A NEW "GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 DECT 
 
 STORY 
 
A Mystery Story of New York's 
 Lower East Side 
 
 THE GRAY 
 PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 By HERMAN LANDON 
 
 The story begins with the dis- 
 covery of the mysterious murder 
 of Sylvanus Gage, in the room 
 which he occupied back of his 
 cigar store in East Houston street, 
 
 All the elements surrounding 
 the murder, and the methods used, 
 point to the "Gray Phantom," the 
 'beloved crook," as the perpetra- 
 tor of the crime. 
 
 The story fairly bristles with ad- 
 venture, including desperate en- 
 counters with the police, exciting 
 chases over tenement roofs, hair- 
 breadth escapes, exchanged per- 
 sonalities — in fact, every thrill 
 maginable to satisfy the lover of 
 nystery stories. 
 
 The reader will find an agree- 
 ible romance to lend added in- 
 erest to this clever =>nd exciting 
 nystery story. 
 
 Another Book by Herman Landon: 
 
 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 I L. BURT COMPANY 
 
 Publishers New York 
 
J9&.H 
 
IE* ICtbrts 
 
 SEYMOUR DURST 
 
 When you leave, please leave this book 
 
 Because it has been said 
 "Sver'thing comes t' him who waits 
 
 Except a loaned book." 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2013 
 
 http://archive.org/details/grayphantomsretuOOIand 
 
Avery Architectural and Fine Arts Library 
 Gift of Seymour B. Durst Old York Library 
 
The Gray Phantom's Return 
 
THE GRAY 
 PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 By HERMAN LANDON 
 
 Author of 
 "The Gray Phantom" 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY 
 Publishers New York 
 
 Published by arrangement with TV. J. Watt & Company 
 Printed in U. S. A. 
 
Copyright, 1922, by 
 W. J. WATT & COMPANY 
 
 Printed in the United States of America 
 
TO 
 
THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 FROM DYING LIPS 
 
 PATROLMAN JOSHUA PINTO, walking his 
 beat at two o'clock in the morning, hummed a 
 joyless tune as he turned off the Bowery and 
 swung into East Houston Street. It was a wet night, 
 with a raw wind sweeping around the street corners, 
 and Pinto walked along with an air of dogged per- 
 sistence, as if trying to make the best of a disagree- 
 able duty. His heavy and somewhat florid features 
 were expressionless. For all that his face indicated, 
 he might have been thinking that it was a fine night 
 for a murder, or wishing that he was in plain clothes 
 instead of uniform, or picturing himself in his cozy 
 home playing with his baby, whose lusty "da-da's" 
 and u goo-goo's" he was pleased to interpret as won- 
 derful linguistic achievements. 
 
 Perhaps it was nothing but instinct that caused 
 him to slow down his pace as he passed a squatty 
 and rather dilapidated building in the middle of the 
 block. So far as appearances went, it did not differ 
 greatly from its drab and unprepossessing neighbors, 
 yet Pinto cast a sharp glance at the ground-floor 
 window, which bore a lettered sign proclaiming that 
 the premises were occupied by Sylvanus Gage, dealer 
 
2 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 m pipes, tobacco, and cigars. As if the building hacl 
 cast a spell of gloom upon him, the patrolman ceased 
 his humming, and his lips were set in a tight line as 
 he proceeded down the block. 
 
 Being an ambitious and hard-working officer, Pinto 
 made it a practice to cultivate the acquaintance of as 
 many as possible of the people living along his beat. 
 He knew Sylvanus Gage, a thin, stoop-shouldered 
 man with a flowing beard, a black cap adorning his 
 bald skull, and mild blue eyes that had a habit of 
 gazing lugubriously at the world through thick lenses 
 rimmed with tarnished gold. Despite his patri- 
 archal appearance, he was reputed to be using his 
 tobacco business as a cloak for a flourishing traffic 
 in stolen goods. So deftly did the old man manage 
 his illicit enterprises that the police, though morally 
 certain of their facts, had never been able to pro- 
 duce any evidence against him. Little was known of 
 his housekeeper, a sour and sharp-tongued slattern 
 of uncertain age, but there were those who suspected 
 that she was not entirely innocent of complicity in 
 her employer's clandestine activities. 
 
 It may have been of this Pinto was thinking as he 
 „ plodded along with the measured gait of the sea- 
 soned patrolman. The soggy sidewalks glistened in 
 the light from the street-corner lamps, and here and 
 there along the pavement water was forming in little 
 pools. Most of the windows were dark and, save 
 for an occasional shifty-eyed and furtively slinking 
 pedestrian, the streets were deserted. Pinto halted 
 for a moment to look at his watch, then quickened his 
 steps, "pulled" the buff-colored box on the corner, 
 and trudged on again. 
 
 Once more he w T as humming a tune. Each of the 
 scattered prowlers he met was subjected to a critical 
 scrutiny out of the corner of his eye. Now and then 
 
FROM DYING LIPS 
 
 3 
 
 he (lodged into a r dark doorway and tried a lock. 
 From time to time he glanced through the window 
 of a store or shop. It was all a matter of habit with 
 Joshua Pinto. For seven years he had pursued the 
 same dull routine, varied only by an occasional trans- 
 fer to another part of the city, or by a change from 
 night to day duty, or vice versa. He had broken up 
 a few nocturnal street brawls, now and then he had 
 foiled the designs of a second-story artisan, and on 
 two or three occasions he had caught a safe-blower 
 red-handed, but nothing very exciting had ever hap- 
 pened to him. 
 
 On this particular night, however, an acute ob- 
 server might have noticed an air of disquietude about 
 Officer Pinto. There was the merest hint of uneasi- 
 ness in the way he twirled his nightstick as he walked 
 along, in the intensified alertness with which he in- 
 spected the occasional passers-by, in the quick and 
 somewhat nervous glances he cast up and down the 
 shabby streets. Likely as not the rain and the wind, 
 together with the gloom pervading the district, were 
 responsible for his state of mind, and possibly his 
 physical discomfort was aggravated by a premonition 
 — though Pinto himself would have called it a 
 "hunch" — that a tragic event was soon to enliven the 
 tedium of his existence. 
 
 Again his footsteps dragged as once more He 
 strolled past the establishment of Sylvanus Gage. 
 The building was dark and still, like most of the 
 others in the block, yet something prompted Pinto 
 to cast a suspicious glance at the door and windows, 
 as if he sensed an omen in the shadows clinging to 
 the wall. 
 
 He stoppe'd abruptly as a 'door slammed and a 
 shrill feminine voice called his name. A woman, 
 scantily dressed and with loosened hair fluttering in 
 
4 
 
 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 the wind, was hurrying toward him with excited 
 gestures. 
 
 "Officer!'' She clutched his sleeve and pointed 
 toward the tobacco shop. "There — hurry!" 
 
 The patrolman's eyes followed her pointing finger. 
 A second-story window opened above their heads 
 and a frowsy person, disturbed by the woman's harsh 
 voice, looked down into the street. Pinto regarded 
 the speaker with apparent unconcern, recognizing 
 the housekeeper of Sylvanus Gage. Another 
 window opened across the street, and a second face 
 looked down on them. 
 
 Officer Pinto, schooled by previous experiences 
 with overexcited females, casually inquired what 
 might be the matter. 
 
 ''Matter!" retorted the woman. "Murder — 
 that's what's the matter. Why don't you get a move 
 on?" 
 
 Pinto permitted himself to be led along. The 
 driver of a milk wagon halted his nag to watch the 
 commotion. The woman, jabbering and shivering, 
 opened the door of the tobacco store, pushed the 
 officer inside and switched on the light above the 
 counter. 
 
 "There!" She pointed at a door in the rear of 
 the dingy shop. "He — Mr. Gage — sleeps back 
 there." 
 
 "Well, what of it?" An impatient look cloaked 
 Pinto's real feelings. "He's got to sleep some place, 
 ain't he?" 
 
 The woman's eyes blazed. "You stand there 
 handing out sass while he — he may be dying back 
 there." Trying to steady herself, she gathered up 
 the folds of the tattered robe she wore. "My room's 
 right above his," she explained. "A few moments 
 
FROM DYING LIPS 
 
 5 
 
 ago I jumped out of bed, thinking Fd heard a 
 sound." 
 
 "A sound, eh? This town is chockfull of them 
 things." Pinto leveled an uneasy glance at the door 
 in the rear. "What kind of sound was it you thought 
 you heard?" 
 
