had seen and heard, I wouldn't have been telling half
of what I knew.”
Mr. Hardwick leaned back against the chair and
pondered this cryptic statement. He seemed puzzled
rather than hurt by his daughter's evasive answers.
Suddenly she looked up, saw the troubled expression
in his face, and impulsively pushed back her chair and
ran up behind him.
“Please don't ask me any more questions, dad.” She
put her arms around his neck and tilted her face to
his. "It is true I held something back, but at the time
I didn't know why. I merely felt that it wouldn't do
to tell. This morning, after lying awake most of the
night, I knew I had done the right thing." She gave
a little laugh. “Isn't it just like a woman to act first
and look into her reasons afterward?”
"I—well, I suppose so. And what were your
reasons?”


40
THE GRAY PHANTOM
“Would you be hurt if I told you I would rather not
explain them just now?”
"No; I trust you. Experience has taught me that I
can depend upon you in spite of your mysterious little
ways and madcap pranks. There is one thing I wish
you would tell me, though.” He stopped, fumbling for
words. “Was your reticence last night prompted by a
wish to shield someone?”
"No," was her prompt reply, and her eyes gazed
frankly into his. “What put such a thought into your
head?”
"I scarcely know. You'll think I am an old fool, but
it occurred to me that perhaps you had discovered
something that led you to think that Mr. Shei and The
Gray Phantom are identical.”
"And you thought I was protecting The Gray Phan-
tom? What an idea! But you were wrong, dad-
absolutely wrong."
“Then I am glad.” Mr. Hardwick rose and put his
arm around her waist. “My goodness! Almost ten
o'clock, and I have been sitting here gossiping like an
old woman. You have taken a load off my mind, dear
child. I was really worried.”
She laughed, whisked a few crumbs from his coat,
straightened his tie, and kissed him.
"And I hope," added Mr. Hardwick banteringly,
“that Uranus won't lead you into any more foolhardy
adventures.”
u were wro


HELEN EQUIVOCATES
41
Again she laughed, but her face sobered the moment
he turned away and left the room. A wiser, maturer
expression settled over the wide-set eyes and the vivid
lips. It seemed as though her talk with her father had
left a disquieting impression in her mind. She moved
absently about the room, setting things in order here
and there, but the faraway gleam in her eyes told that
her mind was scarcely aware of what her hands were
doing. Presently she stopped before the open window
and looked out. A building was going up across the
street, and the groaning of derricks and screaming of
steam whistles jarred discordantly in the back of her
mind. Near the curb a group of laborers were mixing
concrete, and a powdery substance was drifting in the
air.
She came out of her abstraction with a little start.
Her eyes were on the window sill, and she spelled out
the characters she had written in the thin layer of dust.
“G-r-a-y P-h-a-n-t-o-m," she mumbled, puzzled and
somewhat annoyed with herself. The faint pencilings
in the dust seemed all the stranger because she had not
been thinking of The Gray Phantom. Instead, her
mind had been occupied by Mr. Shei and what the
morning newspapers had said about the tragedy in the
Thelma Theater. The accounts she had read had been
largely speculation and conjecture. The dying woman's
strange laughter and her mysterious allusion to Mr.
Shei had afforded material for columns of vivid and


42
THE GRAY PHANTOM
imaginative description. The medical examiner had
reluctantly admitted that Miss Darrow's death might
have been caused by a poison administered hypo-
dermically, but he had added that the symptoms were
strange to him, and that he knew of no drug producing
just such effects. A number of toxicologists had been
interviewed, but they had declared that the few facts
at hand were not sufficient to enable them to form an
opinion, and the disappearance of the body rendered it
doubtful whether the cause of death would ever be
learned definitely.
Only one thing seemed beyond dispute and that was
Mr. Shei's complicity in the affair. The elusive and
highly accomplished rogue already had a score of
astounding crimes to his record, and the Thelma mur-
der was hedged with all the mystery and baffling detail
with which he loved to mask his exploits. Miss Dar-
row's dying words were scarcely needed to turn the
finger of suspicion in Mr. Shei's direction. The absence
of clews, the uncertainty in regard to the motive, the
audacity that marked the crime itself as well as the sub-
sequent snatching away of the body, all indicated a
boldness and a finesse that left little doubt of Mr.
Shei's guilt. Even if his own hand had not executed
the crime, it seemed practically certain that his mind
had planned and conceived it.
But who was Mr. Shei? The whole train of sur-
mises and theories pivoted on that question. Not much


HELEN EQUIVOCATES
43
was known of him save that he had a passion for
tantalizing the public and keeping the nerves of the
men at headquarters on edge, and that his achieve-
ments had not been equaled in scope or brilliance of
execution since The Gray Phantom's retirement. He
took a diabolical delight in flaunting his name before
the world while keeping his person carefully out of
the reach of the law's long arm, and even the name was
a challenge to the police and a teaser for the public
imagination. Someone versed in dead languages had
discovered that the word “shei” was the ancient equiva-
lent of the modern x, the symbol of the unknown
quantity, and it was generally agreed that the name
fitted the elusive individual who bore it.
Yet the name meant nothing. It was only an
abstraction, for it afforded no clew to its owner's
identity. The night before, while she sat beside her
father in the Thelma Theater, a vagrant flash of
intuition had come to Helen. She had seen the solu-
tion of the mystery in a swift, dazzling glimpse. The
revelation had stunned and nearly blinded her, and
thoughts had crowded upon her so thickly that she
would have been quite unable to clothe them in words.
The idea carried to her by that intuitive flash had
seemed clear and unquestionable. It still seemed so,
but her talk with her father had disturbed her a little
and turned her thoughts in a new direction.
Again she looked down at the tracings in the dust.


44
THE GRAY PHANTOM
A smile, faint and wistful, reflected her softened mood,
and a light of wonder and gentleness flooded her eyes.
She reached out a hand to obliterate the telltale pencil-
ings, but something restrained her. Besides, a freshly
forming layer of dust was already blotting them out.
The telephone rang in the adjoining room, and she
hurried away to answer.
"Miss Hardwick?” inquired a drawling voice which
she instantly recognized. “Lieutenant Culligore speak-
ing. I'm at the Thelma Theater. Wish you'd come
over right away. I want to ask you a few questions.”
Before she could reply, he hung up. Her face grew
suddenly tense. Culligore's brusqueness piqued her,
though she knew it was characteristic of the man, and
she felt he had taken undue advantage of her by giving
her no chance for argument. She did not wish to see
him, yet she knew she could not escape him by merely
ignoring his request. Anyway, she reflected as she
hastily dressed for the street, it would be interesting to
learn Culligore's theory of the murder.
A ride in the subway and a short walk brought her
to the door of the Thelma. On the wall, at each side
of the entrance, were posters stating that until further
notice there would be no more performances of “His
Soul's Master.” Helen viewed the announcement of
the withdrawal of her play without much regret. She
had partly anticipated it, and last night's occurrence
had given her weightier things to think of. As she


HELEN EQUIVOCATES
45
passed through the foyer, a policeman nodded stolidly
and in a way that told her she was expected. She
passed unhindered into the auditorium.
At first she could see nothing. Every door was
closed, and the vast room was full of silence and vague
shadows. Presently, as her eyes grew accustomed to
the dusk, she glanced toward the chair that had been
occupied by Miss Darrow. She looked quickly aside,
and saw that she was standing not far from the pillar
that had supported her when the creature with the
loathsome face brushed past her. The scene, which
had seemed dim and immaterial while she was out in
the sunlight a few minutes ago, now recurred to her
with disagreeable vividness. Of a sudden the air about
her felt heavy and oppressive.
A figure was moving up the aisle toward where she
stood. The dawdling gait and the slouchy attitude told
her it was Culligore, and she braced her nerves for an
ordeal. In a few moments her quickly working wits
had found a way of handling the situation.
“Good-morning, lieutenant,” she said pleasantly as
he came up beside her. “I suppose you are looking for
clews. Any success?”
"Nope," he replied complainingly. “That's why I
sent for you, Miss "
“You have found no trace of the body?" she quickly
cut in, anxious to maintain the role of questioner.
Culligore shook his head. She felt his eyes on her


46
THE.GRAY PHANTOM
face, though he did not appear to be looking at her.
Practicing a trick cultivated by his profession, he was
studying her without seeming to do so.
"Don't you think it strange that the murderer should
go to all that risk and trouble to remove the body?”
she went on.
"Murderer? There must have been three or four
of them, at least. There was some mighty fast work
done when the lights went out, and one man didn't do
it all. I've got a bump in the back of my head as big
as a hen's egg. Selfkin, the man from the district
attorney's office, is in bed with a fractured skull, and
Starr looks as though somebody had hit him on the
nose with a brick. One of the gang must have tam-
pered with the switchboard back of the proscenium
arch just before the others swooped down on us and
carried away the body."
“But what was the object? Wasn't the murderer's
purpose accomplished with the killing of Miss Dar-
row ?”
"Hard telling. One thing is sure. As long as the
body is missing there can be no autopsy, and I'll bet a
pair of yellow socks that that's exactly what they
wanted. Not that I pretend to understand it all, but it
seems reasonable that they didn't care to have the
exact cause of Miss Darrow's death become known.”
Helen pondered this statement for a moment. "How
about the motive for the murder ?”


HELEN EQUIVOCATES
47
“We're pretty much in the dark there, too,”
admitted Culligore. "I don't suppose, though, that it
was just by accident that Miss Darrow happened to die
a few minutes after she had sent Starr a note warning
him that Mr. Shei was in the house."
“Oh!” Helen gave a quick start. “You think she
was killed because she had in some manner discovered
Mr. Shei's identity?"
“Maybe.” Culligore, with legs spread out and hands
in trousers pockets, seemed engrossed in a study of
Helen's bright-trimmed hat. “My mind isn't made up
on that point. Mr. Shei's schemes go pretty deep.
Maybe you can tell me "
Again Helen interrupted him. "Have you dis-
covered how the murderers got in and out of the
building?”
"They didn't leave any tracks behind them, but there
is a door in the rear of the basement that they might
have used. It's supposed to be locked, but I satisfied
myself a while ago that the spring lock can be picked.
That the body was carried out that way is as good a
guess as any. But look here, Miss Hardwick," and
something that might have been a grin drifted across
his face, "you're pretty good at firing questions, but
it's my turn now.”
She stiffened, seeing she would have to assume de-
fensive tactics. She sent him a quick glance, but his
face, always inscrutable, was even more so in the dusk.
ea


48
THE GRAY PHANTOM
"I asked you to come here, hoping the surroundings
would refresh your memory of what happened last
night,” Culligore went on in his usual placid drawl.
“You needn't repeat what you said then. What I'm
after is the things you didn't say.”
"I don't believe I understand.”
Culligore's chuckle sounded like a snort, though she
knew it was meant to be good-natured. “Oh, yes, you
do. I didn't do much talking last night, but I was
watching you all the time. We'd met before, you
know, and I could read you like an open book. I knew
you were just as long on brains as on looks. Though
you answered every question, you weren't telling any-
thing. All the while you were holding something back.
Isn't that true?"
She hesitated, having an uncomfortable feeling that
Culligore was seeing through her and that any attempt
at evasion would be useless.
“What do you want to know?” she asked.
“That's a lot better, Miss Hardwick. You might
begin by telling me where you were sitting when the
disturbance began.”
“Why, I–I wasn't sitting anywhere."
“Standing up, then?”
"I wasn't standing, either."
“Oh, I see. You were lying down?"
“No, not even lying down.”
Culligore gave her a queer look. “If you weren't


HELEN EQUIVOCATES
49
over
sitting, standing, or lying, you must have hung sus-
pended in the air. Was that it?”
Helen smiled engagingly. She had found time for
deliberation while quibbling, and now her mind was
made up. “I was so frightened I could neither stand
up nor sit down. I was leaning against that pillar over
there.” She pointed.
"How did you happen to leave your seat?”
Helen told him of the fitting shadow that had
caused her to leave her father and run to the rear of
the house.
"And what did you see while you were leaning
against the pillar?” was Culligore's next question.
Helen searched her mind for words vivid enough to
recount her impressions during the terrible moments
just before the drop of the curtain, but she felt her,
description was both hazy and fragmentary. Her pic-
ture of the face that had flashed past her in the dark
was blurred and unreal, like one's recollection of a
dream.
When she had done her best, Culligore walked back
and forth for a time. Standing in an attitude of
strained tensity, she wondered what his next question
would be. Suddenly he stopped squarely in front of
her, and again she had an uncomfortable feeling that
his deceptively lazy eyes were reading her thoughts.
"What else?” he demanded quietly. “What you
have told me so far is pretty good, but you're still hold-


50
THE GRAY PHANTOM
sei
S
as
ing back the most important thing—the thing you
didn't want to tell about last night.”
"How-how do you know that?" she asked.
He gave another snortlike chuckle. “Common horse
sense tells me. The reason you didn't tell about the
things you saw while leaning against the post was
because you were afraid they would lead you on to a
subject you didn't want to discuss. You were afraid
that if you got started you might get tangled up and
wouldn't be able to stop.”
Helen could only stare at him. He had stated the
truth far more clearly than she herself could have done.
“What was it, Miss Hardwick? I think you had
better tell.”
She stood silent, twisting her figure this way and
that, and all the while wishing that he would take his
eyes from her. Jumbled thoughts thronged her mind,
and she felt her power of resistance slipping from her.
Finally Culligore swung round on his heels, and a sigh
of relief escaped her.
“The thing about you that puzzles me more than
anything else is that your hair isn't red,” he told her.
“The rest I can savvy easily enough. I can even tell
what it was you were holding back last night. Want
me to ?”
His tones were soft and teasing. She squirmed, torn
between anxiety and despair. His face was expression-
less, but she felt he was inwardly laughing at her.


HELEN EQUIVOCATES
“All right, then," he said, taking her silence for
assent. “You couldn't have had more than one reason
for keeping mum last night, and that reason was that
you wanted to shield somebody. There is only one
man on earth you could have wanted to shield, and that
man is The Gray Phantom.”
“No!” she cried. “You're mistaken! I wasn't- "
"Easy now.” All at once his tone changed. “There's
such a thing as protesting too much, you know. I
don't take much stock in what I read in the Sunday
papers, but there's a lot of talk going the rounds about
a romance between you and The Gray Phantom. Most
of it is pipe dreams, I guess. Anyhow, it's nobody's
business, and it makes no difference. All I'll say is
that if I was The Gray Phantom and had a girl like
you fighting for me, I'd be willing to go through hell-
fire for her every day in the week. You're loyal clean
through and— ”
“But you're wrong!" she interrupted emphatically.
His words filled her with a great fear, but there was a
kind of rough tenderness in his voice that warmed
her.
"I knew you'd say that, but you have to hear me
through. I take off my hat to The Gray Phantom.
He always played the game according to the code, even
when he cut those fancy didos that put gray hairs in:
almost every head on the force. I shouldn't say it, but
it goes just the same. The Phantom's been lying low


HELEN EQUIVOCATES
53
“You've answered me," declared Culligore. “You
think Mr. Shei is The Phantom. Maybe you're right,
and maybe you're wrong. What I wanted to know was
what you thought. And let me tell you something."
A foolish grin, one of Lieutenant Culligore's infre-
quent ones, wrinkled his face. “I hate my job less
whenever I meet up with one of your kind.”
Helen did not hear what he said. She felt as if the
swirl of thoughts and emotions within her had sud-
denly turned into a leaden lump. She glanced involun-
tarily at the chair in which Virginia Darrow had sat,
and of a sudden she fancied she heard laughter-slow,
tinkling laughter that sounded like a taunt flung in the
face of an approaching specter. She knew the sounds
existed only in her imagination, but with a low, long
drawn-out cry she turned abruptly and fled toward the
door, conscious only of a fierce desire for sunlight and
air.
No one detained her. She ran across the street. An
idea was slowly working its way out of the turmoil in
her mind. She opened her bag and counted her scant
supply of bills. Then she looked about her. Half a
block down the street she saw the sign of a district
messenger office. In a few moments she was inside,
hastily scrawling a note which she had addressed to her
father. A taxicab was passing as she stepped out on
the street. She hailed the driver, and he drew in at the
curb.


64
54 THE GRAY PHANTOM
"Erie station-West Twenty-third Street," she
directed breathlessly.
As the cab started she slumped back against the
cushions and gazed rigidly out the window. Despite
the bright sunlight, things blurred before her eyes, and
there was only one clear thought in her mind.
She was on her way to The Gray Phantom, for she
alone knew where to find him.


CHAPTER IV
AZURECREST
-T was growing dark when she reached the end of
her journey, and the dusk made it easy for her to
elude the little knot of idlers on the station plat-
form. With frequent backward glances she hurried down
a path that skirted the edge of a village nestling at the
foot of a hill which was outlined against the horizon
like a great funnel-shaped cloud. On its apex was
Azurecrest, the hermitage of The Gray Phantom.
Helen found the motor driveway that circled its way
upward in spiral fashion, for the hill was too steep to
permit cars to reach the top by direct route. She had
visited the place once before, in the course of one of the
perilous adventures she and The Phantom had shared
together. The residence, a sprawling structure of
stone, tile and stucco, had been built by The Phantom
shortly after his retirement, and she had marveled at
the precautions he had taken to protect his privacy.
The inhabitants of the village understood that the place
was occupied by a wealthy and leisurely gentleman who
was spending the remainder of his life in ease and
solitude on the desolate hilltop. Though consumed
55


56
THE GRAY PHANTOM
with curiosity, they never ventured near Azurecrest,
guessing accurately that they would not be welcomed.
Occasionally they saw one of the servants, but the
owner never permitted himself to be seen except by
his most intimate associates.
The tang of late autumn was in the air, and Helen's
head cleared as she walked briskly up the zigzagging
driveway. The railway journey had been long and
tedious and punctuated by innumerable stops, and she
had been too distracted to think clearly. Now she
began to search her mind for a plan, but she soon saw
that planning was impossible. Her trip to Azurecrest
had been prompted by one of those sudden impulses
that usually dictated her conduct, and she had been
conscious of no other motive than to put an end to her
fears and doubts. She had thought that a talk with
The Gray Phantom would quickly end the suspense.
Reaching the gate in the picket fence that encircled
the apex of the hill, she touched an electric button.
While waiting she looked about her. The Susque-
hanna, like a cocoon thread, wound in and out among
the hills and valleys in the distance. The moon, shin-
ing through a vapory gauze, splashed a misty sheen
over bowlders and trees.
She heard a dog's shrill bark, and a masculine figure
came down the graveled walk toward the gate. As he
drew nearer and the pale moonlight fell on him, she
saw he was stocky and coarse-featured, and she guessed


AZURECREST
697
he was one of the sentinels that were always stationed
about the place.
“What do you want?” he asked ungraciously as he
reached the gate.
"I wish to see Mr. Vanardy," she announced, using
the name by which the occupant of Azurecrest had
been known before he became The Gray Phantom.
She thought the man repressed a start, but she
reflected that his evident surprise was natural enough,
since visitors seldom came to Azurecrest.
"Mr. Vanardy, eh?” He drew an instrument from
his pocket and flashed an electric gleam in her face.
For a long moment he studied her in silence. "You
mean The Gray Phantom ?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated, still searching her face in the light of
the electric flash. It was plain that the appearance of a
feminine visitor at the gate of Azurecrest had aroused
his suspicion.
"What do you want to see him about?” he demanded
gruffly.
“Tell him Miss Hardwick wishes to see him. I
think that will be sufficient.”
She drew herself up as she spoke and regarded him
steadily. As if decided by her cool and level tones, the
man lowered the light and turned away, and in a few
moments he had been swallowed by the shadows cast
by the tall trees. Helen controlled her impatience. She


60
THE GRAY PHANTOM
cheeks. The next moment she sat down again, for she
realized that Hawkes' argument was reasonable. The
Gray Phantom's existence was precarious enough to
warrant every conceivable precaution.
"I know Mr. Vanardy will see me if you tell him
who I am,” she declared, looking straight into the little
man's eyes.
"Quite likely. But I have orders, and I dare not
disregard them. Be good enough to answer one or two
questions. To begin with, what is the nature of your
business with Mr. Vanardy?”.
Helen's patience was almost exhausted, but her sense
of humor came to her rescue. Her lips began to twitch.
“Tell Mr. Vanardy,” she said, “that the subject I
wish to discuss with him has to do with a certain Mr.
Shei.”
The little man's eyes opened wide. She fancied his
hand shook a trifle as he made an annotation on the
pad he carried. .
"Quite so," he murmured, quickly controlling him-
self. “You have come here on business connected with
a certain Mr. Shei. Just one more question. Very
few people know there is such a place as Azurecrest.
How did you happen to find it?”
"Mr. Vanardy once gave me the directions. But you
are exerting yourself needlessly, Hawkes. I am sure
all that is necessary is to mention my name to Mr.
Vanardy.”
are
Sure


AZURECREST
61
"Perhaps so." The humpback made another annota-
tion on the pad, after which he put it in his pocket.
“I'll repeat to Mr. Vanardy what you have just told
me.” He walked out of the room.
Helen could not tell why, but the silence that fell
upon the room as the door closed impressed her uncom-
fortably. She did her best to muffle a faint inward
whisper of warning, a premonition that something was
wrong. Hawkes' questions had left a train of disturb
ing thoughts in her mind.
She waited a few minutes, then got up and began to
pace the floor in an effort to quell a rising nervousness.
She glanced at the pictures on the walls, but they did
not seem to be the same as those that had hung there
on her last visit, and they failed to interest her.
Presently she stepped to the window and looked out.
The trees were nodding drowsily in the gentle night
wind. The mist rising from the lowlands on all sides
of the hill gave her a curious sense of remoteness from
the world.
Then she drew back a step suddenly. Someone was
passing the window, and she caught a momentary
glimpse of a face. For a second or two a pair of large
and oddly piercing eyes were fixed on her. Then the
figure vanished, but the vision left her white and
shaken. A hoarse cry rose to her lips. Unless her
imagination had deceived her, the face that had just
passed the window was the same swarthy, loathsome


| 62
THE GRAY PHANTOM
face she had seen in the Thelma Theater scarcely
twenty-four hours ago.
Seized with a great fear, she ran across the floor and
opened the door. The face, with its squatty features
and long black hair fluttering in the breeze, had crystal-
lized all the vague misgivings she had felt since she
entered the house. For the moment she was unable to
think, but an unreasoning impulse to flee drove her
swiftly down the long hall. She felt she must escape
from Azurecrest at once.
She had nearly reached the end of the hall when
she came to a dead stop. She stood rigid, listening.
Somewhere a laugh sounded. The staccato accents
seemed to fill the house with volumes of hideous sound.
Each vibrant note conjured up a fearful picture before
her eyes. She staggered back against the wall, stopping
her ears to shut out a repetition of the sound, but the
echoes of it lingered in her imagination. She knew
the laugh well. It was the same kind of laugh that
Virginia Darrow had taken with her into eternity.


CHAPTER V.
PERPLEXITIES
INUTES passed, each dragging a train of
monstrous fancies before Helen's mental
1 vision. The tips of her fingers shut out all
sounds from her ears, but the laughter still dinned and
echoed in her imagination. It reminded her of the
haunting strains of glee that had come from Virginia
Darrow's dying lips. Somehow this laughter was dif-
ferent, but the difference was so subtle that she could
but vaguely sense it. It was loud and delirious, in con-
trast to the gentle, dirgelike notes that had character-
ized the other.
She could stand the suspense no longer. Sped on
by fear, she ran in the direction where she thought the
door was. She brought up against a stairway instead.
A' noise caused her to lift her head. Down the stairs,
lurching and sliding, came a woman. Her hair was
wildly tousled and her clothing in disorder, and peal
after peal of harsh laughter cut through the silence as
she scurried down the steps.
Then she saw Helen, and she stopped as abruptly as
63


64
THE GRAY PHANTOM
if she had dashed against a material barrier. Clutch-
ing the railing with one hand, she wagged drunkenly
from side to side. Her face was ashen, but her skin
was clear and smooth as a young girl's. The eyes,
unnaturally wide and bright, stared down at Helen
with fierce intensity. She had ceased laughing, but the
lips were still agape, as if suddenly frozen into rigidity.
Helen forgot her fears as she saw the strange look
in the woman's face. She wondered whether it meant
madness, terror, or intoxication. It seemed to be
neither, but rather a blending of all three. Slowly,
with the outspread fingers of one hand pressing against
her breast, the woman came down the remaining steps.
Her great eyes were still fixed on Helen, but the mad
flame in their depths was gradually yielding to a look
of sanity.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. Her
voice was dry, and she spoke with little hissing sounds,
as if each word were exhausting her breath.
Helen winced as the woman clutched her arm.
Streaks of gray in the tumbled masses of her black hair
clashed sharply with her youthfully rounded face, and
Helen guessed that the contrast had been brought about
by some terrifying experience.
"Do you know where you are?” the woman went on,
tightening her grip on Helen's arm.
"This is Azurecrest, isn't it?” Helen's words voiced
an indefinite doubt that had been stirring faintly in the


PERPLEXITIES
65
back of her mind since she saw the face at the window.
“I came here to see the Gray—to see Mr. Vanardy.”
"Azurecrest?” The woman's mind seemed to be
slowly struggling out of a daze. “Yes—that's what
they call the place. But there is no Mr. Vanardy here.
You have been deceived, just as I was. Those mon-
sters! Do you know what will happen to you if you
remain here?”
Helen shrugged as if to fight off a stupor that
seemed to be gradually infolding body and mind.
“They'll inject the fever into your veins,” the
woman told her, without waiting for an answer. “The
fever that always kills. Sometimes it kills quickly, but
most the time very slowly, just as it is killing me. You
will not feel much pain. You will laugh and sing and
dream strange dreams. Those are always the symp-
toms. At first, before the fever reaches the last stage,
you will laugh loud and hilariously—like this.” She
threw back her head, and then came an outburst of
screaming laughter that made Helen shudder. “That's
how it sounds at first. But later, when the fever has
burned out your strength and destroyed your reason,
the laughter will be low and soft and lilting. Then it
sounds like this.” She gave a series of low, tinkling
sounds that were like a requiem set to laughter.
Helen shivered. Just so had Virginia Darrow gone
laughing to her death. The coincidence seemed rather
weird. The stark realism of the imitation gripped her,


66
THE GRAY PHANTOM
acr
and yet she wondered whether she were dreaming or
whether the woman beside her were reveling in the
fancies of a maniac.
The other stiffened suddenly. She seemed to recall
something which her encounter with Helen had tem-
porarily blotted from her mind. Placing two fingers
across her lips, she cast a swift glance up the stairs.
For a brief space she stood tense, listening.
“The woman who watches me went to sleep and I
stole away from her," she whispered. “We must try
to get out before they begin looking for me. You must
come, too. It won't do for you to remain a moment
longer. S-sh!"
Silent as a wraith she stole down the hall. Helen,
scarcely knowing what she was doing, followed
dazedly. She did not know what to think, but there
was an undertow of vague dread in her jumbled
thoughts and emotions. What she had just heard
sounded wildly fantastical, like the raving of a de-
ranged mind. Yet she had a feeling that something
was dreadfully wrong. The strange laughter and the
face at the window appeared to give a background of
reality to what the woman had said. They seemed to
suggest, too, that there was a connecting link between
Azurecrest and the tragedy in the Thelma Theater. It
was this circumstance, bewildering and almost unbe-
lievable, that clogged the functioning of Helen's mind
and rendered her willing to be led along by her guide.