 "What kind of sound! You ain't paid for asking 
 fool questions, Officer Pinto. All day long I felt in 
 my bones that something awful was going to hap- 
 pen, and when that noise woke me up T was scared 
 stiff. I grabbed a few clothes and ran down here, 
 but the door to Mr. Gage's room was bolted on the 
 inside. He always shoots the bolt before he goes 
 to bed. I knocked, but not a sound came from the 
 inside. Then I shouted loud enough to raise the 
 dead, but " 
 
 "Your boss is hard of hearing, ain't he?" 
 
 "A little. Say, why don't you do something?" 
 
 Pinto walked to the outer door, shooed away a 
 knot of curious spectators, then sauntered back to 
 where the woman stood. There was a supercilious 
 grin on his lips, but deep, in his eyes lurked an uneasy 
 gleam. 
 
 "So you've been feeling in your bones that some- 
 thing awful was going to happen," he gibingly ob- 
 served. "Then you hear a noise, and right away 
 you yell murder. You've got some imagination, you 
 have. I ain't going to break in on a sleeping man 
 just because your bones feel funny. Mine do, too, 
 once in a while, but I don't make any fuss about it. 
 No, sir-ee! You might as Avell trot back to bed." 
 
 The woman pulled at the folds of her robe. "I 
 haven't told you all yet." She spoke fast and low, 
 gazing fixedly at the door in the rear. "Yesterday 
 afternoon Mr. Gage got a letter from — from a 
 party he's got good reason to be scared of. He 
 
6 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 hadn't heard from him in years, and he'd been hop- 
 ing he was rid of him for good. Well, I was watch- 
 ing him while he read the letter, and I saw him turn 
 white as a sheet. Later, while he was out to lunch, 
 I went to his desk and read the letter. I was just 
 that curious. It told Mr. Gage that the writer would 
 call on him inside forty-eight hours." 
 "Was that all?" 
 
 "All but the name at the bottom — and the name: 
 was the main thing." 
 "Eh?" 
 
 "It was the name of the man Mr. Gage has been 
 afraid of all these years. When I saw that name 
 at the bottom of the note I felt a chill all over. 
 Say," raising her voice, "why don't you break in that 
 door?" 
 
 Pinto stroked his chin, as if strongly impressed by 
 what the woman had told him. Another group of 
 spectators had gathered at the entrance, and he 
 gruffly ordered them to disperse. Then he faced the 
 inner door, turned the knob, pushed. The door did 
 not yield, and he looked back over his shoulder. 
 
 "Whose name was signed to the note?" he de- 
 manded. 
 
 A look of awe crossed the housekeeper's face. 
 She raised a bony arm and steadied herself against 
 the counter. A grayish pallor had suffused her 
 shriveled features. 
 
 "I — I can't tell you," she whispered. "I mustn't. 
 Hurry — for Heaven's sake!" 
 
 Something of her excitement seemed to have been 
 communicated to Pinto, but even now he appeared 
 loath to attack the door. 
 
 "If your boss was so all-fired scared of the guy, 
 that sent him the note, why didn't he call up the 
 police?" he queried suspiciously. Then a look o£ 
 comprehension dawned in his face. "I guess, though', 
 
FROM DYING LIPS 
 
 7 
 
 that he wasn't very anxious to have the department 
 butt into his affairs, and maybe he thought the other 
 fellow's bite was worse'n his bark. Well, here 
 goes." 
 
 He stepped back a few paces, squared his shoul- 
 ders for action, then hurled his massive figure against 
 the door. The woman stood rigid, straining for- 
 ward a little, yet holding her hands before her face 
 as if dreading the sight that might meet her eyes. 
 Again and again Pinto flung his body against the 
 !door, and finally, with a crash and a long splintering 
 sound, it flew open, precipitating him headlong into 
 the inner room. 
 
 A queer sound rose in the woman's throat and she 
 lowered her hands. She made as if to follow the 
 policeman, but something held her back. From 
 where she stood, staring through the doorway, she 
 could see that the inner room was dark, and she 
 heard the policeman's grunts and mutterings as he 
 struggled to regain his feet. Then came an interval 
 of silence, broken only by groping footfalls, and 
 presently a light appeared in the rear. Pinto had 
 found the electric switch. 
 
 The housekeeper shuddered as an exclamation 
 issued from the other room. Evidently the officer 
 had discovered something. Crouching in front of 
 the counter, she strained her ears, listening. Pinto 
 was speaking in low, quick accents, but she could not 
 make out the words, and she heard no answering 
 voice. 
 
 Finally, Pinto came out. His face was a little 
 white and his lips were set in a tight line. 
 "He's dead," he declared. 
 
 The woman shrank back against the counter. 
 "Murdered?" 
 
 The officer bawled a command to the neck-cran- 
 ing group at the entrance to stand back. Without 
 
8 
 
 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 answering the housekeeper's question, he lookecl 
 quickly about the store till he spied a telephone on 
 a shelf behind the counter. The woman listened ab- 
 stractedly as he called a number and spoke a few 
 words into the transmitter. Then he stepped out 
 from behind the counter and faced her. 
 
 u Your boss is lying on the floor in there," he an- 
 nounced, jerking his huge head toward the inner 
 room, "with a knife wound in his chest. He was 
 breathing his last just as I got to him. 1 ' 
 
 The housekeeper jerked herself up, a look of 
 sullen passion in her blanched face. "Breathing his 
 last, was he?" Her voice was loud and shrill. 
 "Then he wasn't dead yet! If you'd hurried, as I 
 told you to, we might have saved his life. I'll report 
 you for this, Officer Pinto." 
 
 "Cut that stuff! Nothing could have saved hinru 
 He was too far gone. Say," and Pinto bored his 
 sharp eyes into her twitching face, "what name was 
 signed to that letter?" 
 
 Twice she opened her lips to speak, but no words 
 came. 
 
 "Out with it! You've got to tell me now." 
 
 The woman swallowed. "Why do you want to 
 know?" she asked faintly. 
 
 "I've got a reason. Just as Gage was drawing his 
 last breath, I got down beside him and asked him if 
 he could tell me who stabbed him. I guess he read 
 my lips; anyhow, he was able to whisper a name.. I 
 want to know if it jibes with the name signed to the 
 letter Gage got yesterday." 
 
 "Well, then" — she pressed her hands against her 
 breast — "the name on the letter was the Gray Phan- 
 tom's." 
 
 Pinto ejaculated hoarsely. 
 
 "It jibes, all right!" he declared. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE MISSING BAUBLE 
 
 JUST then a youngish man with a slouching gait 
 and a dead cigar between his teeth pushed 
 through the little knot of spectators at the en- 
 trance and leveled a mildly inquisitive glance at 
 Pinto and the housekeeper. 
 
 The patrolman, after introducing the new arrival 
 as Lieutenant Culligore of the detective bureau, told 
 briefly what he had discovered. 
 
 Culligore doffed his dripping raincoat and banged 
 his soggy slouch hat against the counter. His dull 
 face and sluggish manners gave the impression that 
 he was never quite awake, but now and then a furtive 
 little gleam in his cinnamon-colored eyes betrayed a 
 saving sense of humor. He seemed unimpressed 
 until Pinto reached that point in his story where the 
 'dying man had told the name of his assailant. Then 
 Culligore curled up his lip against the tip of his 
 nose, as was his habit when interested in something, 
 and motioned the patrolman to follow him into the 
 inner room. 
 
 There was an indefinable air about the chamber 
 that vaguely suggested the abode of one whose life 
 is hidden from the world. The ragged carpet and 
 the ancient wall paper were of neutral tones, and the 
 atmosphere was stale and oppressive, as if seldom 
 freshened by sun or wind. Lieutenant Culligore's 
 drowsily blinking eyes traveled over the scene, yet he. 
 
 9 
 
10 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 appeared to see nothing. The safe In a corner 
 seemed rather too large for the modest requirements 
 of a tobacconist. Near by stood an ink-stained writ- 
 ing desk and a chair. The clothing on the narrow 
 iron cot looked as though the occupant, suddenly dis- 
 turbed in his sleep, had sprung from it in a hurry. 
 
 In the center of the room lay a curiously twisted 
 figure, garbed in pajamas of pink flannel. Over the 
 heart was a dull stain, and the right arm lay across 
 the chest in a manner hinting that the dead man had 
 used his last ounce of strength to ward off a blow. 
 One of the legs was drawn up almost to the abdo- 
 men, and the eyes were fixed on the ceiling in a 
 glassy stare. 
 
 "Well, Pinto?" Culligore looked as though he ex- 
 pected the patrolman to do the necessary thinking. 
 
 "The corpse told me the Gray Phantom did it," 
 said Pinto in a tone of finality. "Don't you think 
 we'd better start a general alarm, sir?" 
 
 "Corpses are sometimes mistaken, Pinto." The 
 lieutenant fumbled for a match and slowly kindled 
 his cigar. "I'll bet a pair of pink socks that the 
 Phantom had nothing to do with this. The Phantom 
 always fought clean. I'd hate like blue blazes to 
 think that he pulled off this job." 
 
 Pinto scowled a little, as if he couldn't quite under- 
 stand why Culligore should reject an easy solution: 
 of the mystery when it came to him ready-made. 
 
 "By the way," and Culligore fixed an indolent eye 
 on the electric fixture above the desk, "was the light 
 on or off when you broke in?" 
 
 "It was off, sir. I turned it on myself." 
 
 Culligore thought for a moment. "Well, that 
 doesn't mean much. The murderer might have 
 switched it off before he made his get-away, or the 
 room might have been dark all the time. I'd give 
 
THE MISSING BAUBLE 
 
 11 
 
 a good smoke to know whether the murder was clone 
 in the light or the dark." 
 
 Pinto's eyes widened inquiringly. 
 
 "You see, Pinto, if the light was on we can take 
 it for granted Gage saw the murderer's face. If the 
 room was dark, then he was just guessing when he 
 told you it was the Phantom. It would have been a 
 natural guess, too, for he would be very apt to sup- 
 pose that the murderer was the man who had sent 
 him the threatening letter. Since we can't know 
 whether Gage was stabbed in the light or the dark, 
 we'd better forget what he told you and take a fresh 
 start." His eyes flitted about the room, and a flicker 
 of interest appeared in their depths. "How do you 
 suppose the murderer got out, Pinto?" 
 
 The patrolman looked significantly at the single 
 window in the room. Culligore took a spiral tape 
 measure from the little black box he always carried 
 when at work on a homicide case and measured the 
 width of the narrow sash. 
 
 "Too small," he declared. "You'd have to yank 
 in your belt several notches before you could crawl 
 through a window of this size, Pinto. Anyhow, it's 
 latched from the inside." 
 
 A look of perplexity in his reddish face, Pinto 
 turned to the door. He looked a bit dazed as he 
 noticed the damage he had wrought in forcing it. 
 One of the panels was cracked in the center, and the 
 slot in which the bolt had rested had been torn out 
 of the frame. 
 
 "You see, Pinto." There was a grin on Culli- 
 gore's lips. "The murderer couldn't have got out 
 of the window, because it's much too small, and he 
 couldn't have walked out through the door, because 
 it was bolted from the inside. There's no transom, 
 so he could not have adjusted the bolt from the other 
 
12 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 side. Nobody has yet figured out a way of passing 
 through a door or window and leaving it bolted on 
 the inside." 
 
 Pinto stared at the door, at the window, and 
 finally at Culligore. The problem seemed beyond 
 him. Then he took his baton and, tapping as he 
 went, explored every square foot of floor and walls, 
 but no hollow sounds betrayed the presence of a 
 hidden opening. He shook his head in a flabber- 
 gasted way. 
 
 "It's possible, of course," suggested the lieuten- 
 ant, "that the murderer was still in the room when 
 you broke in. He might have made his get-away 
 in the dark while you were hunting for the light- 
 switch." 
 
 "The housekeeper would have seen him," Pinto 
 pointed out. "She was standing just outside. And 
 there was a crowd at the entrance. Say," and a 
 startled look crossed his face, "do you suppose Gage 
 killed himself?" 
 
 "That would be an easy solution, all right. But, 
 if he did, what was his idea in telling you that 
 the Phantom had done it? And I don't see any knife 
 around. Gage wouldn't have had the strength to 
 pull it out of the wound, and, even if he had, how 
 did he dispose of it? No, Pinto, Gage was mur- 
 dered, and — hang it all! — it's beginning to look as 
 though the Phantom did it." 
 
 "But you just said " 
 
 "All I'm saying now is that it's beginning to look 
 as if the Phantom had had a hand in it. Things 
 aren't always what they seem, you know. I'm not 
 taking much stock in what Gage told you just before 
 he died. There are other reasons. One of them 
 is the size of that window. Another is the fact that 
 the door was bolted on the inside. Together they 
 
THE MISSING BAUBLE 
 
 13 
 
 show that the man who committed this murder ac- 
 complished something of a miracle in getting out of 
 the room. The Phantom is the only man I know 
 who can do that sort of thing." 
 
 He grinned sheepishly, as if conscious of having 
 said something that sounded extravagant. 
 
 "Stunts like that are the Phantom's long suit," he 
 went on. "He likes to throw dust in the eyes of the 
 police and keep everybody guessing. But he was 
 always a gentlemanly rascal, and it takes something 
 besides a bolted door and a window latched on the 
 inside to make me believe he has gotten down to dirty 
 work. Wish the medical examiner would hurry up." 
 
 He took a cover from the cot and threw it over 
 the upper part of the body. A chance glance toward 
 the door made him pause. Just across the threshold, 
 with hands clasped across her breast and eyes fixed 
 rigidly on the lifeless heap on the floor, stood the 
 housekeeper. She awoke with a start from her rev- 
 erie as she felt the lieutenant's steady gaze on her 
 face, and she shrank back a step. With a puckering 
 of the brows, Culligore turned away. His eyes fell 
 on the safe. 
 
 A pull at the knob told him it was locked. He 
 took a magnifying lens from his kit and carefully 
 'examined the surface. Then, with a shake of the 
 head signifying he had found no finger prints, he 
 crooked his index finger at the housekeeper. She 
 advanced reluctantly, and Culligore studied her with 
 a sidelong glance. 
 
 "You needn't talk unless you want to," he said 
 gently. "The department isn't offering you any im- 
 munity. We've known for some time that Gage was 
 running a fence, though we never got the goods on 
 him." 
 
 The woman, standing in a crouching attitude and 
 
14 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 studiously avoiding Culligore's gaze, swept a tress 
 of moist gray hair from her forehead. 
 
 "We've also suspected that you have been in ca- 
 hoots with him/' continued the lieutenant in casual 
 tones. "Oh, don't get scared. We won't go into 
 that just now. All I want is that we understand 
 each other." 
 
 The woman raised her head and looked straight 
 at Officer Pinto, and there was a hint of dread in 
 her eyes as their glances met. A puzzled frown 
 crossed Culligore's face as he noticed the strange 
 exchange of glances; then he pointed to the safe. 
 
 "Know how to open it?" 
 
 The housekeeper shook her head. "Mr. Gage 
 kept only cheap junk in it, anyhow. All he used it 
 for was a blind." 
 
 "A blind?" 
 
 "He had to keep a lot of valuables in the house; 
 all the time, and he was always afraid of burglars. 
 He kept a lot of phony stuff in the safe, thinking if 
 burglars found it they might be fooled and not look 
 any further." 
 
 "Ah! Not a bad idea. Where did he keep the 
 real stuff?" 
 
 The woman hesitated for a moment; then, with a 
 quick gesture, she pointed to the old w T riting desk. 
 
 "Gage w T as a shrewd one," observed the lieuten- 
 ant. "With a safe in the room, nobody would think 
 of looking for valuables in a broken-down desk. 
 Now," drawing a little closer to the woman and try- 
 ing to catch her shifty eyes, "I wish you would tell 
 us who killed him. I think you know." 
 
 A tremor passed over the woman's ashen face, 
 and she fixed Pinto w T ith a look that caused the 
 lieutenant to lift his brows in perplexity. Finally, 
 she pointed a finger at the patrolman. 
 
THE MISSING BAUBLE 
 
 15 
 
 "You heard what he said, didn't you? Mr. Gage 
 told him the Gray Phantom did it. Isn't that 
 enough?" 
 
 Culligore regarded her narrowly, as if sensing an 
 attempt at evasion in what she had just said. Then 
 he nodded and seemed to be searching his memory. 
 
 "Let me see — Gage and the Phantom had some 
 kind of row a few years back?" 
 