68
THE GRAY PHANTOM
The dog let go its hold as a man came running
toward them. He stopped and gathered the fallen
woman in his arms, and Helen recognized the indi-
vidual who had met her at the gate on her arrival.
With scarcely a glance in her direction, he turned and
walked toward the house with his burden. Helen feel-
ing the gleaming eyes of the beast on her face, dared
not move. As she stood wondering what to do, a
shadow fell across the graveled walk and a second man
came toward her.
“Back to your kennel, Cæsar!” he commanded, and
the dog obediently slunk away. “Excellent watchdog,
but a bit ferocious when he is kept on half rations.
Won't you come inside, Miss—er, Hardwick? Hawkes
told me about you. I am Mr. Slade. Sorry to have
kept you waiting."
His manner and appearance were pleasant enough;
yet Helen felt an impulse to run. The things she had
seen and heard since coming to Azurecrest were highly
mystifying, and they had left a number of questions
and suspicions in her mind. She glanced quickly
toward the picket fence, then in the direction whence
Cæsar had disappeared. Something told her that a
whistle would set the dog snapping and snarling at her
heels if she should try to break away. She decided that
her hope lay in diplomacy rather than flight. :
As if he had read her thoughts, Slade touched her
arm and escorted her to the house. She sensed that a


PERPLEXITIES
69
trying ordeal was ahead of her, and she was already
steeling her nerves for it. She had faced danger many
times, and her buoyant nature always responded to the
demands of a crisis with a quickening of wits and ris-
ing courage.
"I trust Miss Neville didn't annoy you,” murmured
Slade apologetically as he opened the door and con-
ducted her down the hall. “A very difficult case of
paranoia. She gets quite violent at times, and she is
subject to all sorts of hallucinations. To-night she
broke away from her nurse and would no doubt have
attempted to scale the fence if Cæsar hadn't interrupted
her.”
Helen walked beside him in silence. She had already
wondered whether Miss Neville could be quite sane.
Oddly enough, Slade's words almost convinced her that
the woman was of sound mind, though perhaps she
was suffering from the effects of illness and shock.
Helen had conceived an immediate and instinctive dis-
trust of Slade, despite his smooth-flowing speech and
suave manners.
He ushered her into the same room she had left so
hurriedly upon hearing the laughter, and placed a chair
for her. A look at his face in the electric light gave
edge to her misgivings, but at first she could not tell
what there was about him that repelled her. According
to all standards, he should have attracted her and
inspired confidence in her. His personality contained


70
THE GRAY PHANTOM
that blend of strength and gentleness which she had
liked in men ever since her days of inconsequential
hero worship. He had the strong jaw and high fore-
head that often go with aggressiveness and mental
keenness, and he carried his tall figure with the easy
grace of a man of the world. His presence would have
been quite magnetic if only— But Helen could not
finish the thought. There was an unnamable some-
thing about him that eluded her mental grasp.
“Quite a sad case, that of Miss Neville," he con-
tinued. “She was once a very brilliant woman, but her
genius was consumed by its own fire, so to speak. I
might as well tell you that she is my half-sister. For
her own good and to avoid unpleasant notoriety, I am
keeping her here under the care of a physician. Her
friends believe that she is traveling abroad, and so far
I have succeeded in keeping the true state of affairs
secret. There is a possibility, though a very remote
one, that she will recover."
Helen made no comment. Though his eyes were
lowered seemingly on the floor, she felt he was watch-
ing her and wondering whether she believed him. She
thought it strange that he should have taken her into
his confidence in regard to matters which one usually
does not divulge to strangers. There were a number
of questions on the tip of her tongue, but she thought
it better to hold them back.
"I suppose," Slade went on in melancholy tones,


PERPLEXITIES
71
“that she told you the usual story of mistreatment and
persecution ?"
"She seemed very excited.” Helen weighed her
words with care. “I don't remember all she told me,
but she said something of a fever that was gradually
killing her, and she seemed very anxious to get away
from this place.”
"Yes, the fever is one of her hallucinations. She
imagines that she is suffering from a strange disease.
And not only that but she thinks everybody around her
afflicted with the same mysterious malady. The idea
is firmly rooted in her mind that the disease has been
deliberately communicated to her by enemies. No
doubt she told you of a queer kind of laughter that is
supposed to be one of the symptoms of the strange ail-
ment.”
"She not only mentioned it, but she gave me a dem-
onstration. It sounded a bit-creepy.”
"I can readily believe it. It must have been very
unpleasant for you. I take it that she told the story
convincingly enough to make an impression on you, or
you would not have started to run away with her."
He smiled as he spoke, and all at once Helen saw the
reason for her instinctive dislike of him. The smile
was of the lips only. There was no responsive gleam
in his eyes. And his eyes, she now perceived, were
hard and dispassionate as bits of porcelain.
"She frightened me, and I didn't know what to


72
THE GRAY PHANTOM
think,” she guardedly admitted. “I suppose I followed
her on the impulse of the moment. I do most things
on impulse, you see.”
"That's the privilege of youth.” He laughed, but his
eyes were as glossy and expressionless as fish scales
and seemed to veto his vocal merriment. “Luckily you
wouldn't have got further than the gate, even if Cæsar
hadn't intervened. It would be very embarrassing if
Miss Neville should escape from us some night and
expose her condition to the world. There is slight
danger of that, though. I have taken all necessary
precautions. However, your meeting Miss Neville here
and noticing the state she is in, makes the situation
rather awkward. I should dislike to have the matter
get into the newspapers. I have been frank with you,
hoping you would see the delicacy of the situation from
my point of view."
"I never gossip about people's misfortunes," de-
clared Helen with emphasis.
“Thank you. I know I can depend on you, Miss
Hardwick. I hope Cæsar didn't frighten you. By the
way," and suddenly he seemed to remember something,
“my secretary told me you were inquiring for Mr.
Vanardy.”
Helen started slightly. For an hour she had been
wondering why she had seen nothing of The Gray
Phantom and why her request to see him had been met
with evasions and cross-questioning.


PERPLEXITIES
Slade regarded her with polite curiosity. “I have
seen your name in the newspapers, Miss Hardwick.
You wrote the play that Vincent Starr produced at his
theater. Only a little while ago I was reading of the
peculiar tragedy that interrupted the first performance
last night. I wonder whether your visit here has any-
thing to do with that occurrence.”
It was a strange question, Helen thought. “I–I
would rather talk over my errand with Mr. Vanardy
in person," she stammered. She was chilled and con-
fused by his steady gaze. “Isn't he here?”
Slade's lips twitched. “You know, of course, that
Mr. Vanardy is the genial rascal who used to be known
as The Gray Phantom. You needn't answer; I see that
you do. It strikes me as rather odd that a young lady
of your evident refinement and culture should be asso-
ciated with a man of that type. Pardon my imper-
tinence. The fact of the matter is that Mr. Vanardy
is not here. He left Azurecrest some time ago."
“What?” Helen half rose from the chair. With a
great exertion of will power she steadied herself. “Mr.
Vanardy not here? Then where is he?”
“That I don't know. I purchased Azurecrest from
him through a broker. I never had any dealings with
the man himself. In fact, at the time I bought the
place I didn't know that it had been occupied by The
Gray Phantom. You see, I had been looking for a
secluded spot where Miss Neville could live quietly and


74
THE GRAY PHANTOM
without fear of unwelcome intrusions. Azurecrest
seemed to answer the requirements, and so I bought
it.”
Helen stared at him, unable to disguise her bewilder-
ment. Slade's statement amazed and shocked her. She
had not been in correspondence with The Gray Phan-
tom, but at their last meeting he had told her to com-
municate with him at Azurecrest if she should ever
need him. She thought it strange that he had not sent
her word of his removal.
Slade was sauntering leisurely back and forth across
the floor. Now and then, as he looked at her, his eyes
gave her a chill. She made a strong effort to gather
her thoughts and master her feelings. Something, she
did not know just what, told her that the occasion
demanded a cool head and steady nerves.
A motor horn sounded in the distance. Evidently a
car was winding its way up the hill. The thought gave
her a vague sense of comfort. She sat up straight.
"I told the man who met me at the gate that I wished
to see Mr. Vanardy," she remarked. “Later I told
Hawkes the same thing. Neither one intimated that
Mr. Vanardy was no longer here. I was asked a lot of
useless questions and asked to wait. Then— ".
"My dear Miss Hardwick,” smoothly interrupted
Slade, "you must understand that the circumstances
under which my half-sister and myself are living here


PERPLEXITIES
75
make it necessary for me to be very cautious with
regard to visitors. My servants have orders to subject
all callers to careful inspection and cross-examination.
For instance, how do I know that you are not a news-
paper reporter looking for a sensation?
Helen smiled; the suggestion seemed so absurd.
Once more the blare of a horn sounded in the distance.
"And that reminds me," Slade went on in slightly
altered tones, “that you have not yet explained your
presence here. I asked you a moment ago whether it
had anything to do with what happened at the Thelma
Theater."
“So you did.” Helen's smile, though tantalizing,
was the kind with which one masks an inner turbu-
lence.
"I am waiting for your answer.” Slade seemed as
sauve and urbane as before, but his eye was a trifle
frostier and his tone carried a peremptory note. Helen
glanced at the window. A glare like that of a motor
car's headlight was approaching the house.
“Your question is very peculiar," she replied with a
haughtiness which she did not quite feel, “and I see no
reason why I should answer it.”
“No?" Slade had ceased his pacing of the floor, and
Helen wondered whether it was by design or accident
that he had stopped with his back to the door. “Per-
haps the question will seem less peculiar if I word it


THE GRAY PHANTOM
differently. What did you mean when you told
Hawkes that the business you wished to discuss with
Vanardy had to do with Mr. Shei?”
Helen felt a tingle of suspense. There was a sneer
on Slade's lips and his frigid eyes filled her with a
vague dread. She tried to parry the question with
banter, but the words would not come. She twisted in
her chair, and suddenly, as the door behind Slade's
back came open, her gaze grew rigid and a look of
consternation filled her eyes. She gripped the arms of
her chair and very slowly raised herself to her feet, all
the while staring intently at the figure whose arrival
had been heralded a few minutes ago by the headlight's
glare.
The newcomer seemed startled at first, then he
smiled. Slade stepped aside and bowed deferentially
to the man in the doorway. Then he noticed Helen's
transfigured face.
“You two seem to have met before," he remarked.
Helen advanced a step. She drew a long, trembling
breath. A staggering realization flashed through her
mind as she gazed rigidly into the newcomer's smiling
face. It was the same realization that had come to her
with such unnerving force in the Thelma Theater. It
had grown hazy and vague during the intervening
hours, and the quick succession of events had left her
wondering. Now she knew that her first intuitive sus-


PERPLEXITIES
77
picion had been correct. Her mind seemed to reel and
spin. She hardly knew that her lips were moving, but
her voice, hoarse and scarcely audible, was uttering a
name:
"Mr. Shei!”


THE PHANTOM ORCHID
79
color of the sky just before dawn or the hue of the
sea in a light fog. The novelty of the idea appealed to
him and the task was proving difficult enough to give
him gentle stimulation. Furthermore, gray always had
been his favorite color. And he had almost decided
that the hybrid, when once evolved, should be known
as The Phantom Orchid.
It was merely a whim, of course—the vagary of a
mind so active that it must be working even at play.
For the matter of that, he often told himself that of
late years his life had been little else than a succession
of fancies and dim shades of reality. The gardens he
had planted and the products that gained such flattering
comment in the horticultural journals had been nothing
but a tangible expression of a passionate desire to blot
out the past and efface that other self whom the out-
side world called The Gray Phantom.
In those other days he had gone, like a rollicking
Robin Hood, from one stupendous adventure to an-
other. Without thought of sordid gain, but merely to
assuage an inborn craving for excitement, he had
dipped into a whirl of exploits that caused the public to
gasp and hold its breath. The police, bedeviled and
outwitted at every turn, had gritted their teeth and
muttered anathemas even while admitting that The
Gray Phantom always played the game fairly and that
his victims, more often than not, were villains of a far
blacker dye than he.


80
THE GRAY PHANTOM
It had been a mad carousal, and for a time it had
given The Phantom all the thrills his nature craved.
Nearly always his left hand had tossed away what his
right had plucked. Mysterious and untraceable con-
tributions had poured in upon hospitals, orphan
asylums, societies for the protection of animals, and
other philanthropic organizations. Widows, invalids,
and paupers were befriended in a way that caused them
to believe in a return of the day of miracles. Dreamers
starving in garrets and inventors struggling to keep
body and soul together were tided over many a trying
crisis.
Through it all The Gray Phantom had maintained an
elusiveness that confounded the keenest man hunters
among the police and wrapped his identity in a mys-
terious glamour. Simple-minded people wondered
whether he were a being of flesh and blood, or a shade
on earthly rampage. His one arrest, back in the early
stages of his career, had settled their doubts once for
all, but an astonishing escape a few days later caused
them to wag their heads and speak in hushed tones of
a rogue whose feats and juggleries bewildered them.
The Phantom laughed quietly at their perplexity.
The performances that awed and puzzled them seemed
simple enough to him. He was merely unleashing his
imagination and giving free sway to his boundless
energies of body and mind. In another age he might
have been a sea-roving viking or a builder of ancient


THE PHANTOM ORCHID
81
empires. At times, when one of his softer moods was
upon him, he wondered why his restless spirit and the
fires within him could not have found a different and
more soul-satisfying outlet. Then his thoughts would
go back to dimly remembered days, with their shadowy
recollections of early orphanage and the peccadilloes of
street urchins, and somehow he thought he understood.
But as time passed his restless moods came back with
increasing frequency, and little by little he lost taste for
the life he was leading and the adventures that had
made his sobriquet' known from coast to coast. Then
there came lapses between The Gray Phantom's ex-
ploits, and finally they ceased altogether. The world,
not knowing with what lavish hand he had flung away
his spoils, supposed he had collected his treasures and
gone into hiding, and the police grimly predicted that
he would reappear as soon as he had squandered his ill-
gotten gains. No one guessed that The Phantom had
built a hermitage on a desolate hilltop where, sur-
rounded by a few of his art treasures and a small group
of faithful followers, he was trying to reconstruct his
life in peace.
“Azurecrest” was the name he had given his
secluded retreat, and there he had tried to destroy the
links that still chained him to the past and to blot out
the tantalizing visions of other days. For a time he
had almost succeeded; then a restlessness had come
upon him for which the desolate hilltop afforded no


82
THE GRAY PHANTOM
relief, and he felt that his mountain retreat, with its
collection of relics and reminders of bygone times, was
too closely associated with the things he wanted to
forget. Finally he had disposed of the place through
a broker and purchased a narrow strip of land by the
sea. He could not analyze the obscure motives and
hidden impulse that had impelled him to seek seclusion
at Sea Glimpse, a slender tongue of wooded land sur-
rounded on three sides by jagged coast line and in the
rear by forest and farm land. But while at work clear-
ing the ground for his garden he had felt a grateful
remoteness from things he wished to forget, and a
measure of peace and satisfaction had come to him
while he put his unpracticed hands to strange tasks or
wandered among the trees and listened to the murmurs
of the sea. He often wondered whether he would be
content to spend his life in this secluded nook of the
world where, safely hidden and secure from intrusion,
he could devote himself to his hobby and his books.
The question came back to him again as he closed his
Paxton and got up to light the reading lamp. For
months he had felt that the links connecting him with
the past were snapping. The Gray Phantom had
emerged from retirement only once, and then he had
ventured forth in a good cause. In a little while, per-
haps, he would be dead and almost forgotten. The
gray orchid, if Vanardy should ever succeed in bring-
ing it out, would be the living symbol of whatever had
se


THE PHANTOM ORCHID
83
been good in his other self. The thought more than
once had appealed to his imagination and the whimsical
strain in his nature.
He turned toward the window, but he had taken only
a few steps when he stopped and looked dreamily into
space. Memories thronged his mind and a face ap-
peared out of no where—a woman's face. For months
it had haunted him in his idle moments, inspiring him
with vague and exhilarant emotions. He saw it now,
softly radiant among the shadows, an enchanting em-
bodiment of the bloom and freshness of youth that
pursued him with the persistence of a delicate scent or
the strain of an all-but-forgotten song.
"Helen!” he murmured.
The vision grew a little clearer. Now he could
almost see her figure, slim and straight and moving
with the easy swing and grace of a young antelope.
Echoes of her voice came to him, clear and unaffected
and vibrant with joyous vivacity, each melodious note
touching an harmonious chord within him. He remem-
bered that her face had given him a curious impression
of youthful buoyancy mingling with the soberness of
maturity. Her quick intuition, coupled with a strain
of subtlety in her nature and a trace of precocious
sophistication that was both puzzling and enchanting,
had seemed to bridge the years that lay between them.
The vitalic sheen and the subtle aroma of her hair had
given him a foolish desire to see what sun and wind


84
THE GRAY PHANTOM
would do to it if she were to loosen it and romp in his
garden.
He sighed musingly. Months had passed since he
had last seen her. For a brief, unforgettable moment
he had held her hand, and the contact had given him a
gentle, all-pervading thrill and filled him with strange
and tender emotions. Her eyes, warm and frank, but
with a touch of shyness lurking in their depths, as if
she were still a little afraid of him, had inspired him
with a tingling ecstasy such as The Gray Phantom in
his wildest triumphs had never experienced. Twice he
had written her since then, once to apprise her of his
removal from Azurecrest and once to inquire concern-
ing: her well-being, but he had neither expected nor
received an answer. He had not forgotten that in the
eyes of the world he was still an outlaw, a hunted
thing.
Again he sighed. The vision was fading, and little
of it remained with him save a misty picture of loveli-
ness. The moon was rising over the tree tops, throw-
ing a white sheen over the landscape and the narrow
wedge of water visible between the birches and hem-
locks. The old house, purchased by Vanardy in a
dilapidated condition and with difficulty rendered
habitable, was silent but for the creeping whispers of
the wind. For a time the solitary figure at the window
stood lost in thoughts. His deep-gray eyes, rather too
narrow for perfect symmetry, which had been known


THE PHANTOM ORCHID
85
to stab and sting like rapiers, were not soft and lumi-
nous. Small wrinkles radiated from the outer corners,
but the eyes themselves were animated by the slow
twinkling gleam that characterizes the individual who
sifts all the ups and downs of life through a sieve of
whimsical imagination. The sensitive nostrils and the
full arch of the lips denoted a penchant for distilling
the maximum of thrills and emotions from the magic
of existence. Here and there his face was lined and
scarred, and even in repose there was a tension about
the lean, tall figure that made one think of a cocked
trigger.
A knock sounded, and he turned quickly. Through
the door waddled a fat man with a woe-begone expresa
sion and a multiple chin. He groaned and puffed as if
the task of carrying his elephantine body through life
was not a light burden. The newcomer was Clifford
Wade, once The Gray Phantom's chief lieutenant and
now the major-domo of his little household.
"Wade,” observed The Phantom, eyeing the fat man
with disapproval, “you are getting soft. This easy and
carefree existence is demoralizing you completely."
The other placed a stack of newspapers and a few
letters on the table, then slumped into a chair and gazed
ruefully down at the protruding curvature of his stom-
ach.
"I know, boss. I piled on two more pounds last
week. Pretty soon I won't be able to go for the mail


86
THE GRAY PHANTOM
any more. If you'd only say the word, I'd round up
the old gang, and we'd turn a few more tricks like the
ones we used to pull in the good old days. I'd work
off this fat in no time.”
The Phantom shook his head. "No, Wade. You
will have to try some other form of fat reducer. I am
through with the old life for good. It was exciting
while it lasted, but the novelty has worn off. It was
only a sort of emotional eruption, anyhow.”
Wade scowled, then delivered himself of a startling
exclamation: "Hang the women!”
The Phantom raised his brows in surprise. "What's
your grievance against the fair sex, Wade? Hanging
is pretty serious business, you know. What atrocious
crime have the women perpetrated against you to de-
serve such cruel punishment? You don't look like a
man suffering the pangs of unrequited love. Your
heart is intact, I hope ?"
“Oh, my heart's all right,” Wade complained. “It's
yours that I'm worrying about. Lately I haven't been
able to dope you out at all, boss. If I didn't know you
as well as I do, I'd say you've gone plumb dippy. There
was a time not so long ago when you went in for big
game-real he-man stuff. There were a lot of men on
the police force who used to have a funny feeling
around the solar plexus whenever The Gray Phantom's
name was spoken. You cut some fancy didos in those
days, boss. Now—now you're poking seeds into the


THE PHANTOM ORCHID
e was an
ground and talking of reforming.” Wade made a ges-
ture of great disgust.
"Granted,” said The Phantom, smiling, “but is that
any reason for exterminating the feminine sex?”!
“You bet it is. The trouble with you is that you've
got too much girl on the brain, boss. You were all
right until that pretty little skirt with the big baby eyes
happened along."
“Oh, you mean Miss Hardwick?” There was an
odd tension in The Phantom's tones.
“That's who I mean. She's easy on the eyes and all
that, but she's sure raised the devil with you. The old
kind of life was good enough for you till she bobbed
up. It was then you started all this mushy talk about
going straight and changing your ways. I know be-
cause I've been watching you."
The Phantom was strangely silent. Twice he crossed
the floor, then paused before the window and looked
out into the shadowy landscape. There was a pensive
gleam in his eyes, as if Wade's speech had turned his
thoughts into new channels. Suddenly he laughed, and
the new expression that came into his face suggested
that he had seen an all-revealing flash.
"I am much obliged to you for that bit of psycho-
analysis,” he told the fat man. “You're right, Wade
absolutely right. I was a fool not to see it before."
"Not to see what?".
A faint smile flickered across The Phantom's face.


88
THE GRAY PHANTOM
“That Miss Hardwick has had a great deal to do with
my determination to change my ways. I hadn't realized
it until you spoke just now. I had been inclined to
give myself all the credit. Thanks to your somewhat
crude but accurate statement of the case, I can see now
that all of it belongs to her.”
Wade's round little eyes, imbedded in layers of flesh,
stared uncomprehendingly at The Phantom. “I don't
get you at all, boss.”
“Then don't try. Your heart is in the right place,
Wade, but you lack imagination and there are some
things that you and I can't view from the same angle.
Miss Hardwick's influence in my life is one of them.
Sorry to disappoint an old pal, but my determination to
stay on the straight and narrow path is stronger than
ever.”
Wade made a wry face. "You'll suit yourself, of
course, but it might interest you to know that another
man is stealing your thunder while you're dancing to
the piping of a skirt.” He opened one of the news-
papers he had placed on the table and pointed to a
black-face caption. The Phantom, looking over his
massive shoulders, read:
MR. SHEI'S NAME ON DYING LIPS
His eyes narrowed gradually as he read the highly
colored account of the tragedy in the Thelma Theater.