 The housekeeper's "Yes" was scarcely audible. 
 
 44 What was it about?" 
 
 Her lips curled in scorn. "That's what I could 
 never understand. They were quarreling like two 
 overgrown boys over a piece of green rock. Imita- 
 tion jade was what Mr. Gage called it. I never got 
 the story straight, but it seems the Phantom had been 
 carrying it around as a kind of keepsake for years. 
 He lost it finally, and somehow it got into Mr. 
 Gage's hands. The Phantom wanted it back, but 
 Mr. Gage was just stubborn enough to hang on to it. 
 They had an awful rumpus, and I think the Phantom 
 threatened to get Mr. Gage some day." 
 
 U A11 that fuss about a piece of phony jade? The 
 Phantom must have had some particular reason for 
 wanting it back. What was it shaped like?" 
 
 "It was a funny kind of cross, with eight tips 
 to it." 
 
 "A Maltese cross, maybe." Lieutenant Culligore 
 whistled softly. u The Phantom's a queer cuss. 
 Likely as not he thought more of that piece of imi- 
 tation jade than most people would of a thousand 
 dollars. What I don't see is why Gage wouldn't 
 give it up. Unless," he added with a shrewd grin, 
 "he knew how badly the Phantom wanted it and 
 hoped to make him cough up some real dough for it. 
 Wasn't that it?" 
 
 A shrug was the housekeeper's only response. 
 
16 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 "And the Phantom, of course, balked at the idea 
 of paying good money for his own property. But it 
 seems Gage would have given it up when he saw that 
 it was putting his life in danger. I suppose, though, 
 he thought the Phantom was only bluffing. He 
 didn't believe anybody would commit a murder over 
 a thing that could be bought for a few cents." 
 
 Again the housekeeper shot Pinto a queer glance. 
 "If you don't want me any more, I think I'll " 
 
 "Just a moment," interrupted Culligore. "I want 
 you to show me the letter Gage got yesterday." 
 
 With a sullen gesture she stepped to the desk, 
 fumbled for a few moments among the drawers, 
 then drew forth a letter and handed it to the lieu- 
 tenant. Culligore examined the envelope and the 
 superscription under the light, then pulled out the 
 enclosure. 
 
 " 'The Gray Phantom neither forgives nor for- 
 gets,' " he read aloud. "Short and to the point. 
 Now let's have a look at the Maltese cross. But 
 wait — here's the medical examiner. You're late, 
 doc." 
 
 "Car broke down." The examiner, a thickset, 
 bearded, crisp-mannered individual, put a few ques- 
 tions to Culligore and Pinto, then uncovered the 
 body, explored the region of the wound with an ex- 
 pert touch, and finally jotted down a few notes in a 
 red-covered book. As he rose from his kneeling po- 
 sition, the lieutenant gave him a signal out of the 
 corner of his eye, and the two men left the room 
 together. 
 
 "Just one question, doc." Culligore spoke in low 
 tones, as if anxious that Pinto and the housekeeper 
 should not hear. "About that wound. How long 
 did Gage live after he was stabbed?" 
 
 "Not very long." 
 
THE MISSING BAUBLE 
 
 17 
 
 "Long enough to tell Pinto the name of the man 
 who stabbed him?" 
 
 The examiner looked startled. "Yes, in all prob- 
 ability. Say, you don't suspect that cop in there 
 of " 
 
 "Not after what you've told me." Culligore 
 wheeled on his heels and re-entered the inner room. 
 His upper lip brushed the tip of his nose, signifying 
 he had learned something interesting. Pinto was 
 replacing the cover over the body, while the house- 
 keeper, standing a few paces away, was regarding 
 him with a fixed, inscrutable look. 
 
 "Now let's see the Maltese cross," directed the 
 lieutenant. 
 
 The woman jerked herself up. Her eyes held a 
 defiant gleam, but it died away quickly. With evi- 
 dent reluctance she approached the desk and pointed. 
 
 "There's a hidden drawer back there in the 
 corner," she announced. "I don't know how to open 
 it. You'll have to find that out for yourself." 
 
 Culligore, after looking in vain for a concealed 
 spring, took a small tool from his kit. To locate 
 the drawer without the woman's help would have 
 been a difficult task, for it was ingeniously hidden in 
 an apparently solid portion of the desk. With a few 
 deft twists and jerks he forced it open and poured 
 out the contents, consisting of a great number of 
 small objects wrapped in tissue paper. Each of the 
 little wads contained a diamond. Unwrapping one 
 after another, Culligore gathered them in a glittering 
 heap on the desk. The stones varied in size andj 
 brilliancy. Occasionally he raised one of them to 
 the light and inspected it keenly, satisfying himself 
 of its genuineness. 
 
 "Some eye-teasers!" he muttered. "But where's 
 the Maltese cross?" 
 
18 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 The housekeeper's face went blank. She stared 
 at the diamonds, then at the empty drawer. 
 
 "It was there day before yesterday," she declared. 
 "Mr. Gage showed it to me." 
 
 There was an odd tension in the lieutenant's 
 manner. "Did the Phantom know about the secret 
 drawer and how to open it?" 
 
 The woman, one hand clutching the edge of the 
 'desk, seemed to ponder. "I don't know. He might 
 have. The Phantom called on Mr. Gage several 
 times after they started quarreling. But " 
 
 "Well, it doesn't matter." There was a strain 
 of suppressed disappointment in Culligore's tones, 
 and his face hinted that an illusion was slipping away 
 from him. "It looks as though the thing was settled. 
 The Gray Phantom is the only man I know who 
 would pass up some fifty thousand dollars' worth of 
 diamonds after taking the trouble to steal a gewgaw 
 worth about two bits." 
 
 With dragging gait he left the room, stepped be- 
 hind the counter outside, and spoke into the tele- 
 phone. In a few moments now the alarm would 
 go out and a thousand eyes would be searching for 
 the Gray Phantom. Culligore, tarrying for a little 
 after he had hung up the receiver, looked as though 
 he were in a mood to quarrel with his duty and with 
 the facts staring him in the face. Then he shrugged, 
 as if to banish regrets of which he was half ashamed, 
 and his face bore a look of dogged determination 
 when he stepped back into the bedroom. 
 
 "We'll get him," he announced with grim assur- 
 ance. "Inside fifteen minutes there'll be a net thrown 
 around this old town so tight a mouse couldn't 
 wriggle through." 
 
 He picked up his hat and kit, and just then his 
 
THE MISSING BAUBLE 
 
 19 
 
 eyes fell on the housekeeper's face. In vain he ex- 
 ercised his wits to interpret the sly gaze with which 
 she was fixing Patrolman Pinto. 
 
 Did it mean fear, suspicion, horror, hate, or all 
 four? * 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 BLUE OR GRAY? 
 
 UTHBERT VANARDY was conscious of a 
 
 disquieting tension in the air. The long 
 
 shadows cast by the trees that stood in clusters 
 on the lawn of Sea-Glimpse impressed him as sinister 
 harbingers of coming events. The wind had a raw 
 edge, and it produced a dolorous melody as it went 
 moaning over the landscape. Vanardy recognized 
 the vague sense of depression and foreboding he 
 experienced as he walked down the path that wound 
 in and out among flower beds and parterres of 
 shrubbery. He had noticed it often in the past, and 
 always on the eve of some tragic event. 
 
 He could not understand, for of late his life had 
 fallen into serene and humdrum lines, and there had 
 been no hint of disturbing occurrences. His horti- 
 cultural experiments had kept him well occupied, and 
 he had derived a great deal of satisfaction from the 
 favorable comments which the products of his gar- 
 dens had created among experts at the horticultural 
 expositions in New York and Boston, as well as from 
 the speculations aroused concerning the identity of 
 the anonymous exhibitor, who for private reasons 
 preferred to remain unknown. Nothing of an ex- 
 citing nature had happened in several months, and, 
 but for his intangible misgivings, there was no sign 
 of an interruption to his tranquil life. 
 
 On the veranda he stopped and looked back into 
 the gathering dusk. The trees and shrubs, colored 
 
 20 
 
BLUE OF GRAY? 
 
 21 
 
 and distorted by his restless imagination, took on 
 weird contours and seemed to assume life and mo- 
 tion. No doubt, he told himself, the premonitions 
 he had felt of late were also the products of his 
 fancy. They could be nothing else, for he had sev- 
 ered all the links connecting him with the old life. 
 Time had quieted all the dreams and impulses of his 
 former self. He smiled as it occurred to him that 
 his highest ambition at the present moment was to 
 produce a gray orchid. 
 