THE PHANTOM ORCHID
89
There was a pucker of perplexity on his forehead when
he finished.
"Wonder what Mr. Shei is up to this time," he
mumbled, gazing thoughtfully at the floor. “I've been
following the fellow's exploits for some time. This is
a bit out of the ordinary—eh, Wade?”.
"You said it, boss. And you can bet your sweet life
he's getting ready for something big this time. Unless
I'm a poor guesser, the affair at the Thelma last night
was only the beginning. Mr. Shei's schemes run deep,
and he never strikes a blow unless he's got an object in
view. There's something queer about the murder of
that woman, boss.”
The Phantom nodded. “Looks as though you were
right, Wade. Mr. Shei is out after big game this time,
and in all likelihood the Thelma affair is only the pre-
lude. But I don't see how- "
“There's another queer thing about this Mr. Shei,”
interrupted the fat man. “Maybe you've noticed it. I
don't know how many jobs he's pulled off, but every
one of them has shown the slickest kind of workman-
ship. What's more," and Wade's eyes peered cun-
ningly into the other's face, “most of them look as
though you'd had a hand in them yourself. That's
what I meant when I said another man is stealing your
thunder.”
The Phantom started; then a thin smile parted his
lips. “Yes, I have noticed it, Wade. I have studied


90
THE GRAY PHANTOM
Mr. Shei's methods as carefully as has been possible
from the superficial and distorted newspaper accounts,
and I have observed that he has done me the question-
able honor of adopting some of the methods and strata-
gems I used to practice in the past. In a number of
instances he has copied my technique so closely that
I've often wondered whether I've been walking in my
sleep or whether my old self has come back in a new
form. It's been almost uncanny.” He laughed mus-
ingly. “What do you make of it, Wade?"
"I think you'd better take another fling at the old
game before this Mr. Shei gets a monopoly on it.”
“I didn't mean that. How do you account for the
similarity of methods?"
The fat man pondered. "Somebody has studied
your tricks and put them into practice. Somebody
that's been close enough to you to watch you in action.
Maybe," and the glow of a sudden idea lighted up his
face, “a member of our old crowd. Say, boss, wouldn't
it be a joke on you if Mr. Shei should turn out to be
a graduate of your own gang?"
“Worse than a joke,” said The Phantom grimly. He
paced the floor with quick, short steps, his hands
clenched at his back. "I have given the mysterious
Mr. Shei a great deal of thought in the past few
months, and I fear you are right. His tactics so closely
resemble mine that I suspect he learned them from me
at firsthand. In the old days I often took a sort of


THE PHANTOM ORCHID
91
foolish pride in teaching my methods to the more
adaptable ones among the members of my organiza-
tion. It pleased me to watch their development under
my training. I didn't realize then what I was doing.1
Now " He shrugged as if to dismiss a futile
regret. “Yes, it's quite likely that Mr. Shei is a former
pupil of mine."
"Well, what are you going to do about it?”
The Phantom stopped abruptly, gazing at the fat
man with a far-away gleam in his eye, as if they were
miles apart.
"I thought The Gray Phantom was dead,” he mur-
mured. “It appears I have been mistaken. If Mr. Shei
is a product of The Gray Phantom's brain, then my old
self is still active. For every crime committed by Mr.
Shei, The Gray Phantom bears responsibility." He
gave a dismal laugh. “And I thought I had destroyed
most of the links connecting me with the old
times."
"Well,” said Wade again, this time a little testily,
"just what are you going to do about it?”
The Phantom did not answer immediately. He was
staring absent-mindedly into space. Presently he
looked at his watch; then he nodded thoughtfully.
"Wish you would pack my grip, Wade.”
The fat man started from the chair. “Not going
away?"
“Yes; there's a train for New York a few minutes
as


92
THE GRAY PHANTOM
past midnight. In the morning, bright and early, I
shall start a little campaign.”
"Campaign?” Wade's eyes bulged. “What kind of
campaign?”
“The biggest one of my life, I think. I am going out
to lay The Gray Phantom's ghost. In plain words, I
propose to go on the warpath against the mysterious
Mr. Shei. I fancy it will be quite an exciting little
tussle, Wade.”


CHAPTER VII
MR. SHEI SHOWS HIS HAND
I N the dusk of the following morning a tall, gray-
clad figure alighted from a train in the Grand
- Central terminal, glanced cautiously to right and
left among the thin scattering of passengers, and with
a furtive air traversed the vast concourse and gained
the street by one of the side exits. With the habitual
vigilance of a hunted man, he paused for a few
moments under the canopy and scanned the face of
each loiterer and passer-by. A dull, discordant din
testified that the city was awakening, and a pale shim-
mer of dawn was shattering the mists hanging like a
gauzy veil over Manhattan. Finally the gray-clad
figure moved on, walked a block and a half to the west
and, selecting an unpretentious restaurant, stepped in
and ordered breakfast.
The Gray Phantom's campaign was on.
Perils lurked everywhere. Though he had changed
his ways, he had not yet paid off his old scores. He
still had the law to reckon with, for the outstanding
charges against him were grave and numerous enough
to send him to prison for the rest of his life. The
93


MR. SHEI SHOWS HIS HAND
95
"lo
on some stupendous adventure. It was still early, and
there was only a thin sprinkling of traffic in the streets,
and the chances of his being recognized were corre-
spondingly slight.
As yet he had no definite plan in mind. His decision
to make war on Mr. Shei had been made suddenly and
largely on the impulse of the moment. It was in keep
ing with his determination to blot out that part of him-
self which the world knew as The Gray Phantom. The
realization had come to him in a flash that the work of
his other self was being carried on vicariously by the
person known as Mr. Shei. If his suspicions were
correct, and if the latter was indeed a disciple of his,
then Mr. Shei was a part of the past he had vowed to
uproot and destroy. His regeneration would not be
complete until this object had been accomplished.
He chuckled a little as he walked along. It was odd,
he thought, that Wade should have guessed the motive
for his determination to tear his past to shreds.
Throughout his striving and reaching for something
higher and better, The Phantom had vaguely and in-
stinctively felt that the bright, brown eyes of Helen
Hardwick were his lodestars, but Wade's crudely
phrased remark had been needed to make the impres-
sion clear. He knew it was largely because of Helen's
faith in him that he was now attacking the hardest and
most perilous task of his career. Vaguely he wondered
what she would think when she heard of his latest


96
THE GRAY PHANTOM
adventure, and he felt a fleeting temptation to tell her
of his decision. He rejected it, however, resolving it
would be time enough to make his plans known to her
when they were in a more mature shape.
The sight of a knot of curious idlers outside a drug
store in Times Square caused him to quicken his steps.
He knew the psychology of city crowds and that the
merest trifle is sufficient to attract a throng, but this
gathering seemed to have been drawn together by
something out of the ordinary. As unobtrusively as
he could, he wedged his way through the little crowd,
consisting mostly of homeward-bound night workers
and belated pleasure seekers, and now he saw the
object of their interest was a small square of paper
pasted to the pane of the show window. A flicker of
surprise crossed The Phantom's face as he read the
typewritten inscription:
of the police; coup will
York Cityday or two; nese
For the diversion of the public and the edification
of the police, I beg to announce that my next, and so
far, greatest, coup will be directed against the seven
wealthiest men in New York City, whose names I
shall take a pleasure in announcing in a day or two. By
a unique and sensational method of persuasion these
gentlemen will be induced to transfer half of their
respective fortunes to me.
MR. SHEI.
A grin tugged at The Phantom's lips as he read the
announcement a second time. Mr. Shei, in flaunting
his intentions before the eyes of the public and the


MR. SHEI SHOWS HIS HAND
97
police, was living up to time-honored traditions of
melodrama. It was of a piece with the rascal's erratic
and extravagant nature, and the boastful phrasing of
the announcement, as well as the incidental taunt flung
at the police, was quite characteristic of him. Yet,
despite the pompous claptrap with which Mr. Shei was
adorning his project, the magnitude of it appealed to
The Phantom's imagination. It was fully as great and
daring an enterprise as The Phantom himself had ever
attempted. If the scheme succeeded—and Mr. Shei's
undertakings invariably did—the loot would run well
into ten figures.
From remarks dropped by the bystanders he
gathered that stickers bearing the same boastful an-
nouncements had been distributed during the early
morning hours at various points throughout the city.
Mr. Shei seemed to have spared no pains in his effort
to startle the metropolis. The Phantom was edging
away from the throng when a few words, spoken in
low and drawling tones, caused him to look quickly
aside.
"Pardon, but haven't we met before?”
The Phantom felt a faint thrill of apprehension.
Recognition at this point might prove disastrous to his
plans. Beside him, with tired and red-lidded eyes peer-
ing into his face, stood a tall, gaunt man whose some-
what ludicrous appearance was accentuated by full
evening dress.


98
THE GRAY PHANTOM
"I think not,” he said hastily, and started to walk
away. The other, refusing to be squelched, fell into
step beside him.
“Now, isn't that queer?” he remarked with a wheezy
chuckle. "The moment I saw you it occurred to me
that your face seemed familiar. By the way, what do
you think of Mr. Shei's latest ?”
"Quite ambitious.” The Phantom gave his uninvited
companion a keen glance, and the covert scrutiny
stirred several shadowy recollections in his mind. The
curious individual seemed well past middle age, and his
sallow complexion and furrowed face indicated de-
crepit health. He walked with a shuffling gait and a
catarrhal affection of the nose necessitated frequent
use of his handkerchief. The Phantom was trying to
recall when and under what circumstances they had
met before, but his face indicated nothing but annoy-
ance at an unwelcome intrusion.
"Ambitious is the word,” assented the man in even-
ing dress. “Do you know, my dear sir, that if Mr.
Shei carries out his threat and annexes fifty per cent
of the seven biggest fortunes in town, his net gain will
run into the billions? I can only hope that I am not
one of the seven selected for shearing.”
The Phantom gave him another quick glance. A
gleam of humor relieved the woe-begone expression of
the man's face. Again The Phantom searched his
memory. The last remark had carried a strong hint


MR. SHEI SHOWS HIS HAND
99
to the effect that his companion was a man of great
wealth.
"My name, as you probably know, although you pre-
tend to have forgotten it, is W. Rufus Fairspeckle,"
continued the other, taking The Phantom's arm and
turning into a side street. “I don't know how many
millions I have, but I have enough to make me a shin-
ing mark for Mr. Shei's latest offensive. Ah, I see
you remember me now!"
The Phantom's involuntary start had betrayed him.
The mere mention of Mr. Fairspeckle's name had
instantly clarified his hazy recollections. He recalled
now that, some five or six years ago, he had had a brief
and casual encounter with the man. It had occurred in
the course of one of The Phantom's spectacular ad-
ventures, and he had almost forgotten the incident that
brought them together. Now, as the memory of it
flashed back into his mind, he gazed more intently at
his companion.
As the man himself had intimated, W. Rufus Fair-
speckle was one of the wealthiest men in New York
City. Mostly through luck and partly through an
inborn genius for speculation, he had amassed a huge
fortune. At fifty he had retired from business, declar-
ing that he had worked hard all his life and was en-
titled to a rest and a little diversion. Then he had
promptly proceeded to the enjoyment of the pleasures
that had been denied him in his youth, and he had gone


100
THE GRAY PHANTOM
about it with an avidity that created a great deal of
jocular comment and made him known as a very eccen-
tric individual.
“You have a long memory,” observed The Phantom,
glancing uneasily at Mr. Fairspeckle's formal attire.
It drew many amused glances from pedestrians, and
The Phantom did not care to attract unnecessary atten-
tion. “Now, if you will excuse me, I think I will wish
you good morning. I have a busy day ahead of me.”
"Not so fast,” protested Mr. Fairspeckle, clutching
The Phantom's sleeve with his long, bony fingers.
“You are coming with me."
The words had a peremptory sound. The Phantom
knitted his brows.
"Why, if I may ask?”.
"See that cop?” Mr. Fairspeckle pointed to a blue-
coated figure half a block ahead. "He's a hard-work-
ing soul and presumably he is ambitious to obtain pro-
motion. The capture of The Gray Phantom would be
quite an event in his humdrum life.”
The Phantom" sensed a threat. He glanced about
him quickly. The streets were rapidly filling with
traffic, and to break away might not prove easy. Be-
sides, he was curious to know the reason for Mr. Fair-
speckle's evident determination to detain him. Decid-
ing to adopt the safer course, he simulated an affable
smile.
“Suppose we let the hard-working cop earn his pro-


MR. SHEI SHOWS HIS HAND
101
motion some other way,” he suggested. “Where to,
Mr. Fairspeckle?"
“My apartment at the Whipple Hotel. We're almost
there. Glad you are going to be reasonable, Mr. Van-
ardy. I need someone to talk to. Ever suffer from
insomnia ?”
“Never."
“Lucky dog! Insomnia is the bane of my existence.
At times, when I can't sleep, I sit at the club and bore
my friends to death. When I have no friends to talk
to, I walk. Last night I walked from one end of Man-
hattan Island to the other and halfway back again.
Oh, yes, I'm more chipper than you would think from
looking at me. Well, my rambles last night explain
why you see me in these togs. I was just about tired
enough to fall asleep standing on my feet when I saw
Mr. Shei's notice. In an instant I was wide awake
again. Confound the fellow's impudence! Here we
are."
The Phantom was conducted through the chastely
carved portals of one of the quieter hotels in the upper
Forties, and a few moments later they were facing each
other across the redwood table in Mr. Fairspeckle's
library. The apartment, though luxuriously appointed,
was a faithful reflection of the eccentric nature of its
occupant.
“You are careless, Mr. Vanardy," said Mr. Fair-
speckle musingly. The partly drawn shades admitted


102
THE GRAY PHANTOM
a
al
only a vague half-dawn into the room, and the shadows
lent an air of mysteriousness to his appearance. “It
isn't safe for a man in your position to walk about
without disguise.”
"Disguises are treacherous things. I have used
them now and then, but ordinarily I feel safer without
them. Anyhow, no one but you is aware of my pres-
ence in New York."
Mr. Fairspeckle drew a palm across his chin. His
red-lidded eyes regarded The Phantom shrewdly. "I
wonder what brings you to New York at this particular
time—at the very time when Mr. Shei is launching his
most ambitious scheme. You will admit the coinci-
dence is rather striking?”
"Some people might deduce from it that I am Mr.
Shei,” suggested The Phantom, smiling. “They would
be wrong.”
There was a quiver at the corners of Mr. Fair-
speckle's thin lips. His eyes held a suspicious twinkle.
"Perhaps,” he commented dryly. Then he fell to
drumming the table with his finger tips. “What I
would like to know for certain is whether I am one of
the seven. You see, I wouldn't object to being mur-
dered by this Mr. Shei. Most people think I'm leading
a useless life and ought to be dead, anyhow. It won't
be long until an undertaker pumps my carcass full of
formaldehyde. What I object to is the idea of being
swindled out of my money. No man ever got the best


MR. SHEI SHOWS HIS HAND
103
of me yet, and I don't intend that Mr. Shei shall make
a fool of me. He can kill me, but I won't hand him a
cent. I'll be hanged if I will !"
He thumped the table with his fist. There was some-
thing so ludicrous about his grim earnestness that The
Phantom could scarcely repress a smile. At the same
time he was conscious of a suspicion for which he could
not quite account. Mr. Fairspeckle's indignation
seemed not quite natural. Even the vehement thump
of his fist against the table had an artificial sound. An
intuition, flashing into his mind out of nowhere, held
The Phantom spellbound for a moment. In the next
instant he laughed inwardly at the absurdity of it, tell-
ing himself that he must hold his imagination in leash.
"It will be interesting to see how Mr. Shei intends to
proceed,” he casually remarked.
"It will,” spluttered Mr. Fairspeckle. "You can
trust him to work some devilishly clever scheme. He
always does. Do you suppose,” and he bent his bony
frame over the table and gazed searchingly at The
Phantom, “that the murder at the Thelma Theater
night before last was the first episode in this latest
enterprise of Mr. Shei's?”.
"You mean the murder of Miss Darrow? There
seems to be no doubt but that Mr. Shei had a hand in
it. Everything points to— ”.
He paused of a sudden. All at once it occurred to
him that there was something odd about Mr. Fair-


104
THE GRAY PHANTOM
speckle's question. Immediately upon reading of the
Thelma murder, The Phantom had suspected that it
was the prelude to another of Mr. Shei's spectacular
adventures, but the suspicion had been wholly intuitive.
As far as outward appearances went, there was nothing
in the murder of Virginia Darrow to suggest that it
was anything more than an isolated incident. It was
curious, therefore, that Mr. Fairspeckle should look for
a connecting link between the crime at the Thelma and
Mr. Shei's threat.
“Everything points to Mr. Shei as the perpetrator of
the murder," he guardedly went on, "but whether the
crime has any bearing on Mr. Shei's new venture is
hard to tell. It doesn't seem likely. How could he
possibly further his scheme by an act of that kind ? His
plan is to separate seven of New York's richest men
from half of their wealth. How is the death of Miss
Darrow going to help him in an undertaking of that
kind ?”
A sly smile twitched the corners of Mr. Fairspeckle's
lips. “Nevertheless,” he observed, “I think that you
and I agree. I am a pretty good judge of faces, and
your expression a moment ago betrayed you, Mr.
Vanardy. My question seemed innocent enough at
first, but on second thought it startled you. Suppose
we be frank. Both of us believe that the Thelma affair
was the beginning of Mr. Shei's latest move. We


MR. SHEI SHOWS HIS HAND
105
Sun-
can't see how or why just now, but we know that his
schemes run deep. Isn't it so ?”
The Phantom, momentarily baffled by the older
man's shrewd deductions, gazed pensively at the ceil-
ing. A jumble of thoughts and questions shot back
and forth through his mind. Did Mr. Fairspeckle sus-
pect that Mr. Shei and The Gray Phantom were iden-
tical? Or was it possible that He did not finish
the thought. The suspicion that had come to him sev-
eral times during the interview seemed just as un-
reasonable as it was startling, and it had no firmer
foundation than two or three puzzling circumstances
and a tantalizing touch of mysteriousness in Mr. Fair-
speckle's attitude.
"It's an interesting theory, and I've given quite a
little thought to it,” he finally admitted. “Strange that
the same idea should have come to both of us, isn't it?
Especially since there seems to be neither reason nor
logic behind it. How did you happen to think of it,
Mr. Fairspeckle?”
The other man stroked his lean chin with a self-
satisfied air. “What's that old saw about great minds
traveling in the same channel? I don't know just how
the idea came to me, but I'm glad we understand each
other. Now we can talk without quibbling. But first
I want a cup of coffee. Hope you will join me.
Haiuto!”


106
THE GRAY PHANTOM
He fairly shouted the last word, but The Phantom
doubted whether his thin and rasping voice went far-
ther than the walls.
“Haiuto!” Again Mr. Fairspeckle's voice rose to a
shrill but inadequate crescendo. “That confounded
Jap's pretending he is deaf again. Excuse me, will
you?”
He strode irately from the room and slammed the
door. A wrinkle of deep perplexity appeared on The
Phantom's brow. Mr. Fairspeckle puzzled and in-
trigued him. Either he was a very slippery individ-
ual, or else ingenuousness itself. When he returned
and announced that Haiuto would serve their coffee
in a few minutes, The Phantom searched his face in vain
for a sign of guile. If anything, he was a little more
affable than on leaving the room.
"That fool doctor of mine tells me I mustn't drink
coffee,” he confided. “Tells me it's bad for my nerves
and keeps me awake. But my nerves are worn to a
frazzle, anyhow, and I never can sleep except when I
want to stay awake. What were we talking about?
Oh, yes—Mr. Shei.”
He clasped his hands across his diaphragm. A queer
smile, at once beatific and diabolical, came over his
face.
"Do you know," he went on in confidential tones,
“that I don't care a rap if Mr. Shei carries out his
scheme as far as the other six are concerned. Of


MR. SHEI SHOWS HIS HAND
107
course, I don't know for certain who they are, but it's
a safe bet that they are no friends of mine. I have a
hunch that every one of them belongs to the old ring
that fought me tooth and nail while I was climbing up
in the world. It's a long story, and I'm not going to
bore you with it, but you can see why I have no love
for them. I could die happy to-morrow if I could see
them lick the dust to-day. I feel different toward you,
Vanardy. We had a tilt once, but you fought fairly.
The others tried to knife me in the back. They can go
to blazes for all I care."
“Then you and Mr. Shei seem to have at least one
aim in common,” The Phantom pointed out. He smiled
genially, but his eyes were studying every shifting ex-
pression in Mr. Fairspeckle's face. For once he felt
certain that the older man was not dissembling. The
glint of wrath lurking in the depths of his weak eyes
and the vindictive sneer about his lips told that he had
spoken in all sincerity.
“We have,” he declared grimly. “I hope he sends
the other six to the poorhouse. But I have no inten-
tion of letting him pluck me, you understand. That's
where our aims clash. He can go as far as he likes
with the others, but I'll fight like a drunken Indian
before I give him a red cent. I'll see myself in Hades
before I— "
A knock and the opening of the door interrupted
him. A Japanese with a face as expressionless as


108
THE GRAY PHANTOM
mahogany entered with a tray and served them
coffee.
"Queer character, Haiuto," observed Mr. Fair-
speckle when the servant, silent as a wraith, had
retired. “I think he would cheerfully commit hara-
kiri if I asked him to do such a senseless thing." He
sipped his coffee with an air of keen enjoyment.
“Great bracer for fagged nerves, eh? Would you be-
lieve that for days at a time I live on nothing but
coffee? But let's get back to the subject. What shall
we do with this pestiferous Mr. Shei?”
“What would you suggest ?” cautiously inquired The
Phantom, lifting the cup to his lips.
A beam insinuated itself in the creases of Mr. Fair-
speckle's face. “Now we're getting down to essentials.
As I said, Mr. Shei can fleece the other six to his
heart's content, but he's got to keep hands off me.
When I saw you standing in front of the drug store
reading Mr. Shei’s announcement, I was turning a
little plan over in my mind. Then I didn't quite see
how to work it, but I do now."
Again The Phantom brought the cup to his lips. He
regarded his companion inquiringly.
“You and I are going to handle Mr. Shei together,"
declared Mr. Fairspeckle. His face glowed as if a
pleasing prospect were warming his soul. “We will
put a crimp in his scheme and show him—why, what's
the matter, Vanardy?”


MR. SHEI SHOWS HIS HAND
109
The Phantom had slouched down in his chair, and
now his head began to wag from side to side.
"Nothing," he murmured dazedly. “I just feel a
bit drowsy. Would you mind opening the window?
The—the coffee- ".
His eyes rolled, then the lids fluttered and closed,
and he sagged limply in the chair. With a gratified
chuckle Mr. Fairspeckle stepped to the other side of the
table and regarded him gloatingly.
“The Gray Phantom isn't half so clever as he's
supposed to be," he mumbled. Then his hand went out
and touched a button. A moment later Haiuto stood
at attention in the doorway.
“Haiuto,” inquired Mr. Fairspeckle, “how much
chloral did you mix in Mr. Vanardy's cup of coffee?”
“Plenty,” said the servant, and this time the ghost
of a grin flickered across his face. “He sleep long
time.”
Mr. Fairspeckle nodded elatedly. "Take him to my
bedroom,” he instructed, “and make him comfortable.”
With an ease which showed that he possessed all the
agile strength of his race, Haiuto carried The Phantom
into one of the adjoining rooms in the suite, placed
him on the bed, and adjusted a pillow under his head.
For a few moments he stood peering down into the
motionless man's face. Then he silently left the room
and closed the door behind him.
A minute later The Phantom raised himself to a


.110
THE GRAY PHANTOM
sitting posture and blinked his eyes at the sunlight
streaming in beneath the drawn window shades.
"You are fairly clever, Mr. Fairspeckle,” he said
half aloud, “but you ought to modernize your methods.
Drugged coffee has gone out of fashion. Hope I
didn't kill the potted fern at the window behind my
chair."