 It was only a whim, a diversion from more serious 
 work, but the novelty of the experiment, as well as 
 the difficulties in the way, appealed to him. By in- 
 tricate cross-breeding he was gradually developing 
 an orchid of a dim, mystic gray, his favorite color. 
 When once evolved, the hybrid should be known as 
 the Phantom Orchid. It would be the living symbol 
 of whatever had been good in his other self, the 
 Gray Phantom. 
 
 His thoughts went back to those other days when 
 he had gone, like a swaggering Robin Hood, from 
 one stupendous adventure to another. Even his 
 bitterest enemies, and there had been many of them, 
 had never accused the Gray Phantom of being actu- 
 ated by considerations of sordid gain. The public 
 had gasped and the police muttered maledictions as 
 he gratified his thirst for thrills and excitement, al- 
 ways playing the game in strict accord with his code 
 and invariably planning his exploits so that his vic- 
 tims were villains of a far blacker dye than he. 
 Always his left hand had tossed away what his right 
 hand had plucked. Hospitals, orphan asylums and 
 other philanthropic organizations became the recip- 
 ients of donations that were never traced to their 
 source. Princely and mysterious gifts poured into 
 garrets and hovels in a way that caused simple- 
 
22 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 minded people to believe in a return of the day of 
 miracles. 
 
 The Gray Phantom, through it all, maintained an 
 :elusiveness that completely baffled the police and 
 clothed his identity in a glamourous haze. So as- 
 tounding were his performances that there were 
 those who asked themselves whether he was not 
 practicing black magic. Once, in the early days of 
 his career, he fell into the clutches of the police, sat- 
 isfying the superstitious ones that he was really a 
 being of flesh and blood, but an amazing escape a 
 few days later revived the gossip of a rogue who 
 was in collusion with evil spirits. The Phantom was 
 greatly amused, and spurred his energies to even 
 more dizzying flights, but there were times when a 
 softer mood came upon him, and then he wondered 
 why his restless spirit could not have found a dif- 
 ferent outlet. Perhaps the reason was to be found 
 in the remote and dimly remembered past when, 
 'friendless and homeless, he had derived his philos- 
 ophy of life from thieving urchins and night-prowl- 
 ing gangsters. 
 
 The years passed, and the Gray Phantom's adven- 
 tures made his sobriquet known from coast to coast, 
 but gradually the life he was leading began to pall 
 on him. His exploits no longer gave him the thrills 
 he craved, and he began to search, at first blindly 
 and haltingly, for a more satisfying way of unleash- 
 ing his boundless energies. There came long lapses 
 between his adventures, and finally it began to be 
 rumored that the Gray Phantom had gone into re- 
 tirement with his accumulated treasures, for no one 
 guessed that he had flung away his spoils as fast as 
 he garnered them in. Nobody understood the true 
 reason for the change that had come over him, and 
 the Phantom least of all. 
 
BLUE OR GRAY 
 
 23 
 
 He often wondered at the obscure impulses that 
 had impelled him to seek seclusion at Sea-Glimpse, 
 a narrow stretch of wooded land surrounded on 
 three sides by jagged coast line and in the rear by 
 forest and farm land. He could not understand 
 them, except that his new mode of life gave him a 
 sense of pleasing remoteness from things he wished 
 to forget, and at times he thought he would be con- 
 tent to spend the rest of his days in this secluded 
 nook, secure from intrusion and free to devote him- 
 self to his hobby and his books. 
 
 But to-night a vague unrest was upon him. He 
 peered into the shadows, constantly growing longer 
 and darker, and it seemed as if the ghostly figures 
 of his past were reaching out for him. Perhaps, 
 there was still a forgotten link or two that bound 
 him to the old life. He shrugged, as if to banish 
 disquieting thoughts, and entered the house. Step- 
 ping into the library, he lighted his reading lamp and 
 took a work on horticulture from the shelf. There 
 was a problem in connection with the gray orchid 
 that he had not yet been able to work out satisfac- 
 torily. He sat down and opened the book, but the 
 print danced and blurred beneath his eyes. A 
 woman's face appeared out of nowhere, the same 
 'face that had haunted him in idle moments for 
 months. His mental picture was dim and frag- 
 mentary, and he could not distinctly remember evert 
 the color of the hair or whether the eyes were blue 
 or gray, but the vision pursued him with the persist- 
 ence of a haunting scent or a strain from an old 
 familiar song. 
 
 Helen Hardwick and he had shared several ad- 
 ventures and perils together. Only a few months 
 had elapsed since he rescued her from the clutches 
 of the mysterious "Mr. Shei," the leader of an arch- 
 
24 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 conspiracy which the Phantom had frustrated. 
 About a year before that he had emerged from his 
 retreat for long enough to restore to her father, 
 curator of the Cosmopolitan Museum, a collection 
 of Assyrian antiques that Hardwick had spent the 
 best years of his life in gathering, and which had 
 been stolen by a criminal organization headed by 
 the Phantom's old-time enemy and rival, "The 
 Duke." To Vanardy -the achievement had meant 
 little more than a pleasing diversion and an oppor- 
 tunity to humiliate a man whose personality and 
 methods he abhorred, and Helen Hardwick's grati- 
 tude had made him feel that she was giving him the 
 accolade of an undeserved knightship. She had 
 come to Sea-Glimpse to thank him, and her parting 
 glance and smile were still vivid in his recollection. 
 He often glanced dreamily at the spot where she had 
 stood when for an instant her hand lingered within 
 his. With the blood pounding against his temples, 
 he had exerted all his power of will to restrain him- 
 self from calling her back. There were times when 
 he regretted having let her go like that, without hope 
 of seeing her again, but in his soberer moments he 
 saw the inevitableness of the outcome. In the eyes 
 of the world he was still an outlaw, and too great a 
 gulf separated the Gray Phantom and Helen Hard- 
 wick. The memory of her eyes, warm, frank and 
 bright, would be with him always. He had her to 
 thank for the finest emotions he had ever experi- 
 enced, and he would try to be content with that. 
 
 She seemed little more than a dream to him now, 
 and even the dream was fragmentary. Again he 
 thought it strange that he could not remember the 
 color of her eyes or hair, and that little remained 
 with him save a misty and tantalizing vision of love- 
 liness. 
 
BLUE OR GRAY? 
 
 25 
 
 He closed the book and passed to the window. 
 The moon had risen, bathing the narrow strip of 
 water visible between the birches and hemlocks in a 
 white mist. The house, which Vanardy had restored 
 from the dilapidated condition in which he had 
 found it, was silent save for an occasional creaking 
 of old timbers. Clifford Wade, once his chief lieu- 
 tenant and now the major-domo of his little house- 
 hold, had gone to the village for the mail. The 
 Phantom stood lost in reflections, his deep gray eyes 
 soft and luminous. On occasion they could sting 
 and stab like points of steel, but in repose they were 
 the eyes of a dreamer. The nostrils were full and 
 sensitive, and the arch of the lips was partly obscured 
 by a short-cropped beard that would have made him 
 hard to recognize from his photograph in a revolving 
 case at police headquarters. 
 
 He turned as a knock sounded on the door. A 
 fat man stepped through the door, groaning and puf- 
 fing as if the task of carrying his huge body through 
 life were the bane of his existence. Wade, the os- 
 tensible owner of Sea-Glimpse — for its real master 
 was seldom seen beyond the boundaries of the estate 
 — placed a bundle of mail on the table, gave his 
 master a long-suffering look, and withdrew. 
 
 With a listless air Vanardy glanced at the mail 
 and began to unfold the newspapers. He ran his 
 eyes over the headlines, and a caption, blacker and 
 larger than the rest, caught his languid attention. 
 He stared at it for moments, as if his brain were 
 unable to absorb its meaning. Slowly and dazedly 
 he mumbled the words: 
 
 DYING MAN ACCUSES THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 Presently his quickening eye was running down the 
 
26 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 column of type. It was a lurid and highly colored 
 account of the murder of Sylvanus Gage, a crime 
 said by the police to be one of the strangest on 
 record. Headquarters detectives confessed them- 
 selves baffled by several of the circumstances, and 
 especially by the fact that the murderer seemed to 
 have accomplished the apparently impossible feat of 
 making his escape through a door which had been 
 found bolted on the inside when the police reached 
 the scene. 
 