CHAPTER VIII
THE VOICE ON THE WIRE
HE GRAY PHANTOM lay on his back in
W. Rufus Fairspeckle's ample bed and tried to
grasp the meaning of what had happened.
His host's attempt to drug him savored strongly of
melodrama, and it seemed somewhat grotesque in view
of the fact that it had occurred in an up-to-date and
centrally located hotel. What puzzled him most was
the motive behind the attempt. If Mr. Fairspeckle
suspected that he was Mr. Shei, why had he not handed
his guest over to the police ? On the other hand-
But his conjectures in that direction brought The
Phantom face to face with a theory that made his
thoughts whirl.
His eyes fitted over the room. The color combina-
tion was restful, but the decorations, and especially the
pictures, bespoke rather extreme tastes. He had
gathered, from what little he had seen of the surround-
ings, that Mr. Fairspeckle was occupying a luxurious
apartment consisting of several rooms and that it had
been fitted up to suit his individual requirements.
111


112
THE GRAY PHANTOM
Haiuto, the rat-footed Japanese servant, seemed to be
his only companion.
An hour passed, and The Phantom's cogitations
brought him back to the starting point. Nothing
seemed certain beyond the indubitable fact that Mr.
Fairspeckle was a highly mysterious individual. The
rest was full of vague and hazy surmises. The Phan-
tom waited patiently, wondering what his host's next
move would be, for he had decided to play a passive
rôle for the present. He explored his pockets and was
thankful that his automatic had not been taken from
him. Evidently his jailer was depending on the drug
to keep him in a harmless condition.
His keen ears detected footsteps approaching the
door, and in a twinkling he was lying prone on the bed,
simulating the complete insensibility that comes with
drug-induced sleep. The door came open, then furtive
steps crossed the floor, and The Phantom felt a pair
of sharp eyes on his face. His regular breathing
seemed to satisfy the silent watcher, for after a little he
turned away. As he reached the door, The Phantom
flicked open an eyelid and saw Haiuto. Evidently the
servant had entered the room to make sure that the
effects of the drug were not wearing off.
The door closed almost noiselessly. Again The
Phantom sat up. A glance at his watch told him it
was a few minutes after two. He slid his feet from
the bed and tiptoed cautiously to a window and raised


THE VOICE ON THE WIRE
113
'
the shade. As he looked out, an undersized figure on
the opposite sidewalk instantly caught his eye. As
far as appearances went, the man might have been only
an idler engaged in the pastime of ogling the feminine
passers-by, but The Phantom's practiced eyes saw at
once that he was there for a purpose. The stealthy
glances which he occasionally leveled at the windows
of Mr. Fairspeckle's apartment gave an unmistakable
clew to his mission.
The Phantom's brows contracted as he quickly
lowered the shade. Was it possible someone had
seen and recognized him on his way from the station
and later trailed him to Mr. Fairspeckle's apartment.
The thought was annoying, for he disliked having his
movements hampered by spies. Then, as he turned
away from the window, another possibility suggested
itself. Perhaps Mr. Fairspeckle, and not himself, was
being kept under surveillance of the fellow on the side-
walk. The theory was startling and rather improb-
able; yet it coincided with the suspicion that had kept
flashing in and out of The Phantom's mind.
He examined the mechanism of his automatic and
made sure the cartridge chamber was loaded. He
sensed a hint in the air that before long he might have
occasion to use the weapon. He was in the act of
returning it to his hip pocket when of a sudden he
pricked up his ears. From somewhere in the apart-
ment came a series of faint, clicking sounds. At first


114
THE GRAY PHANTOM
he tried in vain to identify them, but finally it came to
him that someone was using a typewriter.
“Typewriter ?” he mumbled. The word seemed to
hold a hidden significance, but for a while his mind
was unable to grasp it. He did not believe that either
Mr. Fairspeckle or Haiuto had occasion to use such
an instrument, yet he was almost certain that the
sounds were coming from one of the adjoining rooms.
The clicks were slow and irregular, he observed, indi-
cating that the writer was unfamiliar with the machine
and was having some difficulty picking out the char-
acters on the keyboard.
He stole to the door and opened it a crack. The
sounds became louder, and the writer's awkward grop-
ing for the keys was more noticeable now. For a
moment The Phantom stood listening; then his figure
grew suddenly tense. A thin smile hovered about his
lips as he recalled that the announcements which Mr.
Shei had distributed throughout the city had been
written on a typewriter.
It might mean little or nothing, but there was a keen
glitter in The Phantom's eyes. In itself the clicking of
the machine signified scarcely anything, but in conjunc-
tion with other circumstances it was fairly suggestive.
With noiseless tread The Phantom tiptoed in the direc-
tion whence the sounds were coming. Now and then
he darted a quick glance about him, as if expecting a
rear attack from the Japanese servant, but Haiuto was


THE VOICE ON THE WIRE
115
nowhere in sight. He traversed several rooms before
he came to a dead stop in a doorway.
At a table near the window, with his back to The
Phantom, sat Mr. Fairspeckle. He was hunched over
a typewriter, laboriously poking at the keys with the
index finger of each hand. Silently The Phantom
approached until he stood directly at the older man's
back. Mr. Fairspeckle, all his energies centered on his
difficult task, noticed nothing. Leaning slightly for-
ward, The Phantom cast a swift, comprehensive glance
at the paper in the machine. Then his twinkling eyes
looked downward. On the desk, at Mr. Fairspeckle's
elbow, lay a little pile of papers. The topmost one was
partly covered with typewriting, and the wording was
precisely the same as that on the paper in the machine.
The Phantom had seen enough. He drew his auto-
matic from his pocket, then waited until Mr. Fair-
speckle stopped writing and pulled the sheet from the
machine.
“You seem to be fairly busy, Mr. Shei," he observed
in soft tones.
Mr. Fairspeckle jerked up his shoulders, then sat as
rigid as if suddenly turned into a statue. Finally, with
slow and spasmodic motions, he turned his head and
looked into the muzzle of The Phantom's automatic.
A startled look leaped into his eyes and his sallow face
turned a shade paler.
"You!" he exclaimed.


116
THE GRAY PHANTOM
"I watered one of your ferns with the coffee Haiuto
handed me," The Phantom explained. “A cruel way
to treat an inoffensive plant, I'll admit, but there was
nothing else handy. Mind if I have a look ?”
Lowering the weapon a trifle, he picked up the sheet
of paper Mr. Fairspeckle had just drawn from the
machine. Watching the older man out of the tail of
an eye, he read the typewritten lines:
In accordance with my promise, I herewith announce
the names of the seven gentlemen whom by certain
means at my disposal I shall persuade to hand over
half of their respective fortunes to me.
Then followed a list of seven names, each one sug-
gestive of untold wealth and vast influence in the finan-
cial world, and The Phantom smiled as he noticed that
W. Rufus Fairspeckle was one of them. By way of
signature Mr. Shei's name was typed at the bottom of
the announcement.
"Not bad,” commented The Phantom. “By includ-
ing yourself among the seven victims you make sure
that no suspicion becomes attached to the fair name of
W. Rufus Fairspeckle. Anyhow, since you are one of
the richest men in town, it would look rather odd if
your name were omitted. Congratulations, Mr. Shei.”
The other looked stolidly into the muzzle of the
automatic. The Phantom's sudden and unexpected
appearance seemed to have paralyzed his tongue.


THE VOICE ON THE WIRE
119
“You could save a lot of time by taking carbon
copies," suggested The Phantom, riffling the sheets
lying beside the machine. You will need a hundred or
more to plaster the town effectively. I understand
now why you took that long walk this morning.
There's nothing like having a pleasant pastime when
one can't sleep. What I don't understand is how you
meant to put your plan into effect.”.
A sickly smile cruised about Mr. Fairspeckle's blood-
less lips.
"Oh, I don't expect you to let me in on the secret,”
The Phantom went on. “With your past performances
in mind, I have no doubt you would have executed
your threat in a manner becoming your genius. There's
only one thing about your achievements that has dis-
appointed me. I don't see why you had to copy my
methods so slavishly. For a while I was almost cer-
tain that Mr. Shei was one of my former associates,
and that's why— ” He checked himself on the point
of explaining why he had come out of hiding.
“Couldn't you have shown a little more originality ?”
An inarticulate mumble came from Mr. Fairspeckle's
lips. His fingers fidgeted nervously over his knees.
"Well don't try to explain. I suppose the police will
attend to that part. There will be quite a sensation
when it becomes known that W. Rufus Fairspeckle is
the mysterious Mr. Shei. I wonder what drove you to
it. You were bored with the life of a gentleman of


118
THE GRAY PHANTOM
leisure, I suppose, and then you had a goose to pick
with your old enemies. I take it that was your chief
motive. Well, Mr. Shei— "
A dulcet tinkle interrupted him, and he glanced
quickly at the telephone on Mr. Fairspeckle's desk.
“You may answer," he said after a moment's hesi-
tation. .
Mr. Fairspeckle reached out a trembling hand for
the instrument. He put the receiver to his ear and
spoke a feeble “Hello” into the transmitter. In the
next instant his face went blank. "It's for you,” he
announced, gazing dazedly at The Phantom.
"For me?” The Phantom stared incredulously at
the instrument. To the best of his knowledge, his
whereabouts was known to nobody but Mr. Fairspeckle
and the Japanese servant. Quickly gathering himself,
he placed the automatic within easy reach and took the
telephone from Mr. Fairspeckle's hand. He started as
a voice came over the wire.
“Mr. Shei speaking,” it announced in level tones. “If
you value Miss Hardwick's life, I would advise you to
abandon your present plans. That is all.”
Then a click, and the connection was broken.


120
THE GRAY PHANTOM
persing the evil host with which her imagination had
peopled the gloom. A fresh breeze caressed her hot
forehead and cooled the fever in her blood. She sat up
and rubbed her eyes. Outside, the sun was glimmering
on treetops and long stretches of lawn. The bright,
pleasant room afforded a sharp contrast to the strident
discords and monstrous visions that had distressed her
throughout the night.
Her recollections were still vague. Gradually a train
of memories swept upon her. It all came back to her
now—her arrival at Azurecrest, her failure to find The
Gray Phantom, the strange laughter and the hideous
face she had seen at the window, Miss Neville's amaz-
ing story and the intercepted flight, and finally the
appearance of the man at the sight of whom she had
cried out the name of Mr. Shei.
Again her recollections grew dim. Things had gone
dark before her eyes as soon as she had spoken the
name. She had heard a jumble of voices, and she
believed someone had forced a drink down her throat.
A sedative, perhaps, for after that she had known noth-
ing but the intermittent outbursts of laughter and their
accompaniment of strange fancies. She shuddered as
she remembered them. Several voices, she felt sure,
had joined in the chorus of unnatural laughter. It
could mean only one thing—that more than one inmate
of the house was afflicted with the mysterious fever so
vividly described by Miss Neville.


122
THE GRAY PHANTOM
was
ve
she could use them again. Already she was casting
about for a plan. Perhaps, by a little clever acting, she
could convince Mr. Shei that her calling of his name
had been nothing but a hysterical outburst and without
significance. If she succeeded in this, he would have
no reason for taking her life.
The thought buoyed her. She turned a smiling face ·
to the door as it opened and admitted a woman carry-
ing a tray. She was thin and slatternly, and she sighed
repeatedly while transferring the breakfast dishes to a
table which she placed beside Helen's bed.
“Eat, you poor thing,” she admonished, a world of
melancholy in her tones.
Helen sipped the coffee. It was strong and fragrant
and gave her a needed stimulus.
"Why do you call me 'poor thing'?” she inquired.
The woman heaved another sigh. “I'm not saying.
I can hold my tongue when I want to. That's how I
keep my job in this place. It's a shame, though—really
it is.”
"What is a shame?” Helen, looking into the slat-
tern's saturnine face, with its ludicrously doleful ex-
pression, felt an impulse to laugh in spite of her mis-
givings.
“You're so young and pretty. That's why I call it
a shame. Oh, well, we all have to go that way sooner
or later."
Helen, unpleasantly impressed by the innuendo,


THE HOUSE OF LAUGHTER 123
tasted the toast. “Which way?" she asked in casual
tones.
“That would be telling.” A long sigh racked the
woman's scrawny chest. “I hear a lot of things around
this place that I never tell. Better eat hearty, dear. It
might be your last Gosh! I almost said some-
thing that time, didn't I?”
Helen, conquering her forebodings, ate in silence for
a time. The slattern's funereal face and dismal insin-
uations were casting a spell of gloom over her which
she found hard to shake off. Finally she tried a direct
question.
“Do you mean that they are going to kill me?"
The woman clasped her hands across her chest and
raised mournful eyes to the ceiling. “You mustn't ask
questions, poor dear. You'll find out soon enough.
Anyhow, there's a better world than this.”
With this piece of doubtful consolation she gathered
the dishes and, with another disconsolate sigh, walked
out of the room. Helen tried to tell herself that the
woman had merely been exercising her imagination
and that her doleful hints had come out of thin air.
The meal had refreshed her, and her spirits rose while
she bathed her face in cold water and arranged her
attire. Having finished, she viewed herself with satis-
faction in the mirror. Her elastic health and strength
had obliterated nearly every trace of her distressing
night.


THE HOUSE OF LAUGHTER
125
the dust that had accumulated on the surface of the
table.
"Last night we were discussing The Gray Phan-
tom," Slade remarked, and she started a trifle at the
mention of the name. “I regret I can give you no
inkling as to his whereabouts. I suppose you are very
anxious to find him?”
“Rather.”
“Isn't it strange that he did not give you his new
address ?"
"He may have written and the letter gone astray,”
suggested Helen. A' flush had tinged the healthy tan
of her cheeks the moment Slade introduced the subject
of The Gray Phantom. Looking down at the table, she
noticed confusedly that her hand had been influenced
by the thoughts that were uppermost in her mind. In
the thin layer of dust she had absently traced The Gray
Phantom's initials. It was a habit of hers, cultivated
since childhood, to sketch figures and designs on what-
ever surface was handy, and she had often told herself
she must overcome it.
"Perhaps,” was Slade's comment. He looked at her
in a way that caused her to wonder whether he had
noticed the pencilings in the dust, and she erased them
with a quick sweep of her hand. “By the way,” he
went on, “our conversation last night was interrupted
by ama certain person. Remember?”


126
THE GRAY PHANTOM
Helen knew that the critical moment had come. She
made a pretense of searching her memory.
"I was very tired,” she said, carefully choosing her
words, “and I recall very little of what happened. I
seem to remember, though, that a motor horn sounded
while we were talking.”
“Yes, and then?” Slade bent eagerly forward.
Helen's strained face indicated intense mental effort.
“Then— Isn't it odd that I don't seem able to re-
member a thing after that?”
"It is,” admitted Slade, and there was a subtle
change in the quality of his voice. “Perhaps I can
refresh your memory. Suddenly a man's figure ap-
peared in the doorway. You stared at him in a way
signifying that you had seen him before. Then you
spoke a name.”
“A name?" echoed Helen. “What name?"
“A name that has been on a great many lips of late
-Mr. Shei's."
“Isn't that strange?" murmured Helen. “I wonder
what on earth made me mention that name. I suppose,
though,” she added quickly, “that it was because Mr.
Shei's name had been in my mind off and on ever since
that terrible occurrence in the Thelma Theater. Yes,
that must be the reason.”
“The only reason, Miss Hardwick?”
“What other reason could there be?”


THE HOUSE OF LAUGHTER
127
Slade smiled in a way that awoke Helen's dislike.
"Well, it's conceivable that you were under the im-
pression that the man in the doorway was Mr. Shei.
That would not only have explained your excitement,
but also give ample reason for uttering his name."
Helen opened her eyes wide. "But—but I don't
even remember seeing the man,” she protested artlessly,
“so why should I suppose him to be Mr. Shei?”.
“The fact remains that you spoke Mr. Shei's name
just before you fainted away. Let's get at the subject
from a different angle, Miss Hardwick. Do you know
who Mr. Shei is?”.
Helen, having a curious feeling that her life was
trembling in the balance, shook her head.
"You don't know his other name—the name by
which he is known to the world at large?”
Again Helen made a negative gesture, and in the
same instant she became aware that Slade's frosty gaze
was following the movements of her right hand. Be-
fore she realized what was happening, he had left his
chair and stepped up behind her, and now he was lean-
ing over her shoulder and looking down at the table.
"So, you lied,” he muttered in tones that sent a
shiver through her body, at the same time pointing to
the table.
Helen looked down. She gave a violent start. While
she had been fencing verbally with Slade, her hand had


128
THE GRAY PHANTOM
betrayed her. In her preoccupation she had not realized
that another couplet of initials had appeared in the
dust. With a sensation of defeat and despair she
stared down at the telltale characters the first letters
in Mr. Shei's other name.


CHAPTER X
A SHOT
AT noon of the same day a scene equally tense, but
A of quite a different character, was being en-
I acted in the library of W. Rufus Fairspeckle.
Dazedly The Gray Phantom set the telephone down.
In tones too low for the older man to catch, he mum-
blingly repeated the startling message that had just
come to him over the wire: “Mr. Shei speaking. If
you value Miss Hardwick's life, I would advise you to
abandon your present plans.”
One by one, and in the order in which they had been
spoken, the words trickled into his benumbed con-
sciousness. He had heard Mr. Shei's voice over the
wire. He had been mistaken, then, and the shrunken
and wizened man seated before him with eyes staring
and mouth agape could not be Mr. Shei. Even the
evidence of the typewritten slips lying on the desk
seemed to mean nothing against the fact that the
notorious rogue had just communicated with him by
telephone.
“What—what's the matter?” stammered Mr. Fair-
speckle, who, not having the faintest inkling as to the
129


130
THE GRAY PHANTOM
nature of the message received by The Phantom, was
at a loss to understand the latter's demeanor. “Any-
thing wrong?”
The Phantom scarcely heard him. The significance
of the last part of Mr. Shei's message came to him in a
flash. In a twinkling his mind was functioning again.
His eyes were threatening, like miniature thunder
clouds. A new and dynamic impulse seemed to dom-
inate his whole being. He snatched up the telephone
directory and found a number. Then he fairly hurled
himself at the telephone, frantically jigged the hook up
and down, shouted a number into the transmitter, and
waited breathlessly till the connection was established.
A woman's voice, evidently that of a servant,
answered. Miss Hardwick was not in, she explained,
and when pressed for further information admitted
that she had not been seen since breakfast the previous
day. Mr. Hardwick, ill at ease because of his daugh-
ter's absence, was instituting inquiries for her in vari-
ous directions, and the servant did not know where he
could be reached.
The Phantom's eyes blazed as he set the instrument
down with a slam. Mr. Fairspeckle, a flabbergasted
look in his bulging eyes, seemed utterly at a loss to
comprehend what was going on. For a moment The
Phantom eyed him narrowly, then cast a bewildered
glance at the typewritten slips, and finally turned
abruptly on his heels and dashed from the room.


A SHOT
131
No one interrupted him. He suspected that Haiuto
was lurking somewhere in the background, but he saw
nothing of the sly-footed servant as he rushed from the
apartment and, forgetting the existence of the elevator,
scurried down three flights of stairs. The ferret-eyed
individual whom he had seen from the window was
still standing at the opposite curb, but he did not deign
a single glance in The Phantom's direction. Block
after block, spurred on by a medley of anguishing
doubts and suspicions, The Phantom continued his
heedless progress, conscious only of the one agonizing
thought that something had happened to Helen Hard-
wick,
Presently he awoke to a realization of the futility and
recklessness of his conduct. His fears for Helen Hard-
wick had blunted his wits and stultified his reason, mak-
ing him forget his old-time caution and nimbleness of
mind. To no purpose he was rushing blindly into a net
of dangers. With a mutter of disgust at his childish
impetuosity, he drew in his steps and turned into a
convenient doorway. A glance up and down the street
assured him that, thanks to luck alone, his headlong
course seemed to have attracted no attention. He
scanned the crowd on all sides, but there was no sign
of either espionage or pursuit. He had vaguely ex-
pected to be followed by the keen-eyed watcher he had
seen on the sidewalk outside the Whipple Hotel, but
the man was nowhere in sight. For the present, at


132
THE GRAY PHANTOM
least, The Phantom was safe. Now he must think
clearly and act coolly.
He could not rid himself of the suspicion that
Helen's volatile nature and venturesome disposition
had led her into some fearful predicament. He knew
she had an infinite capacity for handling difficult situa-
tions, but the knowledge gave him scant comfort. He
revolved the problem of her disappearance in his mind.
She had been missing for more than twenty-four hours.
He sensed a dim significance in the fact that she had
passed out of sight the morning following the tragedy
at the Thelma Theater, and of a sudden he asked him-
self whether there could be any possible connection
between her disappearance and the death of Virginia
Darrow.
Several circumstances lent plausibility to the theory.
Chief among them was the mysterious warning The
Phantom had received from Mr. Shei, the man who
was generally believed to have been implicated in Miss
Darrow's death. The Phantom's mind was working
swiftly now, leaping barriers and rushing straight to
conclusions. It was Helen's play, he remembered, that
had been produced on the night of the tragedy, and it
was very probable that she had been present at the
première performance. Knowing her as he did, he
thought it conceivable that she had come into posses-
sion of some vital facts bearing on the tragedy. Her
inquisitive mind, though untainted by vulgar curiosity,
as


A SHOT
133
was always dipping into mysteries of one sort or
another, and it was possible that on this occasion her
natural bent had led her into conflict with Mr. Shei.
Almost before he realized what he was doing, The
Phantom was in a taxicab, shouting to the chauffeur to
drive him to the Thelma Theater. It seemed the
logical starting point in his search; at least, he did not
know where else to begin, and by visiting the scene of
Miss Darrow's death, he might be able to pick up some
clew to Helen's movements.
The doors were open, and he thought this somewhat
strange in view of the fact that a poster on the outer
wall announced that the performances of "His Soul's
Master” had been discontinued, but the circumstance
did not linger long in his mind. The box office and
lobby being empty, he passed unchallenged into the
auditorium. For a few moments, while his eyes grew
accustomed to the dusk, he stood just inside the door,
trying to call back to mind each detail of the tragedy
as it had been narrated in the newspapers, and pres-
ently there came to him a conviction that he was not
alone, but that someone was watching him intently.
He could not account for the impression, for no
sound reached his ears, and the interior was only a
mass of gently undulating shadows in which he saw no
indication of another's presence. The atmosphere was
somewhat oppressive, and a multitude of faint scents
lingered in the air, hinting that the theater had not


134
THE GRAY PHANTOM
been ventilated since the last performance. Glancing
sharply into the gloom about him, The Phantom
groped his way down the center aisle, then explored the
passageways at each side of the house, and finally
looked into each of the boxes. His search availed him
nothing, and at length he was forced to admit that his
imagination had tricked him.
Walking to the rear of the house, he stood with his
back against a pillar, and gazed toward the last row of
seats to the left. It was there, according to the dia-
gram he had seen in one of the papers, that Virginia
Darrow had sat when seized with the strange fit of
laughter. Again he wondered what bearing the
woman's death might have on Mr. Shei's latest venture.
The connection, if there was one, seemed so remote
that he came to the conclusion that Mr. Shei must be at
work on a very intricate and deep-laid scheme. Then
it occurred to him that his speculations, founded on
insufficient facts, were a waste of time. They were
not helping him to solve the mystery of Helen Hard-
wick's disappearance.
As was his habit when he wished to concentrate his
mind on a problem, he took a cigarette from his case, .
then struck a match against the sole of his shoe.
Absently he held the Auttering light to the tip of the
cigarette, and inhaled. Suddenly he sprang aside, for
a sound, all but too faint for his ears to detect, had
warned him of danger, and in the same instant a sharp


136
THE GRAY PHANTOM
way to turn, and in the midst of his perplexity the vari-
colored lights along the walls were flashed on.
The Phantom whirled round. Near one of the exits
in the rear of the house stood a tall, slenderly propor-
tioned man. His long, glossy hair was rumpled, and
even at a distance The Phantom could see that his fea-
tures, so regularly molded as to give an impression of
effeminacy, were intensely pale. He approached
swiftly. The two men eyed each other intently before
either spoke.
"You are Mr. Starr, I believe?” began The Phan-
tom, recognizing the other from photographs he had
seen in the newspapers.
Starr nodded. His right hand was clutching a
revolver. Coming closer, The Phantom noticed that
his nose was discolored and swollen, probably the result
of the attack that had preceded the disappearance of
Virginia Darrow's body.
"I owe you an apology for intruding like this,” he
went on, “but the formalities can wait. There was a
shot fired here a few moments ago, and I believe it was
meant for me.”
“I was at work in my office upstairs when I heard
something that sounded like a revolver shot,” explained
Starr. “I armed myself and came down to investi-
gate.” His voice, at other times perfectly modulated,
was a little husky, and he seemed unduly conscious of
his disfigured nose. He maintained a tight grip on his


A SHOT
137
pistol while regarding The Phantom with a look of
suspicion.
“We ought to search the house at once,” suggested
The Phantom. “The scoundrel can't have gone far.”
Starr readily acquiesced, but from time to time while
they went on with the search The Phantom felt the
other's stealthy gaze searching his face, and each time
he saw a look of dawning recognition in Starr's eyes.
He thought nothing of it, for the capture of the man
who had fired the shot seemed of far greater importance.
Deep in his mind was a faint and remote hope that the
fellow, if caught, might be persuaded to tell something
of what had happened to Helen Hardwick.
They searched every conceivable space in the audi-
torium, back of the stage, and finally in the storerooms
and dressing rooms down below, but without avail. As
they abandoned their quest The Phantom thought he
saw signs of increasing nervousness on Starr's part.
“Strange how the scoundrel disappeared,” he re-
marked when once more they stood in the back of the
auditorium.
“No stranger than what happened here night before
last.” Starr spoke with a touch of petulance in his
voice and manner. "Mr. Shei and his henchmen seem
to have a knack of walking through solid walls. What
I object to most is his evident determination to make
my theater the scene of his diabolical activities. By
the way,” and he fixed The Phantom with a look of


138
THE GRAY PHANTOM
mingled perplexity and suspicion, “haven't you and I
met before?”
"Not in person, unless I am mistaken.” The Phan-
tom, alert against the slightest threatening move on the
other's part, smiled faintly. “The newspapers have
been kind enough to give me some publicity from time
to time, and you may have seen my photograph. Sup-
pose we let it go at that.”
“As you wish, of course," murmured Starr, his lips
twitching, “but we shall be able to talk to better advan-
tage if we first complete the introductions. I was
almost certain I recognized you at first glance. You
are The Gray Phantom. But don't get startled,” he
quickly added as The Phantom suddenly stiffened.
“My interest in life is purely esthetic. I am trying, in
my small and humble way, to uplift the drama from
the sordid depths into which it has fallen through the
stupidity and avarice of managers. The capture and
punishment of criminals interest me not at all. To be
perfectly frank with you, as between the police and a
fascinating rogue like yourself, my sympathies are
with the latter.”
He made an expressive gesture, and The Phantom
watched with interest the slight, quick and marvelously
impressive motions of his hands. Though this was his
first meeting with the man himself, the gestures, as
well as the characteristic backward toss of the head,
seemed oddly familiar.


A SHOT
139
"I think you are mistaken about one thing,” Starr
went on, his nervousness returning. “Is there any
reason why anyone should wish to put you out of the
way?"
“None that I know of,” replied The Phantom
thoughtfully. “I suppose I have enemies, but it didn't
occur to me that anyone was after my life until that
shot was fired.”
“And weren't you a bit precipitate in jumping at the
conclusion that the bullet was intended for you? Sup-
pose you give me the details.”
The Phantom told him the meager facts of the firing
of the shot.
“There you are !” exclaimed Starr when he had fin-
ished. “The fellow couldn't see your face. All he
saw was the match, and he used that as a target, know-
ing you were holding it directly in front of your face
while lighting the cigarette.” He took a few quick,
nervous steps back and forth. He clenched and un-
clenched his hands as if trying to quell a rising trepida-
tion. Suddenly he paused directly in front of The
Phantom. “That bullet was not intended for you, but
for me,” he declared emphatically.
"Are you sure?"
“Not sure, but I have the best of reasons for sup-
posing that such is the fact. I have had several intima-
tions of danger in the past few weeks, but it isn't neces-


140
THE GRAY PHANTOM
sary to go into details. Since night before last I have
wondered what prompted Miss Darrow to send me the
facetiously worded note hinting that Mr. Shei was in
the house. If she were alive I am sure she could tell us
several interesting things about — But what's the
good of supposing? Miss Darrow will never be able to
tell what was in her mind when she wrote me that note.
Only one thing is certain. She was killed because she
had, in some unexplained manner, learned Mr. Shei's
identity.”
The Phantom regarded him narrowly. "Some
people seem to be of the opinion that I am Mr.
Shei.”
“Rot! The similarity between your tactics and those
of Mr. Shei is only superficial. The essential difference
ought to be plain even to a stupid headquarters detect-
ive. Besides, you never took life or- But the idea
is too absurd to waste breath on. Let us be practical.
You have not yet explained why you are honoring the
Thelma Theater with this visit.”
The Phantom was about to reply when one of the
doors in front was pushed open and the shadow of a
masculine figure fell across the floor. After a glance
into the face of the newcomer, The Phantom sensed
danger and tried to retreat into a corner where the dim
light held out a faint hope of brief security. But it
was too late.


A SHOT
141
"Stay right where you are," commanded the man
who had just entered. “Didn't know The Gray Phan-
tom was back in town. Step out here where I can look
at you."


CHAPTER XI
AN EAVESDROPPER
(HE PHANTOM shrugged his shoulders and
stepped forward, concealing his misgivings
behind a smiling and carefree exterior. He
knew Lieutenant Culligore from past encounters with
the man, and he had learned to respect him for his
shrewdness as well as his sense of fairness. Now he
looked straight into the muddy and deceptively lazy
eyes of the man from headquarters. Once The Phan-
tom had assisted him in solving a singularly perplexing
mystery, but he knew that Culligore was not the kind .
of man to let sentiment interfere with duty.
There were times when it was difficult for The Gray
Phantom to realize that he was still an outlaw and that
several prison sentences were hanging over his head.
The poignant fact came back to him now as he gazed
into the eyes of one of the keenest man hunters of the
detective bureau.
“You sure have nerve," observed Culligore, a trace
of reluctant admiration in his tones. “Don't you know
there's a warrant out for your arrest?”
142


AN EAVESDROPPER
143
“Several of them, I believe," calmly replied The
Phantom.
Lieutenant Culligore took a cigar from his vest
pocket and lighted it with elaborate care. Then he
turned to Starr.
“Mr. Shei's gang certainly handed you an awful
wallop the other night,” he observed, gazing frown-
ingly at the disfigured organ. “That's a peach of a
nose you've got.”
Starr flushed angrily, but controlled himself.
"I've got a few words to say to this gentleman
privately," Culligore went on, inclining his head
toward The Phantom. Starr, accepting his dismissal
as gracefully as his indignation permitted, walked out.
Culligore's small eyes, twinkling humorously through
a cloud of tobacco smoke, followed his progress till the
door closed behind him, then he slowly turned toward
The Phantom.
"Starr is my idea of a perfect gentleman,” he
musingly observed. “He can get mad clean through
and still keep his coat on. Was the shot fired at you
or at him?”
“Shot?” For a moment The Phantom stared be-
wilderedly. “How did you know?”
"My sense of smell is fairly good,” said Culligore,
sniffing. “I noticed there was powder smoke in the
air the moment I walked in. What became of the
bullet?”
mon
ame


144
THE GRAY PHANTOM
The Phantom explained. With a listless air the lieu-
tenant examined the point where the leaden slug had
entered the pillar. “I'll bet a pair of pink socks that
the rascal who fired the shot is a safe distance from
here by this time. What I'd like to know is whether
he was aiming at you or at Starr.”
"Starr thinks the bullet was meant for him," said
The Phantom thoughtfully. “He may be right, but I
have my doubts. He is the imaginative type that be-
lieves he is being pursued by secret enemies and all that
sort of thing. On the other hand, I can't see why any-
body should waste a chunk of good lead on me,
unless— " He stopped short as an idea suddenly
occurred to him.
“Unless Mr. Shei should have a goose to pick with
you,” Culligore filled in, and The Phantom marveled at
the way the detective had read his unspoken thought.
“It's always safe to look for a shower of bullets when-
ever The Gray Phantom bobs up. By the way," and
Culligore frowned disapprovingly, “what's the idea ?
Don't you know the climate in this town is mighty
unhealthy for a man like you?”
"I am aware of it.” The Phantom's lips tightened
into a grim line. “But I had to risk it, Culligore. I
couldn't sit idle while - But first let me ask you
one question. Some people seem to think that I am
Mr. Shei. Do you agree with them?”
Culligore pulled thoughtfully at his cigar. His eyes


AN EAVESDROPPER
145
seemed to be searching every remote corner of The
Phantom's mind. "No," he said finally, “I don't. And
I don't see it makes any difference. You're The
Gray Phantom, and that's reason enough for me to
pinch you. There are times when I hate my job, but
duty is duty. I wish you hadn't shown up just at this
time. Some of the higher-ups are dead sure you are
Mr. Shei, and the whole town is on tenter hooks on
account of the notices posted last night. Everybody
expects Mr. Shei to strike, but nobody knows where
the blow is going to fall. You can see how things are.
Why the devil didn't you stay where you belong?”
"I couldn't,” replied The Phantom. Then he re-
garded the lieutenant with a slow, carefully measuring
glance. Culligore was one of the few men he had met
whom he could instinctively trust. There had been
clashes between them in the past, but the lieutenant had
always fought fairly. Choosing his words with great
deliberation, The Phantom explained why he had come
out of hiding to cross swords with Mr. Shei.
“That's just like The Gray Phantom,” was Culli-
gore's comment when he had finished. “You stick
your head in the noose just because somebody else is
copying your tricks. Well, anyhow, I admire your
nerve. Too bad you and I belong to opposite camps.
We could have a lot of fun tracking Mr. Shei to-
gether." He shook his head as if to banish a pleasing
but impossible hope. “No use wishing things were


146
THE GRAY PHANTOM
different, though. I don't exactly like the idea, but I've
got to take you along to headquarters.”
“You will have to take me in an ambulance, then.”
There was a note of challenge in The Phantom's tones
and his figure tensed perceptibly. “You'll never take
me alive, Culligore. It simply can't be done. And you
will have the scrap of your life before you take me
dead. I am going to see this thing through if I have to
fight the whole police department of New York City.
The fact that Mr. Shei is stealing my tactics isn't the
only reason. I learned something this morning that is
of vastly more importance. By the way,” and The
Phantom fairly jabbed the question at the lieutenant,
“have you seen anything of Miss Helen Hardwick ?"
Culligore's lazy eyes opened a little wider. “Not
since yesterday morning. She and I had quite an argu-
ment about Mr. Shei. We were standing almost
exactly where you and I are standing now. She knows
how to fence with words. I haven't made up my mind.
yet whether she or I got the best of the argument.”
The Phantom smiled despite his impatience. “What
did she think of Mr. Shei ?”
“How can anybody tell what a woman thinks? You
can make a guess, of course, but the chances are either
that you are wrong or that yousare making just exactly
the kind of guess she wants you to make. Miss Hard-
wick left me pretty much up in the air, but I have a


AN EAVESDROPPER
147
feeling all the time that she had discovered something
that led her to think that you were Mr. Shei.”
"Oh,” mumbled the Phantom; then he stood silent
for a few moments. “Where did Miss Hardwick go
from here?”
Culligore shrugged. “Ask me something easy. She
walked out of that door, and that's all I'm sure of.
There was another question or two I wanted to ask
her, and that's why I dropped around here to-day,
thinking she might show up again. She seemed very
much wrought up over Mr. Shei.”
With an impetuous gesture The Phantom placed his
hand on the lieutenant's arm.
“Miss Hardwick has disappeared,” he announced
quickly, “and I fear she has blundered into the clutches
of Mr. Shei.”
“Eh?” The mask of listlessness dropped in a
twinkling from Culligore's face. He was instantly
tense and alert. “What's that?”
"I called up her home this morning. Nobody seems to
know what has become of her. A little later I received
a telephone message warning me that - But I see
I shall have to tell you the whole story in order to make
things clear.” Briefly The Phantom related his en-
counter with Mr. Fairspeckle, the events that had
occurred at the apartment of the retired financier, and
finally the warning message that had come over the
wire. "Now you can understand,” he concluded, "why


AN EAVESDROPPER
149
“But the telephone message?”.
“Yes, I know," said Culligore patiently. “That's
where he duped you to a brown finish. You would
have seen the trick at once if your thinking machinery
had been in good condition. I don't know Fairspeckle,
but from what you have told me he must be a sharp
one. My experience has taught me never to trust a
man who can't sleep nights. It's a bad conscience that
keeps him awake in the first place, and a man suffering
from loss of sleep is likely to go in for any kind of
deviltry. Maybe that's what happened to Fairspeckle.
Anyhow, the way he pulled the wool over your eyes
proves he is a slick one."
“Then you think Fairspeckle is Mr. Shei?”
"If he isn't, why should he be typing those notices?
Just look at it this way. Fairspeckle saw that you sus-
pected him. He didn't like that a bit. To throw you
off your guard, he pretended to suspect you. You
caught him with the goods when you saw him typing
the notices. Right away you started in denouncing
him as Mr. Shei. Then, right in the midst of a
dramatic moment, the telephone rings. The voice at
the other end asks for you. You're told that Mr.
Shei is speaking and that Miss Hardwick will suffer
unless you keep hands off. That gives you a jolt, of
course, and all you can think of is the girl. You don't
stop to question whether the man at the other end is
really Mr. Shei. For all you know he might be Tom


150
THE GRAY PHANTOM
Brown or Bill Jones, but you're too excited to think of
that. I don't blame you. I'd been just as easy if I had
been in your place.”
A blank look crossed The Phantom's face while
Culligore was speaking. It was quickly followed by an
expression of mingling comprehension and self-dis-
gust.
“I see it now. I've been as gullible as a ten-year-old.
The message purporting to come from Mr. Shei was
meant to divert my suspicions from Fairspeckle. He
might have been prepared for some such emergency, or
else he signaled Haiuto while I wasn't looking. The
Japanese could easily have gotten in touch with one of
the members of Fairspeckle's gang and instructed him
to call me up and give me the prearranged message.
But just how it was done doesn't matter. The impor-
tant point is that I was taken in. I am wondering now
whether the threat in regard to Miss Hardwick was
pure bluff, or whether she is really in danger.”
“I wouldn't take chances,” cautioned Culligore. “If
I were you I would call on Mr. Fairspeckle to-night
and have a confidential chat with him. He may not
want to talk, but maybe you can persuade him. Of
course, as an officer of the law, I must warn you there
mustn't be any rough stuff.” Culligore's twinkling
eyes gazed toward the ceiling.
“Then you have abandoned your intention of drag-
ging me over to headquarters?”


AN EAVESDROPPER
151
Culligore did not answer directly, but the faint grin
on his lips was eloquent. “I would advise you to watch
your step,” he said softly. “The moment it becomes
known that The Gray Phantom is in town, there will
be the niftiest little man hunt you ever saw. I wish
you luck. In the meantime, I'm going to tackle the
case from another angle. I'd give a pair of pink socks
to know just when, where, and how Mr. Shei is going
to strike.”
He tilted his chin against his hand and lapsed into
deep thought. When he looked up, several minutes
later, The Phantom was gone. Very softly, with a
twinkle in his eyes, he stepped to a recess in the wall
toward which he had cast an occasional furtive glance
during his talk with The Phantom. On a marble shelf
extended across the niche were a number of potted
ferns, and behind them was a small window, artistically
decorated to render it opaque. Culligore, noticing that
it stood open a crack, pricked up his ears and listened.
From the other side came a faint, scraping sound, as
if someone were hiding there.
Culligore nodded elatedly as he tiptoed away. He
seemed immensely gratified at having verified his sus-
picion that his interview with The Gray Phantom had
been overheard.


MR. SHEI STRIKES
153
the day had evidently quitted his task, for he was no-
where in sight.
Throughout the late afternoon and early evening,
The Phantom had been harassed by fears for Helen's
safety. At times he had scarcely been able to control
his impatience, but his eagerness had been cooled by the
knowledge that a headlong rush into danger would
only render the situation worse. His interview with
Culligore had not only helped to clarify his mind, but it
had left him with a renewed conviction that the
emaciated and dour-looking ex-financier was Mr. Shei.
Again he cast a speculative glance at the windows of
Mr. Fairspeckle’s apartment. All the lights but one
had been extinguished since he last looked in that direc-
tion, and he guessed that the occupant had retired to
his bedroom. His imagination pictured the old man
sleeplessly pacing the floor, chuckling softly to himself
while his mind evolved nefarious schemes. It was The
Phantom's plan to take him completely by surprise and
if possible wring a confession from him. But above all
else he was determined to ascertain whether Fair-
speckle knew anything about Helen's whereabouts.
He waited fifteen minutes longer, then adjusted his
hat and collar and walked briskly across the street.
With the air of one belonging on the premises he
entered the hotel and, not thinking it safe to use the
elevator, walked toward the stairway in the rear. A
few drowsy loungers sat in chairs in the lobby, and the


MR. SHEI STRIKES
155
think of someone gasping and spluttering. Mystified,
he tried the lock and pushed the door open. The room
was dark, and he ran his hand along the wall until he
found the electric switch. As the light flashed on, a
mutter of amazement fell from his lips.
On a bed at the farther end of the room, with hands
and feet bound and a gag firmly adjusted to his
mouth, lay Haiuto. The servant, a look of mute plead-
ing in his bulging eyes, was tugging impotently at the
ropes around his ankles and wrists.
"What's happened?” sharply inquired The Phantom,
but renewed splutterings called his attention to the fact
that the gag prevented Haiuto from speaking. He
removed the cloth while repeating the question.
Haiuto, breathing hard, licked the bruised portion of
his mouth.
“Don't know,” he finally managed to say. “I sleep.
Then noise at door. Before I can get up, somebody
walk in. All is dark, like tomb of Iyeyasu. I get awful
crack on head. Then sleep again. Don't know any-
thing else.”
With a moan Haiuto sank back against the pillow.
A startling suspicion flashed through The Phantom's
mind. Without troubling to release the servant's limbs,
he ran from the room and opened a door at the farther
end of the hall. He had thought it led into Fair-
speckle's bedroom, but his sense of direction had
become somewhat confused, and he found himself in
mo


156
THE GRAY PHANTOM
the library instead. Faintly through the darkness he
glimpsed the bright nickel trimmings of the typewriter
at which the ex-financier had been at work earlier in
the day. He groped his way across the floor, turning
in the direction where he thought Fairspeckle's bed-
room was. A soft tinkle brought him to a dead stop.
The telephone was ringing! Acting on impulse, he
fumbled about in the dark till he found the instrument,
then lifted the receiver to his ear and spoke a low
response into the transmitter. The answering voice
sent a quiver through his being. He recognized it at
once, for he had heard it before.
“Mr. Shei speaking,” it was saying, and the cold,
precise tones were edged with a taunt. “I perceive you
have chosen to disregard the warning I gave you a few
hours ago. Unless you abandon your plans at once,
Miss Hardwick will die. That is absolutely final.”
A faint click signified that the connection was
broken. For a few moments The Phantom stood rigid,
scarcely able to comprehend the import of the message.
It had been spoken in tones so emphatic and sinister
that he was left in no doubt regarding the speaker's
sincerity. But how had the man at the other end of
the wire learned that The Phantom was in Fair-
speckle's apartment? The telephone call, coming a
few minutes after The Phantom's arrival, had been so
accurately timed as to indicate that he had been fol-
lowed to the Whipple. Yet that did not seem quite


158
тур
THE GRAY PHANTOM
with the folds of a dressing gown hanging loosely over
his bony frame, sat W. Rufus Fairspeckle. He sat so
still that, if his eyes had been closed, The Phantom
would have suspected that he was either asleep or dead.
He was bound and gagged in the same manner as
Haiuto had been, but it struck The Phantom as vaguely
significant that his right arm was bared to the elbow.
As he stepped closer, he became oddly impressed by
the strange expression in the old man's eyes. They
looked straight ahead in a fixed, unseeing way, and
there was a gleam of merriment in their dim depths
that clashed sharply with the pallor on the shrunken
cheeks. It seemed as though Fairspeckle's soul was
indulging in fancies of which his physical self was
unaware, and the whole effect impressed The Phantom
as uncanny.
He leaned forward and examined the exposed arm.
Just below the muscles of the elbow, and directly over
one of the smaller veins, was a puncture and a con-
gealed drop of blood. . The puncture was so small that
it might have been inflicted with a needle prick. In
a roundabout way The Phantom's mind went back to
the scene in the Thelma Theater as it had been pictured
in the newspapers, and with an inward start he remem-
bered that just such a puncture had been found on the
right arm of Virginia Darrow.
Though as yet he could not grasp the meaning of it,
the coincidence acted as an electric shock on his nerves.


MR. SHEI STRIKES
161
The sheet dropped from The Phantom's fingers. If
what he had just read seemed grotesque and absurd, a
glance at the man in the chair conferred a semblance of
hideous reality upon it. Mr. Shei had struck the
threatened blow, and he had struck sooner than ex-
pected.
Fairspeckle's laughter had ceased and a look of
reason was coming into his waxen features. The ex-
pression of ribald mockery had left his eyes, and now
they were fixed on The Phantom's face in a dull, sus-
picious stare. With a start The Phantom awoke to
a realization of his predicament. If he were caught in
Fairspeckle's apartment, the police and the public
would be firmly convinced of what they already sus-
pected—that Mr. Shei and The Phantom were one.
Not even Culligore's keen mind and generous impulses
would suffice to save him from arrest and imprison-
ment. And there was Helen—the thought gave him a
spinal chill. Perhaps at this very moment she was
confronted by some terrifying peril. And if he were
arrested, then his last chance of helping her would be
gone.
His mind made up, The Phantom ran to the tele-
phone in the adjoining room. He called a number. and
presently he was answered by an operator at police
headquarters. His inquiry for Culligore elicited the
information that the lieutenant was out and would
probably not return until morning. The Phantom
n
1


162
THE GRAY PHANTOM
hesitated for a moment, then spoke hurriedly into the
transmitter :
“This is important. Send a doctor and a couple of
detectives at once to the Whipple Hotel, suite 36. You
will find something very interesting. That's all."
With that he hung up, and a few moments later he
had left the apartment and was briskly walking down
the stairs.


CHAPTER XIII
A MESSAGE FROM MR. SHEI
HE city, consuming the news of Mr. Shei's
amazing coup along with its coffee and toast
the following morning, reacted to the sensation
much as a child might react to the sight of a fabled
monster. The whole affair seemed monstrous, un-
believable—and yet the facts could not be reasoned
away. Seven of the city's wealthiest men had been
inoculated with a malady of such a mysterious nature
that the most celebrated physicians in New York City
had admitted they were unable to diagnose it.'
An air of bafflement and suspense hung over the city.
Mr. Shei's name was on every tongue, and the blow he
had struck was discussed by groups that gathered on
street corners, in cafés, and in public squares. Among
the seven victims were several of the most important
capitalists in the country, so the effect of Mr. Shei's
astounding maneuver was an assault on the financial
nerve center of the nation.
The name that, next to Mr. Shei's, was most often
spoken in the street corner discussions, was that of The
163


164
THE GRAY PHANTOM
Gray Phantom. The spectacular nature of the coup,
as well as the daring and resourcefulness exhibited by
its perpetrator, seemed ample proof that The Gray
Phantom had returned to his old ways under the nom
de guerre of Mr. Shei. No one else, it was argued,
could have engineered an achievement of such magni-
tude without bungling and falling into the clutches of
the police. Already wagers were being placed on The
Phantom's ability to evade capture until he should have
consummated his plans.
At ten o'clock, just as newsboys were raucously cry-
ing the latest extras, a taxicab stopped before a dingy
establishment in a squalid and disreputable section of
the lower East Side. The Gray Phantom alighted,
hurriedly tossed the driver a bill, then disappeared in a
basement entrance. The door was opened by a surly-
looking man wearing a soiled apron, and The Phantom
took a seat at one of the tables in the rear. He looked
nervously at his watch. Lieutenant Culligore, whom
he had reached by telephone at police headquarters, had
promised to meet him at ten sharp, and he had sug-
gested Lefty Joe's place as a reasonably safe rendez-
vous.
The Phantom cast a slanting glance at the rough-
looking customers scattered about the place, and just
then the door opened and Culligore walked in and took
a seat beside him.
"Any luck?" inquired the lieutenant, though the
ce


A MESSAGE FROM MR. SHEI
165
question seemed superfluous in view of The Phantom's
dejected appearance.
"None. That's why I wanted a talk with you. How
is Fairspeckle?”
The lieutenant, a little bleary-eyed and with a trace
of diffidence in his manners, looked queerly at the ques-
tioner. “Why single out Fairspeckle? He's in the
same boat with the six others. Neither better nor
worse, though the doctors say his age and poor health
will weigh against him.”
"You still think that Fairspeckle is Mr. Shei?”
Culligore hesitated. A' thin, inscrutable smile hov-
ered above his lips.
"If he is, he gave himself a dose of his own medi-
cine," was his final comment.
"And that's precisely what I think he did.” The
Phantom, speaking in low tones, gave the table a
resounding thwack. “Being one of the city's richest
men, he knew suspicion was apt to turn in his direction,
unless he was inoculated along with the others. He
is easily one of the seven wealthiest men in town, and
it would have looked queer if he had been omitted.
And so, to ward off suspicion, he had a dose of the
poison injected into his own veins, though I suppose
the amount was carefully adjusted so it would produce
the characteristic symptoms without causing death."
Culligore appeared to ponder. “Not bad reasoning,"
he remarked. “That would be on a par with the trick


166
THE GRAY PHANTOM
he played on you yesterday. Fairspeckle seems to be
a shrewd old fox, the kind that isn't overlooking any
bets. Maybe you're right. In that case, of course, the
binding and gagging of the Jap was a blind.”
The Phantom nodded.
“Well, whoever Mr. Shei is, he certainly put one
over last night,” was Culligore's rueful comment. "He
seems to have a gang of highly trained followers who
do exactly as he tells them without batting an eyelid.
Last night, between ten o'clock and two in the morn-
ing, he sent one or more of his men to the homes of
each of the seven victims. In two or three instances,
the servants were bribed, I understand. Anyhow, Mr.
Shei's men got in by some hook or crook. Four of tie
seven were caught in bed and trussed up before they
could say Jack Robinson. Two of the others were
tapped on the back of the head when they returned
home from the theater, and one got his in a taxicab.
Mr. Shei made a clean sweep."
“What do the doctors say?"
"Most of them are doing some fancy stalling to
cover up what they don't know. The high muckamucks
of the profession are holding a consultation this morn-
ing to decide what's to be done. One of them let slip
the information that the symptoms look something like
a combination of rabies and delirium tremens, but he
believes the disease is produced by one of the ancient
poisons that were known to the Asiatics. The fact that


168
THE GRAY PHANTOM
senses. You'd better take my advice and lie low for a
while. I'll see what I can do with Fairspeckle, though
I haven't any high hopes. I'll have him watched, and
it's just possible that we can squeeze some information
out of him. But look here. Aren't you starting this
thing from the wrong end?”
The Phantom gave him a puzzled glance.
"When Miss Hardwick left the Thelma Theater day
before yesterday,” pursued Culligore, “I could have
sworn she was on her way to see you. She didn't say
anything about her plans, but that was the idea I got
from her actions."
The Phantom shook his head. "If she started for
my place, she never got there. I called up on the long
distance this morning, and was told that nothing has
been seen of her. Of course, something may have
happened to her on the way.”
“Well, I wouldn't worry just yet. The young lady
has a lot of spunk, and I'll bet a pair of pink socks she
knows how to take care of herself. It mightn't be a
bad idea to get in touch with her father. He may have
had some news from her since yesterday. I must be on
my way. Mr. Shei is putting gray hairs on my head.”
Culligore rose, and the two men shook hands. They
parted after the lieutenant had once more admonished
The Phantom against exposing himself to arrest. For
a moment or two after the detective had left the place,