 The murder, it was stated, would probably have 
 gone down in the annals of crime as an unsolved 
 mystery but for the fact that the dying man had 
 whispered the name of his assailant to Patrolman 
 Pinto, who had been summoned to the scene by the 
 housekeeper, Mrs. Mary Trippe, after the latter had 
 been disturbed by a mysterious sound. The name 
 mentioned by the victim was that of Cuthbert Van- 
 ardy, known internationally as the Gray Phantom 
 and regarded by the police as one of the most in- 
 genious criminals of modern times. 
 
 However, the account went on, the Gray Phan- 
 tom's guilt would have been clearly established even 
 without his victim's dying statement. It had been 
 learned that for some years a feud had existed be- 
 tween the two men and that the Gray Phantom had 
 threatened to take his enemy's life. The total ab- 
 sence of finger prints and other tangible clews 
 strongly suggested that the deed could have been per- 
 petrated only by a criminal in the Phantom's class. 
 The perplexing features added further proof of the 
 Phantom's guilt. Who else could have made his 
 escape in such an inexplicable manner? Who but 
 the Gray Phantom, who was known to be pursuing 
 a criminal career for pleasure and excitement rather 
 than for the profits he derived from it, would have 
 
BLUE OR GRAY? 
 
 left behind him a small fortune in perfect stones, 
 taking nothing but a worthless curio? 
 
 These and other details Vanardy read with in- 
 terest. He smiled as he reached the concluding para- 
 graph, stating that a countrywide search for the 
 murderer was in progress and that the police confi- 
 dendy expected to make an arrest within twenty-four 
 hours. He glanced at the accompanying likeness of 
 himself, made from a photograph taken in the early 
 stages of his career. 
 
 "What drivel !" he exclaimed, tossing the paper 
 aside. Then, one by one, he glanced through the 
 other early editions of the New York evening news- 
 papers. All featured the Gage murder on the first 
 page, and all the accounts agreed in regard to es- 
 sential details. In The Evening Sphere 1 s story of 
 the crime, however, he detected a subde difference. 
 It presented the same array of damning facts, point- 
 ing straight to the inevitable conclusion of the Phan- 
 tom's guilt, yet, between the lines, he sensed an 
 elusive quality that differentiated it from the others. 
 He read it again, more slowly this time; and here 
 and there, in an oddly twisted sentence or an am- 
 biguous phrase, he caught a hint that the writer of 
 the Sphere* 's article entertained a secret doubt of the 
 Phantom's guilt. 
 
 The suggestion was so feeble, however, that a 
 casual reader would scarcely have noticed it, and 
 whatever doubts the writer may have felt were 
 smothered under a mass of evidence pointing in the 
 opposite direction. He threw the paper down with 
 an air of disdain. Here, in this sheltered retreat, 
 what the world thought of him was of no account. 
 Serene in his seclusion, he could snap his fingers at 
 its opinions and suspicions. He sat clowrt at the 
 
28 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 piano, and a moment later his finely tapering 'fingers 
 were flashing over the keys. 
 
 Suddenly, in the midst of one of his favorite arias, 
 his hands began to falter. For a time he sat motion- 
 less, with lips tightening, gazing narrowly at the 
 point where Helen Hardwick had stood at the mo- 
 ment when he held her hand. His face was grim 
 and troubled, as if a disturbing thought had just 
 occurred to him. He got up and with long strides 
 passed to the desk, where he pressed a button. 
 
 "Wade," he crisply announced when the fat man 
 reappeared, "I am going to New York in the morn- 
 
 ir, g-" 
 
 Wade sat down, drawing a squeaky protest from 
 an unoffending chair. "To New — New York?" He 
 stammered. 
 
 1 'Exactly. Tell Dullah to pack my grip. I shall 
 leave early, about the time you are getting your 
 beauty sleep. " 
 
 Wade blinked his little eyes. "But why, boss?' 1 
 
 "Here's the reason." Vanardy handed him one 
 of the papers he had been perusing, watching with an 
 amused smile the flabbergasted look that came into 
 the fat man's face as he read. As he approached the 
 end of the article, wheezy gasps and indignant mut- 
 ters punctuated the reading. 
 
 "Rot!" he commented emphatically. "If I wasn't 
 a fat man I'd lick the editor of this sheet within an 
 inch of his life. Why, you always played the game 
 according to the code, boss. You never killed a man 
 in all your life." 
 
 "No, never." 
 
 "And you were right Here at Sea-Glimpse at thl 
 time the murder was done." 
 
 "True enough. But I might Have some difficulty 
 proving it. Your own testimony wouldn't be par« 
 
BLUE OR GRAY? 
 
 29 
 
 ticularly impressive. Besides, there's just enough of 
 truth in the police theory to give color to the lies. 
 It is true Gage and I quarreled, and I believe I once 
 threatened to give the old skinflint a beating. It was 
 a foolish wrangle, involving nothing but a cross 
 made of imitation jade. I'd been wearing it at- 
 tached to a chain around my neck as far back as I 
 could remember. Who put it there I don't know. 
 Perhaps " 
 
 "Your mother — maybe," suggested Wade, slant- 
 ing a searching gaze at Vanardy. 
 
 "I don't know, Wade. You may be right. I 
 remember neither father nor mother. All I know 
 is that the cross seemed to be the only connecting 
 link between my present and the past I couldn't re- 
 member. I fought like mad when the street urchins 
 and gangsters tried to take it away from me, and 
 somehow, through thick and thin, I managed to 
 cling to it. Then, one day about six years ago, I 
 lost it. Probably the chain parted. Anyhow, in 
 some mysterious manner the cross fell into Gage's 
 possession. I went to Gage and demanded it. He 
 must have seen how anxious I was to recover it, for 
 he put a stiff price on it. I was willing to pay — 
 would have paid almost anything — but each time I 
 began to count out the money Gage doubled his 
 price. So it went on for years, and 1 admit I some- 
 times felt like strangling the old miser. But I never 
 threatened to kill him and I never wrote the letter 
 mentioned in the papers." 
 
 "Somebody's been doing some tall lying," declared 
 Wade irately. "If I wasn't so fat I'd make the fel- 
 low that wrote this article eat his own words. But 
 you should worry, boss. They can't get away with 
 it." 
 
 "I am not so sure, Wade. Seems to me they've 
 
80 
 
 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 ma r de out a fairly complete case against the Gray 
 Phantom. The motive is substantial .enough. There 
 are enough mysterious circumstances to suggest that 
 only the Phantom could have committed the crime. 
 The fact that the murderer stole a cheap trinket and 
 left fifty thousand dollars' worth of real diamonds 
 behind him is rather impressive. And you mustn't 
 forget that a little evidence against the Gray Phan- 
 tom will go a long way with a jury." 
 
 Wade, a picture of ponderous wrath, crumpled 
 the newspaper in his huge fist. The fretful look in 
 the small round eyes signified that his mind was 
 grappling with a problem. 
 
 "The letter Gage got the Hay before the murder 
 must have been forged," he ventured at last. 
 
 "Of course; but it may have been done skillfully 
 enough to deceive all but the keenest eye. Hand- 
 writing experts have been known to disagree in mat- 
 ters of that kind." 
 
 The fat man reflected heavily. "Why didn't Gage 
 beat it for the tall woods when he got the letter?" 
 
 "Because the tall woods are full of ambushes. 
 Likely as not the letter gave him a jolt at first. 
 Then, upon giving it a sober second thought, he 
 cooled down. His principal consideration was that 
 the Gray Phantom had never been known to commit 
 a murder, and that consequently the letter was either 
 a joke or a bluff." 
 
 "But he told the cop it was the Gray Phantom 
 that stabbed him." 
 
 "Naturally. A wound in the chest isn't conducive 
 to clear thinking. We may assume that the mur- 
 derer approached his victim by stealth and that Gage 
 never saw the man who struck him down. Under 
 the circumstances it was natural enough for him to 
 
BLUE OR GRAY? 
 
 31 
 
 suppose that, after all, the Gray Phantom had 
 carried out his threat. What else was he to think?" 
 
 An ominous rumble sounded in Wade's expansive 
 chest. You've been framed, boss." 
 
 Vanardy nodded. "And it doesn't require a great 
 deal of brilliance to figure out who engineered the 
 frame-up. The Duke has the reputation of being a 
 good hater." 
 