A MESSAGE FROM MR. SHEI:
169
The Phantom looked dubiously at the door through
which he had departed.
“There's something queer about Culligore,” he
mumbled. “I wonder if he— ”.
He did not finish the thought, but with a shrug of the
shoulders he stepped out and looked warily up and
down the sidewalk. Culligore's warning had not been
needed to impress upon him that caution was necessary.
He sniffed danger in the very air he breathed as he
slunk across the street, walked a block to the east, then
ducked into a deserted doorway. A taxicab appeared,
and he signaled the driver. For a moment he hesitated
as to his next move, then Culligore's parting advice
occurred to him and, after consulting the small note-
book he carried, he gave the chauffeur the address of
the Hardwick residence.
The cab started. The Phantom glanced sharply
through the windows. A familiar and yet intangible
sensation had been with him constantly for the past
hour. Now and then, at long intervals, he had had a
fleeting impression that he was being watched. Now, as
the cab chugged its way down the avenue, a sixth sense
told him he was being followed, yet he could detect no
sign of pursuit in the welter of traffic. He tried to
dismiss the impression, knowing that in his present
state of high mental tension his senses were not to be
trusted.
He alighted in front of a modest brownstone house,
senses were


A MESSAGE FROM MR. SHEI
171
easy, for she had been acting strangely ever since-
since-2”
"Since the affair at the Thelma Theater," guessed
The Phantom. "Listen, Mr. Hardwick. I am as
deeply concerned in what has happened to her as you
can possibly be. I intend to find her, no matter where
she may be. Can you trust me?"
Mr. Hardwick’s dim eyes searched the Phantom's
face for a long time. At first there was a look of
doubt and suspicion in the old man's countenance, but
it faded gradually away.
"I believe I can,” he declared. “I know what your
past has been, and I confess I have disapproved
strongly of the friendship between you and my daugh-
ter. She is still impressionable and there are romantic
notions in her head, and you will forgive me if I say
that you did not seem quite the proper person for her
to associate with.”
"I can understand that,” murmured The Phantom.
“Your attitude was quite natural in view of the circum-
stances.”
“And so,” continued Mr. Hardwick, "when your
letters came I did not feel justified in giving them to
her. I was not unappreciative of what you had done
for her and me, but I feared she might form an unsuit-
able attachment. In short, I destroyed the letters after
a glance at the handwriting on the envelope."
The Phantom smiled faintly. “I know you acted


172
THE GRAY PHANTOM
for what you thought your daughter's best interests.
It is not for me to criticise your conduct in the matter.
I can readily see— But wait.” The Phantom's
brow suddenly clouded. “How many letters did you
intercept?”
“I think there were two. One came in the spring;
the other late in the summer. Yes, I am quite sure
there were only two.”
The Phantom's narrowing gaze swept the older
man's face. His lips tightened into a grim line. “The
letter I mailed in the spring was the one in which I told
your daughter of my removal from Azurecrest to Sea
Glimpse,” he explained in tense tones. “I had prom-
ised to keep her informed of my movements so that she
could communicate with me if she should ever need
me.” He paused for a moment. "Have you any idea
where your daughter might have gone? Didn't she
say anything that suggested what her plans were."
"She talked rather incoherently at breakfast, but
said nothing about intending to go away. When I
received her message later in the day, it occurred to me
that she might have gone in search of you. You had
been mentioned several times in our talks together, and
I thought that— ".
“If her intention was to find me, she probably went
to the wrong place,” gravely interrupted The Phantom.
“Not knowing of my removal to Sea Glimpse, she
naturally would look for me at Azurecrest. I sold the


A MESSAGE FROM MR. SHEI
175
probably don't interest you, and I have a message for
you from Mr. Shei.”
The bluntness of the statement made The Phantom
catch his breath. He wondered whether it was the
vivacious eyes of Fay Dale that had been following
him all morning and giving him the haunting impres-
sion of being watched.
“As I said, you are very reckless,” Miss Dale went
on. “Twice within the last two days you have been
warned to abandon the course you are pursuing, and
you have paid no heed whatever. There's such a thing
as carrying audacity to a fault, you know. Doesn't the
safety of a certain young lady mean anything to you
at all?”
"Everything !” exclaimed The Phantom impulsively.
“You said you had something to tell me about her.”
“I have, but you mustn't be impatient. I have some-
thing very important to tell you. You have seen fit to
meddle in an affair that doesn't concern you in the
least. You have been warned that your conduct is
endangering the life of the young lady, but evidently
you have not taken the warnings seriously. I can
assure you that Mr. Shei never makes idle threats. It
is his wish that you leave New York at once.”
A taunting laugh was on The Phantom's lips, but
he held it back. “Why?” he demanded.
"Because Mr. Shei doesn't care to have you inter-
fere with him. He is now engaged in the most impor-


A MESSAGE FROM MR. SHEI
177
means of persuasion that ought to impress even you.
Nothing in the world can save her if you disobey his
wishes."
Her tones carried an emphasis that caused The
Phantom to give her a sharp glance. There was a curl
to her lips and a gleam in her eyes that impressed him
even more strongly than her words. His mind worked
quickly.
“If Mr. Shei will return Miss Hardwick safely to
her home, I will leave New York on the next train,"
he promised.
She laughed frigidly. “You must think Mr. Shei is
a fool. He would lose his hold over you the moment
he released Miss Hardwick, and what guarantee would
he have that you would carry out your promise ?"
“My word of honor."
"It would be enough under ordinary circumstances,
but not in this case. Evidently you do not realize the
gravity of Miss Hardwick's position, or you would not
quarrel with Mr. Shei's terms." She shrugged her
slight shoulders. “Well, you shall soon be convinced
that Mr. Shei is not to be trifled with. From Miss
Hardwick's own lips you shall learn what a desperate
predicament she is in. After that, my dear Phantom, I
think you will be more amenable to reason.”
There was a question on The Phantom's tongue, but
just then the car drew up in front of an apartment
house facing Central Park, and Miss Dale conducted


178
THE GRAY PHANTOM
him through an ornate entrance, then up three flights
in the elevator, and a little gasp of admiration escaped
The Phantom as they passed into an exquisitely fur-
nished apartment. Save for the prevalence of the
feminine touch, exemplified in gorgeous but meaning-
less trifles and gewgaws, it met the emphatic approval
of The Phantom's discriminating eye.
Miss Dale excused herself and entered an adjoining
room, and he was left alone for a few minutes. He
strained his ears and listened. From faint sounds com-
ing through the closed door he imagined she was at the
telephone. The cold gleam in her eyes as he had helped
her from the car was still haunting him, and he won-
dered what she had meant when she promised that
from Helen's own lips should he learn the nature of
her predicament.
The frigid, insinuating smile was still on her lips
when she returned to the room in which she had left
him.
“Your curiosity shall be gratified in a few moments,”
she announced, seating herself and regarding him with
a cold, impersonal gaze. There was an air of quiet
self-reliance and efficiency about her that enabled him
to understand how she could be a valuable assistant to
Mr. Shei. Neither spoke, and presently the silence was
interrupted by the ringing of the telephone in the other
room.
“Answer, please,” she said lightly, the faintest trace


CHAPTER XIV
THE ELUSIVE MR. SHET
Y PASMODICALLY The Gray Phantom pressed
the receiver closer to his ear. The laughter at
the other end of the wire rose to a shrill cres-
cendo, then ended abruptly in a harsh and discordant
twang.
“Helen!” shouted The Phantom.
No answer came; nothing but a muffled thud that
sounded as if the person at the other end had suddenly
dropped the receiver. His face white, The Phantom
turned to Miss Dale.
“Are you convinced now?" she murmured, a silken
smile hovering about her lips. “And don't you think
you had better obey Mr. Shei's wishes and leave the
city immediately ?”
The Phantom mopped the clammy perspiration from
his forehead. A moment ago his face had been dis-
torted from horror; now a look of rage glittered
menacingly in his eyes. “Mr. Shei will pay for this,"
he muttered thickly. “When I have finished with him,
he will wish he had never been born."
180


THE ELUSIVE MR. SHEI
181
"And just what do you propose to do?” Miss Dale
airily waved her slim, white hand. “As a measure of
self-protection, knowing that he could not control you
by any other means, Mr. Shei has caused Miss Hard-
wick to be inoculated with the same malady that killed
Miss Darrow, and which will kill seven of the city's
wealthiest men unless they comply with his wishes.
There is only one thing which can save her, and that is
the antidote. It is in the possession of a Malayan
scientist, one of Mr. Shei's most devoted followers, and
it will be administered only when you have carried out
the terms I have explained to you.”
The Phantom stood silent while trying to fight down
the surge of emotions that threatened to swamp his
reason. Suddenly his roving gaze was fixed on the
numbered tag above the mouthpiece of the telephone
instrument. His lids contracted a little.
“Brilliant idea, my dear Phantom," drawled Miss
Dale. “For once you are quite transparent. It is your
intention, as soon as you leave my apartment, to call up
the telephone exchange and trace the call, thus learning
Miss Hardwick's whereabouts. It would be simple,
for it was a long-distance connection, and such calls are
always recorded. I will save you the trouble, however.
Miss Hardwick is at Azurecrest."
"Azurecrest?" echoed The Phantom, momentarily
a trifle dazed.
Miss Dale seemed to find his perplexity highly amus- !


182
THE GRAY PHANTOM
ing. “When Mr. Shei learned the place was for sale,
he bought it anonymously through an agent. It seemed
an ideal spot for certain experiments he had in mind.
Hoping to find you there, Miss Hardwick went to
Azurecrest the day after Miss Darrow's death, and for
divers reasons it was thought best to detain her.”
* The Phantom muttered an exclamation. Slade had
lied to him, then, when The Phantom had called up
Azurecrest earlier in the day and inquired for Miss
Hardwick. Slade, he now suspected, was one of Mr.
Shei's agents, and under the circumstances it was not
surprising that he had disclaimed all knowledge of
Helen. The Phantom might not have accepted his
denial so readily if he had had the faintest inkling that
Mr. Shei was the present owner of his former retreat.
Suddenly he whirled round on his heels and started
abruptly from the room.
“Wait a moment," commanded Miss Dale as he
reached the door, and a subtle quality in her tone
caused him to stop. “How impulsive you are, my dear
Phantom. I suppose you mean to rush madly off to
Azurecrest and rescue the fair damsel. Stop and think
for a moment. Surely you don't imagine I would have
told you Miss Hardwick's whereabouts unless I had
been absolutely certain that you were powerless to act.”
The Phantom saw the weight of the argument at
once. He moved away from the door.
“Glad you are willing to listen to reason,” murmured
-
-


THE ELUSIVE MR. SHEI
185
Mr. Shei's terms in the hope that by doing so he would
insure Helen's safety. He wondered if he had been
too gullible, and he dodged into a doorway while con-
sidering the question. He had been under a terrific
tension the past few days, and his mind had not been
working with its customary agility. Now it occurred
to him that he had nothing but Miss Dale's word for it
that Helen's life would be spared if he yielded to Mr.
Shei's terms. He had relied on her promise, not be-
cause of blind faith in her, but rather because Mr. Shei
would gain nothing by killing Helen. He was merely
using her as a means of suasion whereby to hold The
Phantom in leash and prevent interference with his
plans, and once she had served his purpose there was
no reason why he should do her harm.
But The Phantom was far from satisfied. At Azure-
crest, Helen must have heard and seen things that if
divulged would constitute a great danger to Mr. Shei
and his organization. Her keen perceptions and in-
quisitive nature were always delving into whatever
was strange and mysterious. Would Mr. Shei dare let
her live after her usefulness to him was past? Again,
as he repeatedly asked himself the question, a cold
perspiration broke out on The Phantom's brow.
Once more he made a quick decision, completely
reversing the one he had made in Miss Dale's presence.
He glanced quickly at his watch. If he remembered
correctly, there would be a train for Azurecrest inside


186
THE GRAY PHANTOM
twenty minutes. Single-handed, relying only on his
quick wits and agile strength, he would beard the lion
in his den.
But first he was anxious to learn whether Culligore
had made any progress toward clearing up the other
phases of the mystery, particularly in regard to Mr.
Fairspeckle. He entered a convenient telephone booth
and called up the police department. Luck was with
him, for after a brief delay he heard Culligore's voice
over the wire.
“Oh, Fairspeckle! Why, he's vamoosed. Slipped
away right from under the eyes of a doctor and a
nurse. Can you beat it?”
The Phantom's veins tingled as he hung up. Fair-
speckle's disappearance was final proof that he had
correctly guessed the identity of Mr. Shei.


188
THE GRAY PHANTOM
ere
even the scrawl in the dust seemed so trivial now that
she felt an impulse to laugh. It was grotesque, she
thought, that such a little thing as a couple of initials
traced on the surface of a table should mean the blot-
ting out of her life.
The house was very silent. No one had entered the
room since Slade's departure, and she had spent the
intervening hours in a state of musing detachment.
Her thoughts and fancies flitted about in circles, and
she had a curious impression that only her mind was
functioning and that her emotions were numb. The
slanting rays of the sun glimmered pleasantly on the
furniture and she wondered abstractedly whether she
should ever see the sunlight of another day. She
glanced down at her dress, trimmed with delicate
touches of red, and the thought struck her that perhaps
she was wearing it for the last time. It was odd, she
mused, that the prospect held no terror for her, and
that her only feeling was a sense of dull, aching void.
Voices in the hall outside started her out of her rev-
erie. The Gray Phantom's name, spoken in excited
tones, sent an emotional quiver through her being and
awoke her from her lethargy. Sensations, gentle and
stimulating ones, stirred in the depths of her conscious-
ness.
"The Gray Phantom,” she whispered, looking pen-
sively at the door. He had inspired her with emotions
that she had never been quite able to understand. At


190
THE GRAY PHANTOM
wa
chemicals in the air, and she guessed it was a labora-
tory of some sort. It all seemed a little strange to her,
but in the next moment her attention was engaged by
voices coming through a partly open door at one side
of the large room.
"Oh, it's serious enough," one of them was saying,
and she instantly knew that the speaker was Slade.
“The Gray Phantom is the only man alive who can
queer Mr. Shei's game.”
The words were spoken in a tone of reluctant respect
that gave Helen a thrill. Coming from an enemy, it
was a striking tribute to The Phantom's genius and
power.
“Ah, The Gray Phantom! I have heard the name.
One of your fascinating master criminals, is he not?”
The second man spoke with the exaggerated precision
that characterizes the educated foreigner. "But why
does The Gray Phantom interfere in the affairs of Mr.
Shei ?”
Slade chuckled grimly. “That's hard to tell, Doctor
Tagala. Perhaps for a number of reasons. Maybe he
dislikes to see another man excel him at his own
game. There's such a thing as professional jealousy
even among crooks, you know. All we know for cer-
tain is that he arrived in New York the day Mr. Shei's
notices were posted. One of our men saw him, and he
was watched almost from the moment of his arrival.
His actions indicated plainly that he had gone on the


192
THE GRAY PHANTOM
Helen felt the blood rushing to her head.
“I am begining to comprehend,” remarked Doctor
Tagala. “It is Mr. Shei's plan to keep The Gray Phan-
tom in check by threatening to inflict harm on the
young lady. An excellent idea, but a trifle vague.”
"Oh, there's nothing vague about it, and it involves
something far more substantial than mere threats.
Can't you guess, doctor?”.
There came an intervai of silence. Evidently Doctor
Tagala was exercising his imagination. Helen crept a
little closer, then peered through the narrow crack be-
tween the door and the jamb. Only two or three feet
from her, with his lips curled into a leer, sat Slade.
Her eyes traveled a little farther until she saw Doctor
Tagala, and suddenly she caught her breath. It
required all her self-control to keep from betraying her
presence. She had seen the face twice before, first in
the Thelma Theater and later at the window of the
room in which Slade had interviewed her shortly after
her arrival at Azurecrest, and on each occasion the
sight had given her a chill. The coarse and brutal
features, framed by black hair that reached almost to
the shoulders, stood out in sharp contrast to the man's
cultured speech and polished manners. Again, as she
saw the brutish lips and the flaming eyes, she received
an impression of something evil and loathsome. She
leaned weakly against the wall, and then she heard
again Doctor Tagala's voice.


194
THE GRAY PHANTOM
man
friends would be in a bad fix if a sudden misfortune
should befall you.”
“Nothing on earth could save them,” said Tagala
emphatically. “The secret is in my exclusive posses-
sion. No other man could diagnose the malady, much
less prescribe a remedy. The lives of the seven gentle-
men are absolutely in my hand.”
“Then there isn't the slightest chance of Mr. Shei's
plans falling through?”
"Not the slightest. The seven gentlemen will pay
Mr. Shei's price, and within a week we shall all be rich
beyond the dreams of avarice.” The gloating tones
hinted that Doctor Tagala's imagination was luxuriat-
ing in enchanting visions. "By the way, when do we
inoculate the young lady?”
“Better wait till evening,” suggested Slade. “There
will be less danger of interruption then.”
Helen turned away. She feared an involuntary cry
of horror would betray her if she remained longer.
Steadying herself with great difficulty, she stole out of
the laboratory and slipped back into her room. Her
watch showed half past five, and the inoculation would
probably not take place for an hour or two. In the
meantime she wanted to think and if possible find a way
of escape, but the fierce pounding of the blood against
her temples seemed to preclude clear thinking.
Her only distinct thought was that she must flee
from Azurecrest no matter what dangers and diffi-


DOCTOR TAGALA
195
culties she might encounter. She felt that The Gray
Phantom would gladly Aling his life away in order to
protect her, but in this instance' his hands were tied.
He could not make a single move without rendering
her predicament worse, and that fact would restrain
him, much as he might rebel against his enforced in-
action. Mr. Shei's men would point out to him that
her safety depended on an unresisting attitude on his
part. He could not know what she had just learned
from the conversation between Slade and Tagala, that
it was their intention to take her life, anyway.
Somehow, she told herself, she must manage to
escape from the horrors awaiting her at Azurecrest.
Even being clawed and torn by the savage dog seemed
preferable to the slightest touch of Doctor Tagala's
hand. She shuddered whenever her imagination con-
jured up a vision of his repelling features, and a hoarse
cry rose in her throat at thought of being inoculated
· with the fearful malady. Miss Neville's maniacal out-
brusts were still ringing in her ears, and she remem-
bered the hideous strains that had poured from the lips
of the dying woman in the Thelma Theater.
The recollections filled her with sickening terror.
With ghastly visions floating before her eyes, she
rushed blindly from the room. The hall was deserted,
and she scurried down the stairs as if pursued by a
monster. She reached the outer door without hin-
drance, and a flickering hope began to stir within her


196
THE GRAY PHANTOM
as she scanned the wide stretch of lawn surrounding
the house. The long shadows cast by the trees gave
her an additional sense of safety. Swiftly, without a
backward glance, she started to run. Her hopes rose
higher and higher as she plunged into the thick
shadows among the trees. In a few moments now, if
her flight remained unnoticed, she would have reached
the fence. Somehow she would manage to scale it, or
maybe she could find an opening somewhere.
She quickened her pace, but of a sudden a low, rum-
bling growl sent a chill through her veins. She stopped,
stood crouching behind the scraggy trunk of a hemlock,
and glanced wildly in all directions With great leaps
and skips, a huge, black form was rushing toward her,
its teeth gleaming ominously between slavering jaws.
In a few moments it would be at her throat, and
then— Once more a vision of Doctor Tagala's
repulsive features filled her with dread. Again she
looked about her, then raced swiftly in the direction
where the shadows were thickest. Behind her the
underbrush crackled beneath the paws of the savage
beast. In a moment or two he would be snapping at
her heels.
Again hope rose within her. A squatty shed loomed
within a narrow clearing. With the strength of frenzy
she sped toward it. If she could reach it before the
dog could overtake her, she would be temporarily safe.
A great terror urged her on with the speed of the


DOCTOR TAGALA
197
wind. Now the dog was snatching at the hem of her
Auttering skirt, but she was already at the door. With
a final exertion of strength she pushed it open and
rushed in, then slammed it shut behind her. With a
deep breath of relief she lurched against the wail. Sud-
denly she recoiled as from a blow.
“What are you doin' here?” queried a gruff voice.
She stared into the dusk around her. A few wisps
of waning sunlight straggled in through a small win-
dow in the rear. Gradually, as her eyes grew accus-
tomed to the dusk, she descried a stocky figure leaning
over a shovel. It was the sour-faced individual who
had opened the gate for her on her arrival at Azure-
crest. Little by little, as her pupils responded to the
dim light, she took in each detail of the scene. An
amazed gasp slipped from her lips.
An oblong space had been torn up in the center of
the flooring and on each side of it were little mounds
of dirt. Instinctively she stepped closer and looked
down into a rectangular hollow. She had a weird
sensation that she was looking into a grave, and with
a shudder she glanced up into the man's face.
“What—what's that?” she asked hoarsely, indicat-
ing the hollow.
The man guffawed. “Better not ask questions,
miss. This is a nasty job, and you'd better clear out.”
He looked aside just then, and she followed his
glance. In a corner of the shed she saw a heap vaguely


CHAPTER XVI
CHECKMATED
rom
MASS of jagged, elongated clouds hovered
like scowling specters over Azurecrest. A
raw wind sighed moodily among the birches
and hemlocks as The Gray Phantom reached the apex
of the hill. Stopping within fifty yards of the high
picket fence, he glanced toward the house that once had
served him as a retreat and shelter against the activities
of the police. The white trimmings of doors and win-
dows gleamed faintly in the dusk and here and there
a light twinkled through the trees.
The Phantom turned away and walked a few paces
toward the fence. On the trip from the city he had
tried to exclude Helen from his mind, for each thought
of her was maddening, and he needed a cool brain and
a steady nerve if he were to accomplish his purpose.
By sheer force of will he had tried to forget the hys-
terical laughter he had heard over the wire and which
had told him with grim eloquence what had happened
to her. To keep disturbing thoughts from his mind, he
had outlined several plans of procedure and prepared
200


202
THE GRAY PHANTOM
plied with air through ingeniously hidden ventilators
and The Phantom had fitted it up for brief occupancy.
Occasionally it had suited his mood to retire to the
hidden chamber and read one of his favorite books.
Throwing off the light overcoat he had been wear-
ing, he then examined his automatic and the little
pocket case in which he carried a number of carefully
selected tools that had stood him in good stead in
numerous emergencies. Despite the advantages af-
forded him by the tunnel and the secret room, he would
be surrounded by dangers at every step. He had no
doubt Mr. Shei's henchmen would kill him on sight,
and he could not afford to toss his life away recklessly
while Helen was in danger.
He glanced at his watch. It was only a little after
ten, and sounds reaching him through the ventilator
shaft warned him that the occupants of the house were
still about. As soon as the house had quieted down a
little, he would try the first plan on his programme. If
that failed, he was holding two or three others in
reserve.
For half an hour he waited, then a sliding panel
opened at his touch on a spring, and he ascended a nar-
row spiral stairway that terminated in what appeared
to be a blank wall. His hand touched a lever, and The
Phantom passed through an aperture that instantly
closed behind him. He was standing in a dark room in
a seldom frequented part of the house. He advanced


204
THE GRAY PHANTOM
The Phantom raised his head from the keyhole. Then,
he flexed his muscles and drew the automatic from his
pocket. Here was his opportunity for putting his first
plan to the test. It was cruder than the alternative
ones, but it might also prove vastly more effective. His
hand closed around the knob. With automatic in one
hand he softly pushed the door open, entering so
silently that for several moments neither of the two
men in the room was aware of the intrusion.
He gazed for an instant at the singularly repulsive
face of the man addressed as Doctor Tagala, then gave
his companion a fleeting glance of inspection, noticing
that Slade had the strong jaw and aggressiveness of
manners that usually go with a domineering person-
ality. Only the eyes, shifty and unmagnetic, gave him
a suspicion that there was a weak strain in the man's
moral fiber. Smiling affably, with every nerve in his
body atingle, he advanced to the table.
“Good-evening, gentlemen,” he said softly.
With a hoarse cry Slade sprang from his chair, but
Doctor Tagala gave the intruder only a cold, imper-
sonal glance.
“Sit down, Slade," ordered The Phantom, “and both
of you keep your hands on the table.” He made a sig-
nificant gesture with the automatic.
Slade stared and looked as if not quite certain that
his eyes were to be trusted.
“How the devil did you get in?” he exclaimed ex-


206
THE GRAY PHANTOM
"How?"
The Phantom's lids contracted and his eyes held a
steely glitter as he looked down at the man in the chair.
Then he cast a quick glance over his shoulder. At
any moment someone was apt to enter and deprive him
of his advantage.
“I intend to fight the devil with fire,” he announced.
“In other words, I am going to fight your Mr. Shei
with his own weapons. Mr. Shei works through
fear. He hopes to induce his seven victims to
surrender half of their fortunes to him by putting the
fear of death into them. Now, it's a poor rule that
doesn't work both ways."
"Suppose you come to the point,” suggested Slade
sneeringly.
“Very well. I understand that you, Slade, are in
charge here during Mr. Shei's absence. I want you
to do two things at once. One of them is to release
Miss Hardwick immediately; the other, to have the
antidote administered to her.”
Slade's eyes left the automatic and gave The Phan-
tom an insolent glance. “A bit dictatorial, aren't you?
Has it occurred to you that I might refuse?”
"Certainly." The Phantom smiled, but his eyes
were hard as steel. “Mr. Shei has probably considered
the possibility that his seven victims may refuse to
accept his terms, but he feels fairly sure that in the end
they will submit. His whole scheme is based on the


CHECKMATED
207
idea that a man will do almost anything to escape death.
So will you, Slade; especially when I convince you that
you will never leave this room alive unless you do as
I say."
Slade shifted uneasily in his chair. A tinge of gray
was slowly creeping into his face.
"Make no mistake, Slade,” The Phantom went on.
“It's true there are no bloodstains on my hands, but
this time I am gambling for higher stakes than ever
before in my life. I could kill you without the slightest
scruple."
His eyes, as he looked down at the other man, were
keen as rapiers. He spoke each word with an emphasis
that spelled terrible earnestness. Slade winced and
writhed beneath his lowering gaze.
“What—what do you want me to do?” he stam-
mered.
The Phantom felt a thrill as he saw that the other
was yielding. He had judged him correctly at first
glance. Slade, despite his swaggers and blustering,
was at heart a coward.
“In the first place, you are to instruct Doctor Tagala
to administer the antidote to Miss Hardwick immedi-
ately. I will give you exactly sixty seconds. If you
have not obeyed by that time, you will be a dead man.”
To emphasize the threat, The Phantom took out his
watch. Slade turned a quavering glance on the


208
THE GRAY PHANTOM
scientist. He opened his lips to speak, but Doctor
Tagala anticipated him.
"I dislike to interrupt such a dramatic scene,” he
declared in drawling tones edged with a faint trace of
sarcasm, “but it has proceeded far enough. You see,
my dear Gray Phantom, that even if Mr. Slade should
give me such absurd instructions as you request, I
would refuse to comply with them. Furthermore, in
order to save you needless waste of energy, let me in-
form you that the antidote is concealed in a place where
I alone know where to find it. We are protected
against every conceivable emergency.”
The Phantom felt a presentment of defeat, but his
face, tense and threatening, showed not the slightest
sign of it. With a quick movement he turned the
pistol from Slade and pointed the muzzle straight at
Doctor Tagala's head.
“All right, doctor,” he said crisply, “in that case let
me warn you that I could kill you with just as little
scruple as I could Slade."
But the scientist only folded his arms and smiled.
A look of patient amusement crossed his swarthy and
evil face.
“That is an excellent example of what you Ameri-
cans call bluff,” he drawled. “You can't frighten me,
for I know you have not the slightest intention to kill
me. If you take my life, the antidote will never be
found, and then the charming young lady will die. Mr.


CHECKMATED
209
Shei anticipated just such a situation as this when he
made me the sole custodian of the antidote.”
A trace of disappointment passed over The Phan-
tom's face; a sense of bafflement took hold of him as
he realized that, thanks to Mr. Shei's ingenious pre-
cautions, his first plan had failed disastrously. Still
pointing the pistol, he backed slowly toward the door.
"Mr. Shei wins this time,” he frankly acknowledged,
“but he will lose in the end. The Gray Phantom was
never beaten yet. I wish you good-night, gentlemen.”
With that he was out of the door and running
swiftly down the hall. With a cry of rage Slade sprang
from the chair and started in pursuit, blowing a pocket
whistle as he ran. Men appeared from every direction,
and Slade shouted orders that the house and grounds
be thoroughly searched at once. The men scattered,
and in a few moments the search was on.
But The Gray Phantom, safe in his hidden chamber,
was already at work on the details of his next move.


CHAPTER XVII
DOCTOR TAGALA'S DISCOVERY
GLANCE at his watch as he entered the
secret room showed The Phantom that day-
break was not far away. In a little while it
would be highly unsafe for him to walk about the
house; besides, the execution of his next move de-
pended for its success on darkness and quiet. To
jeopardize his project by a reckless move would be the
height of folly and might result in disastrous conse-
quences. Much as his fears and anxiety urged him to
immediate action, The Phantom decided to wait till the
following night.
He lay down on the cot and slept by snatches. Now
and then, as a faint but terrifying sound came down
the ventilator shaft, he awoke with a start. Peals of
unnatural laughter, sounding remotely in the darkness
of the hidden chamber, started a cold sweat on his
forehead. By sheer physical force he would shut out
the sounds, knowing that for the present he could do
nothing, but the mutterings that fell from his lips and
210


DOCTOR TAGALA'S DISCOVERY
211
the convulsive clenching of his hands boded no good
for Mr. Shei and his followers.
Morning came, and he tried to fix his mind on his
forthcoming move. A grim look came into his face as
he contemplated the step he was about to take. Or-
dinarily he would have shrunk from it in disgust, for
it was an expedient he had never employed in the past.
Now, however, with the life of Helen Hardwick in
danger, he must employ whatever means might prove
effective. It was no time for niceties or scruples.
Besides, there was no reason why he should be
restrained by ethical considerations when dealing with
blackguards like Mr. Shei and his retainers.
The hours dragged. A troubled look on his face,
The Phantom paced the floor of the narrow chamber.
His plans for the night were complete except for one
detail. Cudgel his brain as he might, there was one
small but important matter that continued to puzzle
him. Evening came, and the solution of the difficulty
still eluded him. He was a little faint from hunger,
for he had not eaten for twenty-four hours, and he
wondered if his brain would not work better after a
visit to the pantry. In a little while the house would
quiet down for the night, and then he could safely leave
his hiding place.
At last he was ready for action. He gave his auto-
matic a careful inspection. Into his pocket he put a
coil of thin but strong rope which he had unearthed


212
THE GRAY PHANTOM
nev
from an old chest. Then he turned off the light and
ascended the spiral stairway. After listening in vain
for sounds, he tiptoed out in the hallway, then down
the main stairway. The entire house seemed immersed
in sleep, and even the strained laughter had stopped
for a time. Evidently the occupants of the house,
never guessing that he was hiding in their very midst,
supposed that The Gray Phantom had left Azurecrest.
He felt more alert after gratifying his hunger in the
well-stocked pantry. By the back stairway he returned
to the second floor. Silent as a shadow he walked
down the hall, pausing briefly before every door and
listening. It was important that he should locate Doc-
tor Tagala's room, for his whole plan revolved around
the scientist. Also, he was anxious to take the doctor
completely by surprise.
At one of the doors he stopped longer than before
the others. A faint reek of chemicals filtered through
the keyhole, and in a vague sense the odor suggested
Doctor Tagala's nearness. Neither light nor sound
came through the tiny opening, so evidently there was
no one in the room. The door was locked, but a simple
operation with one of the tools in his case opened it
readily, and he stepped inside.
He peered sharply into the darkness before he
thought it safe to snap on his electric flash light. As
the small point of light played over floor and walls, he
knew at once that the room was a chemical laboratory.
no


DOCTOR TAGALA'S DISCOVERY
213
Chemistry had always held a strong fascination for
him, and his knowledge of the science was far more
comprehensive than the average layman's. Something
prompted him to glance twice at the long rows of
bottles stacked on shelves around the room. Stepping
closer, he read some of the labels, and suddenly he gave
a faint chuckle of elation. The problem that had
puzzled him all day was at last solved. From its place
on the shelf he took a small bottle containing a color-
less fluid, and slipped it into his pocket. The chemical
was a very ordinary one, but he expected it to serve a
highly useful purpose.
Again he darted the electric gleam over the room.
At one side was a door, and as he bent his ear to the
keyhole he heard sounds of deep and regular breathing.
Something told him that the sleeper was Doctor
Tagala, for it seemed only logical that the scientist
should occupy the room adjoining the laboratory.
Quickly extinguishing his flash light, he turned the
knob and noiselessly pushed the door open, then
stepped softly in the direction whence the sounds of
breathing came. Once more he brought his flash light
into play, but or:lay to assure himself by a swift glance
that the sleeper was Tagala.
A faint, triumphant grin curled his lips, and then the
flash disappeared in his pocket. For a moment, stand-
ing in utter darkness, he tensed his muscles for action.
In an instant he pressed his knee firmly against the


DOCTOR TAGALA'S DISCOVERY
215
“You—again!” he exclaimed.
The Phantom smiled at sight of his stupefaction.
“You didn't suppose I would give up so easily; did
you, doctor? You don't seem particularly pleased to
see me. No doubt you thought I left Azurecrest after
the fizzle last night. I suppose you are wondering
where you are. It is enough for you to know that you
will never leave this room until we have had an under-
standing, and that for the present you may regard
yourself as my prisoner. Your confederates will never
find you, and you may as well reconcile yourself to
the fact that they are unable to help you.”
Tagala, gradually recovering breath and wits, looked
balefully at The Phantom.
“You—you will suffer for this !” he muttered
thickly. Again he strained at the cords around his
ankles and wrists, but he soon saw that it was useless.
“We know how to deal with meddlers."
The Phantom smiled complacently. As yet it had
not occurred to his prisoner to cry for help, and The
Phantom had no fear of the result if he should do so.
Though Slade and the others were not far away, they
were as harmless as if they did not exist. Save for the
ventilating shaft, the room was practically soundproof,
and the exits were so completely hidden that they
would never be able to locate the chamber.
“We shall see," was his calm response. “Mr. Shei
appears to be a very shrewd man, but even he has his


216
THE GRAY PHANTOM
limitations. The infirmities of age are beginning to
show a marked effect on his strategy. He is too old
for this sort of thing."
"So,” said the scientist in queer tones, "you think
you know him?”
The Phantom nodded. “I had an encounter with him
some years ago, and he proved to me then that he had
extraordinary astuteness. As a matter of fact, he was
a little too much for me. The other day I ran into him
by accident, and we had quite a pleasant little chat.”
Tagala lay motionless on the cot while his eyes,
slowly recovering their customary brilliance, searched
The Phantom's face.
"The police are laboring under the delusion that you
are Mr. Shei,” he dryly observed.
“Oh, well, the police are not particularly bright at
times.” The Phantom shrugged. “Now, doctor, you
and I are going to have a very serious talk. I was out-
maneuvered last night, but this is my round. I shall
convince you by a very simple method that it will be
wise for you to place the antidote in my hands.”
Despite his humiliation and physical discomfort, the
doctor gave a contemptuous laugh.
"Fool!” he snorted. “Every move you make is fore-
doomed to failure. We have provided against every
possible emergency. Our plan is already a certain suc-
cess. Only this afternoon Mr. Shei telephones me
from New York that everything is going well. A


DOCTOR TAGALA'S DISCOVERY
219
There was an elated smirk on his face, and The
Phantom turned away in disgust.
"I came to America,” continued the doctor in oily
tones, "and by mere chance made the acquaintance of
our remarkable Mr. Shei. I shall not weary you by
reciting all the details. I happened to mention my dis-
covery to Mr. Shei, and his brilliant mind immediately
conceived the idea of putting it to a highly profitable
use. Like all great things, his plan was simplicity
itself. His theory was based on the fact, so aptly
stated by yourself last night, that the average run of
mortals can be most effectively controlled through the
factor of fear. He suggested that if a deadly malady
were communicated to a number of wealthy men, they
could easily be persuaded to pay almost any price for
a sure antidote, especially if the antidote were the
exclusive property of an individual or an organization.
I “That was the beginning of the idea. It required
quite a little elaboration. The chief factors in the
plan were the poison and the antidote. The antidote
was in readiness, but the poison had to be so adjusted
that it would produce death within a specified time
unless the antidote were administered meanwhile. If
the plan was to succeed, we must be in a position to tell
the subjects that they would die within a certain num-
ber of days unless they paid our price for the antidote.
You probably know, since you appear to be an educated
man, that the ancient Chinese knew how to adjust


220
THE GRAY PHANTOM
poisons so as to produce death within a certain time.
All my life I have been making special studies along
that line, and my discoveries proved very valuable in
connection with Mr. Shei's project. Yet, for a long
time, I was unable to adjust the poison with sufficient
accuracy. With Mr. Shei's assistance I fitted up a
laboratory here and began making additional re-
searches. It was necessary to have human subjects for
the experiments, and Mr. Shei furnished me several.
Two or three, who were inoculated in the early stages
of the work, failed to react properly to the antidote,
and one or two of them were unfortunate enough to
die.”
“You murdered them, in plain words," suggested
The Phantom curtly.
"Harsh word, my dear Gray Phantom. As a whole,
the experiments were highly successful. I discovered
how to adjust the poison so as to produce death within
a specified time. We were now ready to go ahead with
the plan. Mr. Shei selected the victims, and I showed
a number of his most trusted men how the poison was
to be injected. Each of these, with an assistant, was
assigned to one of the seven victims chosen by Mr.
Shei, and the whole number of inoculations were suc-
cessfully accomplished the other night. In a few
days ”
"What about Miss Darrow?” inquired The Phantom
brusquely. “What did you gain by murdering her?”


DOCTOR TAGALA'S DISCOVERY
221
"Really, I wish you would drop that unpleasant
word from your vocabulary. Miss Darrow had been
unfortunate enough to learn certain facts which were
detrimental to Mr. Shei. She had been watched con-
stantly, and she was followed to the Thelma that night.
Her actions were peculiar, and Mr. Shei's agents sus-
pected she was on the point of making embarrassing
revelations. I was in New York at the time and
happened to be within reach, so the agents communi-
cated with me. I arrived just in time to prevent
unpleasant consequences. In another moment she
might have made some very damaging disclosures. In
fact, she had already sent a peculiarly worded note to
that remarkable person whose name eludes me.”
“Vincent Starr?” suggested The Phantom.
“Precisely. Mr. Starr is one of your highly tempera-
mental geniuses. Just how much Miss Darrow had
learned will never be known, but I thought it advisable
to act promptly. The amount of poison I injected into
her veins was carefully calculated to produce death
within a few minutes.”
The Phantom mastered his sense of loathing. What
he was learning might prove highly useful later on.
“Wouldn't a knife thrust have been quicker and
safer ?” he suggested. “Even in the few minutes be-
tween the inoculation of the poison and Miss Darrow's
death she might have blurted out all she knew.”
“There was slight danger of that. The poison


222
THE GRAY PHANTOM
always blunts one's mental faculties, especially when
given in such a large dose. It was very unlikely that,
Miss Darrow would speak coherently in the brief inter-
val while the poison acted. A quick thrust with a knife
would perhaps have been safer, but we needed the
moral effect."
“The—what?”
The satisfied gleam in the doctor's eyes testified that
he was quite at ease once more, despite the cords that
incapacitated him for action.
“Yes, the moral effect was valuable. You see, the
seven victims selected by Mr. Shei had to be impressed
with the deadliness of the poison. Unless they were
thoroughly convinced that the poison would kill, they
might not have been amenable to reason. Miss Dar-
row's death, coming just a day or two before the seven
were inoculated, was a valuable object lesson.”
An oily smile creased the scientist's swarthy fea-
tures. Once more, despite his uncomfortable position,
he seemed hugely content.
“No doubt," admitted The Phantom ironically. “Mr.
Shei doesn't seem to have overlooked anything. What
I can't understand is why you, a man of scientific
attainments, should consent to do the bidding of such
a blackguard."
"Wealth is a very excellent thing," said Tagala
musingly. “It is even more desirable than fame. Mr.


DOCTOR TAGALA'S DISCOVERY
225
After hearing that,” and he inclined his head toward
the corner of the ceiling, “I have concluded that any
methods are fair when dealing with scoundrels of your
type.”
"That is obviously true,” assented Tagala cheer-
fully. “The only difficulty is that any methods you
employ are certain to prove ineffective. Please don't
make any more threats against my life. I should
laugh, and that would be impolite.”
The Phantom came a step nearer the cot. "No," he
said grimly, “I have no intention of doing anything so
futile. I have the best reason in the world for not
wanting you to die just yet. Also, I have discovered
a much more effective way of dealing with you.”
An odd emphasis in his tones seemed to impress the
doctor. A flicker of uneasiness crossed his face, but it
was gone in a moment.
"Ah!” he murmured derisively. “I might have fore-
seen it. You mean to force me to surrender the anti-
dote by torturing me. It is an improvement on your
previous method, but it will prove just as useless. Tor-
ture is unpleasant but I can endure any amount of it.”
"Mistaken again, doctor. Torture is a little too
crude, and I am not sure you are the type of man that
could be influenced by it. The plan I have in mind is
subtler and surer. You told me a moment ago that
your highest aim in life is the enjoyment of beautiful
things and the pursuit of pleasure."


232
THE GRAY PHANTOM
past he had fought against overwhelming odds, and
this time something far greater than his life depended
on the outcome.
Every vein tingling, he left the bedroom and crossed
the floor of the laboratory. Maintaining a steady grip
on his automatic, he pushed the door open and stepped
out into the hall. A chorus of shouts greeted his
appearance. Men in various stages of attire were run-
ning excitedly up and down the corridor, but all
stopped at sight of the tall, tense figure standing with
his back against the laboratory door. His eyes, hard as
steel and swift as speeding arrows, surveyed them nar-
rowly with a long, comprehensive sweep. The barrel
of his automatic, held in readiness for instant action,
glimmered ominously in the dim light shed by a single
bulb in the ceiling.
“The Gray Phantom !” was the hushed whisper that
went back and forth in the huddled crowd. A spell
seemed to fall over them as they stared at the man of
whose amazing exploits they had heard and read, but
whom few of them had seen until now. But their
inaction lasted only a few moments. Some of the
bolder ones were already crowding forward.
“Stop!” cried The Phantom. The gong had ceased
ringing, and his voice rang sharp and clear down the
hall. “The first man that moves will get a bullet.”
Momentarily awed by the metallic tones, the crowd
fell back. The Phantom's glittering eyes seemed to


234
THE GRAY PHANTOM
wouldn't make it necessary. Mr. Shei has the highest
admiration for you.”
"Thanks,” said The Phantom dryly, and for a mere
instant his thoughts went back to the ludicrous figure
of Fairspeckle. “It's too bad I can't say that the senti-
ment is mutual.”
Slade's scowl deepened. He seemed inclined to in-
struct his men to advance, but something evidently
restrained him.
"You ought to know by this time that Mr. Shei is
invincible,” he declared impressively. “You are a won-
der in some ways, but a fool in others. How you keep
slipping in and out of this house is beyond me. Not
that it matters, for you have sung your last tune. What
have you done to Doctor Tagala ?”
A thin smile hovered about The Phantom's com-
pressed lips.
"I suppose you have kidnaped him," Slade went on,
“but we will find him before long. You see, Mr. Shei
foresaw even such a possibility as that, and prepared
for it. He anticipated that pressure of some sort might
be used on Tagala to make him reveal where the anti-
dote is hidden, and so he prepared the trap you walked
into a moment ago. The bottles, as you may have
guessed by this time, contain only water. The real
antidote is elsewhere, and Tagala is the only man who
can put his hand on it.”
"So I understand." There was a momentary flicker


THE FIGURE ON THE STAIRS
235
in The Phantom's eyes which indicated that Slade's
words had suggested something of importance to him.
"Mr. Shei is amazingly clever—but there is such a
thing as being too clever.”
Slade looked as if he sensed a hidden meaning which
his mind could not quite grasp. Presently he shrugged
and fixed his frosty gaze on The Phantom.
"I'll give you just one more chance to surrender,"
he warned. “Throw down your pistol and tell us where
Tagala is, and I promise you will not be harmed.”
“Very anxious 'to learn Tagala's whereabouts—
aren't you, Slade? Without Tagala you can't find the
antidote, and without the antidote your beautiful
scheme goes to pieces. It would be very awkward for
you if you shouldn't be able to deliver the goods when
your seven victims have come around to the point
where they are willing to pay your price.”
Slade mumbled something under his breath. Again
The Phantom's eyes darted over the fringe of sullen
faces in the background. He was gambling for Helen's
life and his own, and he still held one card in reserve
“Tagala seems to be the key to the whole situation,"
he went on. “I have hidden him in a place where you
will never find him, even if you search from now till
doomsday. Men sometimes die of hunger in three
days, especially if they do a lot of fretting in the mean-
time. Slade, why don't you order your men to shoot
ve.
me?”


238
THE GRAY PHANTOM
A hush, charged with an electric tension, followed
the ultimatum. Then, slowly and evenly, Slade began
to count:
“One-two-three-four-five "


A FUTILE SEARCH
241
goat. It's plain as day that Mr. Shei is The Gray
Phantom. Nobody but The Gray Phantom ever got
away with a thing like this, and this job has all the ear-
marks of his work. Well,” and his huge fist descended
on the desk with a slam, “we'll get him yet, and when
we do I'll see to it that he's put away for keeps."
Culligore drew the palm of his hand across his
mouth as if to stifle one of his infrequent grins.
"Keeping something up your sleeve again?” de-
manded the inspector, who had noticed the gesture. “If
you've got something on your mind, why don't you
spring it?"
The lieutenant shifted his lanky figure in the chair.
"I've been trying all day to get a line on Fairspeckle,”
he said slowly, without directly answering the in-
spector's question. “Queer how that old duffer
vamoosed. I tried to question the Jab valet, but all he
knows is that are two bumps on his head where there
was only one before. The doctor and the nurse got
rough treatment, too. Of a sudden the lights went
out, and old Fairspeckle seemed to go out with them.
Anyhow, he was gone when the doctor came to.” Cul-
ligore paused to light one of his vicious-looking cigars.
“Something queer about that old goat's disappearance
-eh, inspector?"
Stapleton stared hard at his subordinate, as if trying
to read the thoughts stirring behind his stolid counte-
nance. “Of course there is,” he said irritably. “There's


242
THE GRAY PHANTOM
something queer about every disappearance. Just what
are you driving at? You don't doubt that Fairspeckle
was kidnaped by Mr. Shei's agents?”.
"I doubt everything, inspector. Know of any reason
why Mr. Shei should go out of his way to abduct the
old geezer?”
“No, I don't,” admitted Stapleton after some
thought. “The kidnaping of Fairspeckle doesn't seem
to fit into the pattern of Mr. Shei's scheme. What's
your idea, Culligore? You don't suppose Fairspeckle
kidnaped himself ?”
“Stranger things have happened, inspector. By the
way,” and the lieutenant reached into his pocket and
took out several typewritten slips, “I meant to hand
you these yesterday, but was too busy with other
things. I found them beside the typewriter on Fair-
speckle's desk. What do you make of them?”
Stapleton picked up the slips and glanced at them.
His eyes widened into a stare as he read the typewritten
lines. He read them twice, and then he transferred his
gaze to Culligore.
"Holy mackerel !” he muttered. Then he sat silent
for a time, wriggling his ample frame to and fro in the
chair. “Why, these things make it look as though
Fairspeckle was Mr. Shei.”
"They show that the mystery isn't quite so simple
as you thought, inspector. They sort of knock the pins


244
THE GRAY PHANTOM
really cut any ice. Any man has a right to change his
mind.”
Inspector Stapleton sat up straight. He looked at
Culligore in a determined way. “What I can't under-
stand is why you didn't show me these slips yesterday.
You say you were too busy with other things. I'd like
to know what other things could be more important.
Never mind that, though. The thing to do now is to
find Fairspeckle.”
Again Culligore drew his palm across his mouth.
"And when you have found him, inspector, what are
you going to do with him?”
"Eh?” Stapleton seemed to think the question a
strange one. “Do with him? Why, we'll see to it that
he gets the stiffest sentence the law provides. If we
once get our hands on him we'll put him in a place
where he won't be able to trouble us for some time."
“Aren't you overlooking something, inspector ?”
Stapleton stared perplexedly at his subordinate.
“What about the seven capitalists ?” the lieutenant
went on. “They'll die like rats unless the antidote is
administered in time. You can't make Mr. Shei fork
over the antidote by putting him in jail. He's wise
enough to know that as long as the antidote is in his
possession he has a hold on us, and he won't be likely
to give it up. He knows we are not going to let seven
of the biggest men in the country die just for the sake


A FUTILE SEARCH
245
of sending him to jail. The fact is, inspector, that Mr.
Shei has us sewed up in a sack."
Stapleton seemed about to make an indignant reply,
but it died on his tongue. Evidently Culligore's argu-
ment had made a strong impression. He dropped back
against the chair and peered diffidently into space.
"I'm hanged if I'm going to sit with arms folded and
let Mr. Shei put this thing over,” he muttered at last.
"He's a slick crook, but there ought to be a way of
dealing with him.”
“I think there is, inspector,” agreed Culligore,
leisurely rising from his chair. "I can't see it just yet,
but maybe my mind will work better after a little walk.
So long, inspector."
He shuffled from the room, followed by Inspector
Stapleton's puzzled gaze. After leaving the head-
quarters building, he walked to a near-by restaurant
and ordered a substantial meal. He seemed in no
hurry, for he ate slowly and lingered for a considerable
time over his coffee and cigar. An observer, noticing
his languid air and phlegmatic expression, might have
thought that Mr. Shei was farthest from his mind. It
was dark when he left the restaurant, and it was a little
after eight o'clock when, after a leisurely stroll in a
zigzagging direction, he reached the Thelma Theater.
His decision to visit the Thelma once more might
have been due to the fact that it had been the scene of
several mysterious incidents which were more or less


246
THE GRAY PHANTOM
directly traceable to the activities of Mr. Shei. The
death of Virginia Darrow had occurred there, and the
bullet that had missed The Gray Phantom by such a
narrow margin was still imbedded in one of the pillars.
But Culligore's expression gave no indication of his
purpose as he stood on the sidewalk across the street
from the theater and glanced up at the windows of
Vincent Starr's private office on the second floor.
The windows were dark, so evidently Starr was not
there, and the entire structure presented a gloomy and
lifeless appearance. Culligore hummed a little tune as
he walked to the nearest street intersection, then cut
diagonally across the thoroughfare, continued half a
block to the west, and finally ducked into a dark base-
ment entrance. The ease with which he made his way
suggested that he had traveled the same route before.
After walking down a dirty and foul-smelling passage,
he emerged into a vacant space bordered at one side by
the rear wall of the theater.
He crossed the inclosure, then ran down a short
stairway, and brought up against a door. Now he took
a number of keys from his pocket and tried several in
the lock before he found one that fitted. At last the
door came open, and the lieutenant, locking it carefully
behind him, stood in the basement under the Thelma
Theater.
On all sides was total darkness. For a time he stood
still, listening for sounds, but nothing but dull and dis-


A FUTILE SEARCH
247
tant noises from the outside reached his ears. Having
satisfied himself that he was apparently alone in the
basement, he took out his flash light and began a
thorough and comprehensive search. With the electric
flash peering into every nook and corner, he explored
the dressing rooms, peeped behind piles of discarded
scenery, examined odds and ends of stage property,
looked into the barrels and boxes in the dusty store-
rooms, and even tapped the walls here and there to
assure himself that there were no hollow spaces.
At last he gave up. His search had taken almost an
hour and it had been complete and painstaking in every
respect, yet Lieutenant Culligore seemed not quite satis-
fied. On his face was a look of hesitancy that seemed
to suggest a lingering suspicion that something might
have eluded him. Standing in the center of the base-
ment, he extinguished the flash light, for it had been
his experience that his other senses were more acute
when his eyes received no impressions.
For a little while, standing in impenetrable darkness,
he scarcely breathed. He had a curious sensation that
a faint sound was passing him and dissolving in the
dank air. It was so slight and elusive that his ears
could scarcely detect it, yet it appealed to his imagina-
tion with peculiar insistence. It might have been either
a moan or a sigh, or perhaps a cry coming from a great
distance. Somehow, though he could not analyze the
sensation, he fancied it expressed a great, overwhelm-


250
THE GRAY PHANTOM
feeling, vague but uncannily persistent, that the next
few minutes would bring some startling developments.
A gentle buzzing caused him to sit up straight in the
chair. The telephone was ringing, and instinctively he
reached out his hand for one of the instruments. He
spoke a soft "hello” in the transmitter. There was no
response, but the ringing continued. A little dazedly
he hung up the receiver and peered fixedly at the other
telephone. He jerked it to him, thrust the trans-
mitter to his ear, and instantly the buzzing ceased.
A gasp of amazement fell from his lips. Someone
was calling on the automatic telephone, the one that
had no outside connections. The person calling must
be inside the building, then, despite the fact that his
patient search had convinced him that there was no
other human being within the four walls of the struc-
ture.