 The fat man seemed startled. "But the Duke's 
 in stir," he argued. "You sent him there yourself." 
 
 "So I did." A pleased smile lighted Vanardy's 
 features. "But two or three members of his gang 
 were not present at the round-up, and I have re- 
 ceived tips to the effect that they have been organ- 
 izing a new crowd. I suppose the Duke has been 
 communicating with them through underground 
 channels and instructing them in regard to this 
 frame-up. The Duke has sworn to get me, and 
 undoubtedly this is his method of accomplishing his 
 aim. He chose the mode of revenge which he 
 thought would hurt me most." 
 
 "If I wasn't a fat man I would — " began Wade. 
 
 "Save your threats. The Duke is a crafty rascal, 
 just as clever as he's vindictive. That kind of a man 
 makes a bad enemy. The only way to queer his 
 game is to track down the man who did the crime. 
 That's why I am going to New York in the morn- 
 ing. The police will never find the culprit, for they 
 are wasting their time and energies looking for the 
 Gray Phantom. Therefore it's up to me." 
 
 A scowl deepened in Wade's rubicund face. "The 
 world must be coming to an end when the Gray Phan- 
 tom turns detective. It's the maddest, craziest thing 
 you ever did yet, boss." 
 
 "It will be quite an adventure." Vanardy's eyes 
 twinkled. 
 
32 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 "It's too risky, boss. Why, every dick and 
 harness bull and amateur sleuth on the American 
 continent is on the lookout for you." 
 
 "Very likely." 
 
 "The police have enough on you to send you to 
 the jug for a million years, even without the Syl- 
 vanus Gage job. And you can just bet the Duke's 
 gang will have their eyes peeled, watching their 
 chance to lead you into a trap." 
 
 "I suppose so." 
 
 The fat man sighed. He knew from long experi- 
 ence that his chief, once his mind was made up, was 
 impervious to pleas and arguments. 
 
 "Why don't you just sit tight?" was his final at- 
 tempt. "I don't see what you're worrying about. 
 They'll never find you here. Nobody knows where 
 to look for you. You're safe." 
 
 "Sure of that?" Vanardy smiled queerly. 
 "There's one person who knows where to find me." 
 
 A look of startled comprehension came into 
 Wade's face. "You mean the little queen who was so 
 heart-broken because the Duke had stolen a lot of 
 old Assyrian junk from her dad?" 
 
 "I mean Miss Helen Hardwick," declared Van- 
 ardy stiffly. "I was fortunate in being able to re- 
 cover the collection from the Duke and restore it to 
 Mr. Hardwick." 
 
 "She was sure easy on the eyes!" rhapsodized 
 Wade, unrebuked. "But you let her slip away from 
 you, after you'd stirred up most of the earth to dry 
 her tears. I never got you on that deal boss. Why, 
 if I hadn't been a fat man — " He sighed and rolled 
 wistful eyes at the ceiling. 
 
 Vanardy scowled, then laughed. 
 
 "Chuck the sentiment, you old clod-hopping hippo. 
 As far as I know, Miss Hardwick is the only living 
 
BLUE OR GRAY? 
 
 33 
 
 person, outside our own circle, who is aware of my 3 
 whereabouts." 
 
 "Will she give you away?" 
 
 "It depends," murmured Vanardy. "If she be* 
 lieves me guilty of murder she may consider it her 
 'duty to inform the police, and she would be abso- 
 lutely right in doing so. But that's neither here nor 
 there. I'm starting for New York in a few hours 
 to track down the murderer of Sylvanus Gage." 
 
 Admiration clashed with anxiety in Wade's face. 
 "I get you, boss. You want to keep the Gray Phan- 
 tom's record clean. You don't want any bloodstains* 
 on his name. You don't want the world to think that 
 you've committed a murder." 
 
 An odd smile played about the Phantom's lips. 
 "Wrong, Wade. It goes against the grain to have 
 a foul murder linked to one's name, but it isn't that. 
 I'm not lying awake nights worrying about the 
 world's opinion. The only thing that troubles me 
 
 is " He broke off, and his eyes sought the spot 
 
 where Helen Hardwick had stood. 
 
 "You needn't say it, boss." Wade's voice was a 
 trifle thick as he struggled out of the chair and 
 gripped the other's hand. "If I wasn't a fat man I'd 
 tag right along, but I guess I'd only be in the way. 
 Good luck — and give my regards to the little wren." 
 
 With slow, trundling strides he left the room. A 
 moment later the door had closed behind him, and 
 the Gray Phantom was alone. Once more, as he 
 paced the floor, his eyes were soft and luminous. 
 Suddenly he paused and bent a reverential look on 
 the rug at his feet, as if he were standing in a hal- 
 lowed spot. 
 
 "Blue or gray?" he mumbled. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 MR. ADAIR, OF BOSTON 
 
 "T^OLAND ADAIR, Boston, Massachusetts." 
 It was thus the Gray Phantom inscribed the 
 register at Hotel Pyramidion, while an af- 
 fable clerk beamed approval on his athletic and well- 
 groomed figure. 
 
 "What do you require, Mr. Adair?" 
 
 "Parlor, bedroom, and bath, with southern ex- 
 posure, preferably above the sixth floor." 
 
 The clerk, intuitively sensing that the new arrival 
 was one accustomed to having his wishes complied 
 with, glanced at his card index. "We have exactly 
 what you want, Mr. Adair." 
 
 "Good! I wish breakfast and the morning news- 
 papers sent to my apartment at once." 
 
 "It shall be done, Mr. Adair." The clerk bowed 
 debonairly, little suspecting that the new guest, who 
 so unmistakably presented all the earmarks of a cul- 
 tured and leisurely gentleman, was at this moment 
 the most "wanted" man on the North American 
 continent. The guest himself grinned in his short 
 black beard while an elevator carried him to the 
 ninth floor, and an acute observer would have gained 
 the impression that he was bent upon an adventure 
 hugely to his liking. 
 
 He ate his breakfast slowly and with keen relish, 
 meanwhile glancing over the newspapers, which were 
 still featuring the East Houston Street murder as 
 
 34 
 
MR. ADAIR, OF BOSTON 
 
 35 
 
 the chief sensation. Nothing had as yet been 'dis- 
 covered which threw the faintest light on the pe- 
 culiar manner in which the slayer had left the scene 
 of his crime, and it was regarded as doubtful 
 w r hether this mysterious phase of the case would be 
 cleared up until after the Gray Phantom's arrest. 
 It had been ascertained that the notorious criminal 
 was not aboard any of the vessels that had sailed 
 for foreign ports since the murder, so it was thought 
 probable that the fugitive was still in the country, 
 and it was confidently declared by police officials that 
 the drag-net would gather him in before long. 
 
 The accounts in the various papers were substan- 
 tially similar, but again the Phantom detected a 
 faintly dissenting note in the Sphere's article. It was 
 so slight as to be scarcely discernible, but to the Phan- 
 tom it signified a lurking doubt in the writer's mind, 
 and a suggestion that the Sphere's reporter sensed a 
 weak link in the chain of evidence. 
 
 "I'll have a talk with the fellow," he decided. > "I 
 might ask him to take dinner with me this evening. 
 He may prove interesting." 
 
 He finished his coffee and lighted a long, thin 
 cigar, then passed to the window and watched the 
 procession below. After his long and monotonous 
 seclusion at Sea-Glimpse the life of the city acted as 
 a gentle electric stimulant on his nerves. He glowed 
 and tingled with sensations that had lain dormant 
 'during long months of tedium, and the strongest 
 and raciest of these was a feeling of ever present 
 danger. 
 
 The Gray Phantom did not deceive himself. His 
 present adventure was by far the most hazardous of 
 his career. On the one hand he was threatened by 
 the nimble-witted man hunters of the police depart- 
 ment, and on the other by the henchmen of the Duke. 
 
36 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 His only hope of safety lay in his subtler intelligence, 
 which had seldom failed him in moments of danger, 
 and the temporary protection afforded by his beard. 
 
 Luckily, the only photograph of him in existence, 
 the one the newspapers had displayed on their front 
 pages the morning after the murder, showed him 
 smooth-shaven. The beard, giving him a maturer 
 and somewhat more professional appearance, af- 
 forded a thin and yet fairly satisfactory disguise, but 
 it would be of scant use if by the slightest misstep or 
 careless move he should attract suspicion to himself. 
 In such an event, certain records filed away in the 
 archives of the police would quickly establish his 
 identity as the Gray Phantom. Nevertheless, he 
 was pleased that the descriptions carried by the news- 
 papers had made no mention of a beard. 
 