CHAPTER XX
TRAPPED
ELLO_hello!” shouted Culligore into the
mouthpiece. From head to foot he was
tingling with suspense. It was one of the
rare occasions within recent years when he felt the
thrill of excitement. .
A hoarse and rasping voice responded, but at first he
could make out no words. The person at the other end
seemed to speak with great difficulty and was evidently
on the verge of hysterics.
"Speak a little louder, can't you?” urged the lieu-
tenant. “Who are you?”
A jumble of split words and syllables sounded dis-
tantly in his ear. Now and then, between efforts to
speak clearly, came a titter and a giggle that awoke a
startling suspicion in Culligore's mind.
“Tell me who you are,” he said in loud tones.
A short, cracked laugh came over the wire. It was
followed by a groan, as if the speaker were despairing
over his inability to make himself understood. Then
he tried again. "Fair-Fairspeckle.”


252
THE GRAY PHANTOM
“Oh!” Culligore's teeth clicked out the exclama-
tion. He nodded at the instrument, as if the name just
spoken had confirmed a suspicion in his mind. “Where
are you, Mr. Fairspeckle?”
“I can't-can't tell you,” came gropingly over the
wire.
“Haven't you any idea ?”
“None. I'm locked in a—a room, and I am-dying!
For God's sake get me out!”
"Listen, Mr. Fairspeckle,” said Culligore tensely.
“You're somewhere in the Thelma Theater, and I am
going to find you. It may take some little time, but
don't worry. It won't be very long.”
A groan of relief mingled with pent-up suspense
sounded in Culligore's ear, and then he slammed the
receiver back on the hook. His eyes were twinkling
and there was a new eagerness in his face. He jumped
up from the chair and took a step toward the door.
Then he drew back, and in the next moment his face
had resumed its habitual sluggish expression and there
was nothing in his manner to indicate that anything
out of the ordinary had happened.
The door opened and in walked Vincent Starr. The
theatrical manager, faultlessly attired in evening dress,
topcoat, and silk hat, shrank back at sight of the man
standing beside the desk. Then, recognizing the lieu-
tenant, he instantly gathered himself.
“You startled me, Culligore,” he explained with an


TRAPPED
253
apologetic laugh. “So many strange things have hap-
pened in this place that I am naturally a little nervous.
I often come here late at night to read or write, accord-
ing to my mood, but of late I approach the place in
fear and trembling." He eyed the detective inquir-
ingly. “I wonder what brings you to my private office
at such an hour.”
"Hope you don't mind my snooping,” said Culligore
genially. “I have been looking around a bit. There
were a couple of things I wanted to get straightened
out in my mind. As you say yourself, there have been
a lot of strange doings in this place, and I've got a
sneaking suspicion that Mr. Shei is back of them all.”
Starr doffed his hat and ran his fingers through his
long, glossy hair. The discoloration of his nose had
diminished greatly, but his face was still pale and
drawn.
“That’s precisely my idea,” he said nervously. "I
shall never feel safe until that scoundrel is behind iron
bars. Unless he has a private grievance against me, I
am at a loss to understand why he can't keep away
from my theater. By the way, did you obtain any light
on the things that were puzzling you ?”.
“Not much,” said Culligore disgustedly, with a
furtive glance at the telephone. “I searched every
square inch of the place without finding what I was
after.”
“Yes?” Starr seemed politely curious. “I infer,


254
THE GRAY PHANTOM
.
then, that you had a definite object in view, that you
were not just searching at random.”
“Oh, no." Culligore looked about him as if not
quite at ease. “I suppose we're alone?”
“Not another soul in the building. You can speak as
freely as you like."
“Then I'll tell you exactly what I think. The way
Mr. Shei's men have been sneaking in and out of this
place is mighty suggestive. Just why they should be
turning your place into a rendezvous is something I
don't understand, but that's exactly what they seem to
be doing. They were right on the job the night you
opened your new play. They gave Virginia Darrow a
shot of poison just at the psychological moment, before
she could spill what she knew. Then they sneaked the
body away right under our eyes, and we have not yet
discovered how they managed it. Only the other day,
somebody took a shot at either you or The Gray
Phantom. All this looks mighty queer.”
"It does," assented Starr. He took out a jewel-
studded case and lighted a cigarette. His pale, un-
easy eyes did not leave the detective's face for a
moment. “What is your theory?"
Culligore looked musingly into space. “Mr. Shei is
very clever, but he is of flesh and blood, like the rest
of us. There must be a simple and natural explanation
for all these strange doings. I'll bet my hat that he
has found a secret entrance to your place."


TRAPPED
255
"Impossible,” said Starr promptly. “This theater
was built according to my own directions and my own
architects supervised every detail of the construction.”
"That may be, but I still stick to the idea of a secret
entrance. Don't you see, Mr. Starr, even if you didn't
have such an entrance made when you constructed your
theater, Mr. Shei's men may have drilled a hole
through the wall or the floor somewhere? Nothing
else explains how they have been slipping in and out
of the place.”
"But why?” demanded Starr, and his fingers trem-
bled as he took the cigarette from his lips. “Why
should they do such a thing?”.
Culligore smiled faintly while his muddy little eyes
scanned the other's face.
"I think you can make a pretty fair guess," he said
dryly.
Starr's face turned a shade paler. For an instant
there was a look of positive dread in his eyes, but it
vanished quickly. A sad smile came to his lips.
"I see I must be frank with you,” he murmured,
"much as I dislike to discuss matters pertaining to my
private life. Don't ask me to go into details, for there
are excellent reasons why I should not do so. In plain
words, I do not care to incriminate myself. I have
not always been what I am to-day. There was a time,
quite a number of years ago, when I led a very violent
life and when the law and I were not on the best of


260
THE GRAY PHANTOM
while I was talking with The Gray Phantom, I had a
funny feeling someone was hiding back there and
listening to our conversation? Who do you suppose it
could have been?”
There was no response. Culligore had been peering
into the recess behind the marble ledge. Now he
looked up quickly, but Starr was gone—and the
twitching of the detective's lips signified that the man-
ager's sudden disappearance did not surprise him
greatly. In an instant he was amazingly alert. Jerk-
ing his electric flash hither and thither, he moved
quickly back and forth within the narrow space where
he had last seen the manager, sweeping the surround-
ing objects with his electric gleam and examining the
surfaces of chairs, pillars, walls, and decorative
articles.
Presently he brought up in front of one of the larger
pillars supporting the balcony. He had previously
noticed its huge dimensions, and now he gauged them
again with a quickly calculating eye. It was there The
Gray Phantom had stood when the mysterious shot
was fired the other day, and Helen Hardwick had been
leaning against the same pillar when the curious indi-
vidual with the repulsive features glided past her.
The electric gleam moved swiftly over the white sur-
face of the post with its ornate trimmings of dull gold.
Again, as once or twice before, he wondered whether
there was any hidden significance in the fact that The


TRAPPED
261
Gray Phantom had stood in this identical spot at the
moment the shot was fired. Was it possible that the
skulking assailant had feared that The Phantom was
about to make an important discovery, and was that
why he had fired the shot? Culligore pondered the
question while scanning every square inch of the pillar.
Suddenly the electric gleam stopped at a point near
the floor, and Culligore could scarcely repress an ex-
clamation of elation. His ruse had succeeded, for on
the white surface of the post was a faint discoloration
which signified that Starr's hand had recently touched
that particular point. There were no other marks, and
this one was only a few inches from the floor. Culli-
gore's fingers ran quickly over the surrounding space,
and occasionally he pressed his thumb firmly against
the wood, but without discovering anything. His hand
slid downward to where the rich Persian carpet was
neatly tucked around the base of the post, and suddenly
his exploring fingers touched a slight knoblike projec-
tion. He pressed firmly, and he felt an exultant tingle
as there came a soft, whirring response. A panel in
the post, ingeniously hidden in the gold-lined grooves,
was sliding back, forming an aperture.
The electric gleam showed a look of keen elation on
Culligore's face. His discovery had taken only a min-
ute or two of valuable time, for he had moved fast
since he noticed that Starr was gone. Yet, but for a
happy inspiration and the resultant reddish stain on the
ame a


TRAPPED
263
remarked coolly. “I wonder how you found your way
down here. Not that it matters," he added with a
shrug, “but I am naturally curious. I won't press you
for the information, however. Any way I can be of
service ?”
“Yes, Mr. Shei,” said Culligore, emphasizing each
word and looking straight into the other's eyes, “you
can hold out your hands and not make any fuss while
I put the handcuffs on you.”.
Starr laughed derisively. “Sorry not to be able to
oblige you, but I have a distinct aversion to handcuffs.
Won't you sit down and be comfortable? An under-
ground room like this has many advantages. In the
chests you see against the walls I occasionally store
things that the police and private detectives would give
a great deal to be able to lay their hands on. It is an
excellent hiding place, and it serves several other pur-
poses besides."
“So I see," muttered Culligore with a glance at the
man on the cot. Fairspeckle's face bore a dazed look
and he seemed to understand nothing of what was
being said, but his staring eyes held an expression of
terror.
"I would like to know," murmured Starr, fixing his
pale eyes on the lieutenant's inscrutable face, “how and
when you learned that I was Mr. Shei. I was under
the impression that you suspected Fairspeckle.”
“I meant you should be,” said Culligore with a dry


266
THE GRAY PHANTOM
Mr. Shei, and right away he began to study out a way
of beating Mr. Shei's game.
“By some hook or crook he got The Phantom into
his apartment, and there he tried to drug him. He had
two objects in view. One of them was to keep The
Phantom under cover for a time so he wouldn't be able
to go on with his scheme, and the other was to get even
with certain enemies of his by throwing an almighty
scare into them. While the real Mr. Shei, as he sup-
posed, was a prisoner in his apartment, he meant to
carry the scheme just a step or two farther—just far
enough to put fear into his old enemies. It just so
happened that five of those enemies were among the
seven richest men in town. Well, Fairspeckle got a
typewriter and went to work and typed a new set of
notices, supplementing the ones that had already been
posted. I hope he had a good laugh while he was typ-
ing the seven names, for that's all the good his scheme
did him. A few hours later he was kidnaped. That
was another fairly clever move, Starr.”
Starr seemed to enjoy the compliment. “Thanks,
Culligore,” he murmured. “I knew you would appre-
ciate that little touch. After overhearing the conversa-
tion between you and The Phantom, in which I
thought you made it plain that both of you suspected
Fairspeckle, I saw a still more effective way to divert
suspicion from myself. Since you already suspected
Fairspeckle, as I thought at the time, it occurred to me


CHAPTER XXI
MR. SHEI'S STRATAGEM
CI
SWARM of jumbled thoughts and emotions
A crowded each fraction of a second as The
Gray Phantom, standing with his back against
the door, heard Slade's slow and precise voice pro-
nounce the numerals. At each distinctly spoken word
he started as if a rapier had prodded his flesh. His
gaze was fixed on Helen, who from her position in the
stairway stared down on the scene with eyes that
appeared to see nothing, and the blank look in her face
told him that she was mercifully oblivious of the mean-
ing of it all.
With the speed of lightning, stray thoughts and im-
pressions flashed through The Phantom's mind. Slade
had warned him that Helen would die when he had
counted ten, unless The Phantom surrendered in the
meantime. At Helen's back, shielded by her body
against a possible bullet from The Phantom's revolver,
stood the executioner, ready to press the trigger.
Things swam in confusion before The Phantom's
eyes. He would gladly have given his life if thereby
269


274
THE GRAY PHANTOM
for the arms and legs only. Don't shoot until I give
the word.”
The men spread out in a half circle, and The Phan-
tom saw five pistols pointing at him. There was a
malevolent grin on Slade's lips as he watched the
preparations. Then he stepped to one side of the half
circle.
“Fire!” he commanded.
The Phantom ducked just as a chorus of shots rang
out. A stinging sensation in the shoulder told him he
had been hit, but he choked back the cry of pain that
rose in his throat. A dense film of powder hung in the
air, and for a few moments the firing line was only a
row of shadowy forms. The Phantom thought of flight,
but someone opened a window and the smoke quickly
scattered. In the next instant the blare of a motor
horn was heard in the distance.
The men exchanged quick glances, and The Phan-
tom fancied he saw a look of relief on Slade's face. In
the muttered conversation that followed he made out
the name of Mr. Shei, and new misgivings caused him
to forget the stinging pain in his shoulder. Slade's
handling of the situation had exposed him as a bungler,
but for Mr. Shei's ingenuity and resourcefulness The
Phantom had a high respect. If Mr. Shei had arrived,
as the blare of the horn and the conversation among
the men seemed to signify, then a new and more crit-
ical situation awaited him.


276
THE GRAY PHANTOM
developments that necessitated quick action on Mr.
Shei's part and that the latter had made a quick motor
trip from New York to Azurecrest. The Phantom
absorbed these bits of news with interest, but all the
time he was studying the characteristic gestures with
which Starr emphasized his statements. Once before,
while standing in the Thelma Theater, it struck him
that there was something familiar about them, and the
same impression came to him now. He was searching
his memory for half-forgotten facts when Starr sud-
denly turned round and faced him.
"Surprised?” he inquired, and his smile exposed two
rows of flashingly white teeth.
“A little, at first, but I think I understand it all
now," was The Phantom's nonchalant reply. Then, of
a sudden, his figure stiffened. Starr had delivered
another of his oddly expressive gestures, and it had
started another train of recollections in The Phantom's
mind. “Starr," he added impulsively, "you were once
a member of my organization.”
"Only a very humble one,” admitted Starr, "and it
was years back, so it's no wonder you didn't recognize
me at first. In those days you scarcely noticed me, but
I was watching and studying you all the time. There
were a lot of melodramatic notions in my head, and
The Gray Phantom was my hero. I dreamed of some
day eclipsing his achievements, and I think I have
succeeded. You see, the Thelma Theater, for all the


MR. SHEI'S STRATAGEM
279
'casn
those marked 'Series A.' Fetch a hypodermic syringe,
too, and be quick about it.”
Slade withdrew. A horrifying suspicion was enter-
ing The Phantom's mind. Starr's methods were subtler
and far more frightful than his subordinate's.
"You look faint,” observed Starr with a glance at
The Phantom's face. A trace of sarcasm edged his
words. “I'm afraid the wound is very painful. Too
bad Doctor Tagala isn't here to treat it."
The Phantom was about to reply, but just then Slade
returned and handed his superior a syringe and a small
bottle containing a dark liquid. Starr studied the label
for a moment.
"Correct,” he murmured. “It's fortunate Doctor
Tagala taught me how to use a syringe. In a few
moments Miss Hardwick will have received a second
dose of datura poison-one that will kill her inside half
an hour unless Doctor Tagala should administer the
restorative in the meantime.”
A cry broke from The Phantom's lips. The severe
pain in the shoulder, together with the terrifying real-
ization that had just flashed through his mind, made
him suddenly dizzy. He leaned weakly against the
wall. In the same instant Starr, quick to seize the
opportunity, wrenched the pistol from his hand.
“This is ever so much better,” he murmured elatedly.
“I think you will be willing to produce Doctor Tagala
as soon as I have injected the second dose of poison
and,


280
THE GRAY PHANTOM
into Miss Hardwick's veins. Hold him, Slade, till I
come back.”
He instructed one of the other men to follow him
and hurried away, but his words kept dinning in The
Phantom's consciousness. He made a strong effort to
fight down the treacherous weakness that was stealing
over him. He wondered why his eyes saw nothing but
whirling specks and why his knees shook so. The loss
of blood, he reflected, must have weakened him more
than he had realized. Suddenly everything went black,
and with a despairing moan he sank to the floor.
He heard Slade's derisive laugh, but it had an unreal
and far-away sound.
“Dead to the world,” muttered Slade, and The
Phantom was dimly conscious that someone was bend-
ing over him. “Well, I hope for the girl's sake that he
comes to before the half hour is up."


CHAPTER XXII
THE PHANTOM'S RUSE
HE words had an electrifying effect on The
Phantom's nerves. Not more than a minute
could have passed since Starr's departure, and
his imagination pictured the scene that soon would be
enacted in Helen's room. He strove valiantly to shake
off the numbness that had been brought on him by hor-
ror and loss of blood.
Out of his half-closed eyes he saw Slade standing in
a listless attitude a few feet from where he lay. Evi-
dently he was depending on The Phantom's uncon-
sciousness to last a while longer, for he was idly toying
with his pistol and seemed rather bored. Two of the
other men were removing their wounded comrades,
and for the moment no one was observing The Phan-
tom. A sharp realization that he must act at once
quickened his thoughts and stirred his energies. His
mental picture of Helen and her desperate peril stim-
ulated his reserve forces of mental and physical vigor.
Warily he glanced about him, then crawled swiftly
and silently toward the point where Slade stood. Sud-
281


THE PHANTOM'S RUSE
283
everse
the cot. With a queer, fragmentary squeal, he slid
from his seat and lay prone on the floor. In an instant
The Phantom had whirled on Starr, who seemed com-
pletely taken back by the sudden interruption, and
jerked the syringe and the empty bottle from his hands.
Then, with all the strength he could muster, he crashed
his fist into Starr's jaw and sent him spinning to the
floor. Thrusting the empty bottle into his pocket and
gingerly handling the syringe, he fled from the room.
Despite his pain and weakness, he smiled as he sped
on. Once more The Gray Phantom's quick mind and
elastic energies were about to reverse a seemingly hope-
less situation. But the danger was not yet past, and
the hardest task was still to come. Starr, only partly
stunned, would soon recover his wits, and then, with a
hue and a cry, the pursuit would start. The thought
made The Phantom quicken his pace as he ran toward
the entrance of the hidden chamber.
A din and clamor sounded in the distance as he
reached the point where a sliding panel in the wall
afforded egress to the spiral stairway. Quickly closing
the opening behind him, he ran down the steps. The
pursuers, he knew, would never be able to locate the
entrance, and for the present he was safe. He stepped
inside the room and switched on the light, then placed
his automatic, the syringe, and the empty bottle on the
table.
Doctor Tagala was lying on the bed, just as The


284
THE GRAY PHANTOM
Phantom had left him. As the light went on, he gave
a hoarse gasp of amazement and tried desperately to
rise.
“Didn't expect to see me so soon again—eh, doc-
tor?” The Phantom removed his coat and proceeded
to clean and bandage his wound as well as he could.
“You tricked me very neatly, I'll admit, but the ruse
didn't quite succeed. Even if it had, don't you realize
that you would have been left here to starve to death?”
The doctor continued to stare at The Phantom, who
rather enjoyed his stupefaction. He glanced at the bed
from time to time while he took several articles from
a cupboard and dressed his wound. When he had fin-
ished, Tagala began to strain uneasily at the cords
fettering his hands and feet.
“Useless exertion, doctor," advised The Phantom.
He walked to the bed and regarded the physician with
a frown. Then he quickly took the syringe from the
table and placed a knee on Tagala's chest. Tagala
squirmed and heaved, but to no avail. With his left
hand The Phantom took one of the scientist's arms and
pressed it firmly downward.
"Steady now, doctor. This is only a dose of your
own medicine, you know. You seemed quite proud of
it when you told me how you discovered it.” The
Phantom took the syringe in his right hand, between
thumb and third finger, and pricked the doctor's flesh
with the needlelike point. “I'm a rank amateur at this,


286
THE GRAY PHANTOM
“Yes !” he groaned at length. “I will tell you. You
have me where I can do nothing else. But, if I tell
you, you will bring me a bottle of the antidote ?"
“Assuredly. I am not a murderer. It isn't for me
to punish you for your crimes. I am resorting to this
method only because it seems the only way to influence
you and save eight lives.”
"You give me your word of honor ?”
“My word of honor."
Tagala heaved a vast sigh. “Very well, then. The
other time I gave you an accurate description of the
bottles, although I deliberately deceived you in regard
to where they were.” He spoke fast and raspingly, as
if realizing that every moment was precious. “Listen
carefully,” he went on; and then he gave The Phantom
clear and detailed directions which the latter mem-
orized. He knew that this time Tagala, actuated by
mortal fear, was telling the truth.
His pulses throbbed exultantly as he left the room
and hurried up the steps. Shouts and scurrying feet
told that Starr's men had not yet given up their search
for him. The hardest and most dangerous part of the
task was still ahead of him. The slightest accident or
misstep might yet cheat him out of the hard-earned
success that now seemed so near. He groped forward
cautiously, tightly clutching his pistol, infinitely alert
against the slightest sign or sound of danger. The
searchers were evidently in another part of the house,


288
THE GRAY PHANTOM
matic in readiness for instant action, he began to make
his way back to the secret chamber.
He had covered about half the distance when sud-
denly he heard a shout at his back. It was followed by
a sharp command to halt. Other voices took up the
cry until the house resounded with a chorus of harsh
and excited exclamations. Clear and loud, issuing
commands to right and left, the voice of Vincent
Starr was heard above all the others. The Phantom
paid no heed. He ran swiftly along, feeling that every-
thing in life depended upon his ability to elude the pur-
suing throng. A pistol cracked spitefully; then a
bullet, aimed low, whistled past his knees. The Phan-
tom ran faster and faster, summoning all his remaining
strength.
Now he was only a few feet from the wall, but a
swift backward glance told him that the nearest of his
pursuers was almost at his heels. He found the deftly
hidden knob that controlled the sliding door, and
pressed it. The wall parted, and in an instant he had
passed through the opening, but someone was already
tearing at his coat, and he could not close the aperture
behind him. Carried on by their momentum, several
men pressed and shoved against his back, pushing
him precipitately down the spiral stairs. One by one
his pursuers rushed through the opening at the top,
shouting wildly as they slid and tumbled down the per-
pendicular stairway.














UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
3 9015 05077 7385