 There was a measure of safety, too, in the sheer 
 audacity with which he was proceeding. The man 
 hunters might look everywhere else, but they would 
 scarcely expect to find their quarry living sumptu- 
 ously at a first-class hotel. His free and easy mode 
 of conduct, unmarked by the slightest effort at con- 
 cealment, afforded a protection which he could not 
 have found in the shabbiest hovel and under the 
 most elaborate disguise. 
 
 Yet, despite all the safeguards his brain could 
 invent, the situation was perilous enough to give the 
 Gray Phantom all the excitement his nature craved. 
 His pulses throbbed, and there was a keen sparkle 
 in his eyes as he left the hotel and went out on the 
 streets. The very air seemed charged with a qual- 
 ity that held him in a state of piquant suspense. The 
 policemen appeared more alert than usual, and now 
 and then snatches of conversation reached his ears 
 from little groups at street corners and in doorways 
 who were avidly discussing the Gage murder and the 
 
MR. ADAIR, OF BOSTON 37 
 
 chances of the Gray Phantom being caught. At each 
 subway entrance and elevated stairway loitered a 
 seemingly slothful and impassive character whom 
 his trained eye easily identified as a detective. 
 
 Chuckling softly in his beard, the Phantom walked 
 on. No one seemed to suspect that the striking and 
 faultlessly garbed figure that sauntered down the 
 streets with such a carefree and easy stride, looking 
 for all the world like a leisurely gentleman out for 
 his morning constitutional, might be the object of one 
 of the most thorough and far-reaching man hunts 
 :ever undertaken by the police. Occasionally he 
 paused to inspect a window display, incidentally 
 listening to a discussion in which his name was fre- 
 quently mentioned. The East Houston Street mur- 
 der, which under ordinary circumstances would have 
 attracted but passing notice, had become a tremen- 
 dous sensation because of the Gray Phantom's sup- 
 posed connection with it. 
 
 Gradually he veered off the crowded thorough- 
 fares and entered into a maze of crooked, narrow, 
 and squalid streets where housewives and children 
 with dirt-streaked faces viewed his imposing figure 
 with frank curiosity. After a glance at a corner 
 sign he turned east, quickening his pace a little and 
 scanning the numbers over the doorways as he pro- 
 ceeded. One of the buildings, a murky brick front 
 with a funeral wreath hanging on the door and a 
 tobacconist's sign lettered across the ground-floor 
 window, he regarded with more than casual interest. 
 
 "Sylvanus Gage, Dealer in Pipes, Tobacco, and 
 Cigars," he read in passing; then, after a moment's 
 hesitation, he pursued his eastward course, a thought- 
 ful pucker between his eyes. He was trying to out- 
 line a course of procedure, a matter to which 
 hitherto he had given scant attention, for the Phan- 
 
38 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 torn was the veriest tyro in the science of criminal 
 investigation. It occurred to him that one of his 
 first steps should be an inspection of the scene of the 
 murder. 
 
 A few blocks farther east he turned into a once 
 famous restaurant and ordered luncheon. He dal- 
 lied over the dishes, smoked a cigar while he drank 
 his coffee, and it was after three o'clock when he 
 left the place and headed in the direction of the 
 tobacco store. This time he paused in front of the 
 establishment, looked through the window, and find- 
 ing the interior deserted, resolutely rang the bell. 
 Some time passed before the side door was opened 
 by a flat-chested woman with sharp features and 
 unkempt gray hair. 
 
 "What do you want?" she demanded sulkily, re- 
 garding the caller with oddly piercing eyes. "Can't 
 you see the store's closed?" 
 
 The Phantom lifted his hat and smiled urbanely. 
 "Sorry to intrude," he murmured. "You are Mrs. 
 Trippe, I believe?" 
 
 "Well, suppose I am?" 
 
 "The late Mr. Gage's housekeeper?" 
 
 "What's that to you?" 
 
 "I am Mr. Adair, of Boston," explained the 
 Phantom, unruffled by her churlish demeanor. He 
 and the woman had met once or twice during his 
 stormy interviews with Gage, but he felt sure she did 
 not recognize him. "You may have heard of me as 
 an amateur investigator of crime," he went on easily. 
 "I have established a modest reputation in that line. 
 This morning I happened to read an account of Mr. 
 Gage's tragic death, and some of the circumstances 
 impressed me as interesting. Could I trouble you 
 to show me the room in which the crime was com- 
 mitted?" 
 
MR. ADAIR, OF BOSTON 39 
 
 His hand was in the act of extracting a bank note 
 'from his pocket, but he checked it in time, a sixth 
 sense warning him that Mrs. Trippe might resent 
 an attempt to grease her palm. 
 
 "I don't see what you want to pester me for," 
 she muttered sullenly, fixing him with a look of ob- 
 vious suspicion. "The police have almost worried 
 the life out of me with their fool questions and carry- 
 ings-on. The case is settled and there's nothing 
 more to investigate." 
 
 "Sure of that, Mrs. Trippe?" He had detected 
 a faint hesitancy in her speech and manner, and he 
 was quick to take advantage of it. Incidentally he 
 noticed that she had aged a great deal since he last 
 saw her, and he doubted whether he should have 
 recognized her if they had met by chance. "What 
 about the murder's manner of escape?" he added. 
 *'I understand that hasn't been explained yet." 
 
 "Well, he escaped, didn't he? I don't see that it 
 makes any difference how he did it. The Gray Phan- 
 tom always did things his own way. But," after 
 a few moments' wavering, M you can come in and 
 look around." 
 
 Her abrupt acquiescence surprised him, and he 
 guessed it was not wholly due to a desire to be 
 obliging. He wondered, as he followed her through 
 the store, whether her decision to admit him was not 
 prompted by a wish to see what deductions he would 
 make after inspecting the scene of the crime. 
 
 She opened the inner door, remarking that the 
 damage wrought by Officer Pinto had been repaired 
 a few hours after the murder and that the police 
 department's seal had been removed only a short 
 while ago. The Phantom passed into the narrow 
 chamber, only slightly altered in appearance sine ; 
 the time of his last visit. The realization that he was 
 
40 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 viewing the scene of a crime supposed to have been 
 perpetrated by himself appealed strongly to his dra- 
 matic instinct, and the thought that at this moment 
 the police were searching for him with a fine-toothed 
 comb lent a touch of humor to the situation. 
 
 The woman stepped to the small window in the 
 rear and raised the shade, then stationed herself at 
 the door, peering at him out of wary, narrow-lidded 
 eyes, as if intent on his slightest move. The Phan- 
 tom glanced at the rickety desk at which Gage had 
 sat while haggling over petty sums and figuring per- 
 centages to the fraction of a cent. 
 
 "I see one of the drawers has been forced open," 
 he remarked. 
 
 "Lieutenant Culligore did that," explained the 
 woman. "That was the drawer where Mr. Gage 
 kept most of his valuables." 
 
 "Including the Maltese cross," the Phantom 
 smilingly put in. 
 
 Mrs. Trippe nodded. "There's a spring some- 
 where that opens and shuts it, but none of us could 
 find it, and so Lieutenant Culligore had to break 
 the drawer open." 
 
 "Yet the cross was gone," observed the Phantom, 
 "and the drawer was intact w T hen Lieutenant Culli- 
 gore found it. That would seem to indicate that the 
 murderer knew how to operate the spring." 
 
 "Well, hasn't the Phantom proved that he knows 
 just about all there is to know?" 
 
 "I am sure the Phantom would feel highly com- 
 plimented if he could hear you say that." He 
 smiled discreetly, realizing that here was another 
 item of proof, for he was willing to wager that, 
 though he had never seen Gage work the spring, he 
 could have opened the drawer without laying violent 
 hands upon it. He turned to the window, carefully 
 
MR ADAIR, OF BOSTON 41 
 
 examined the catch, then raised the lower half and 
 endeavored to thrust his shoulders through the open- 
 ing. The attempt satisfied him that even a smaller 
 man than himself would have found it impossible to 
 squeeze through. 
 
 That left only the door as a means of egress and 
 ingress, and the door had been bolted on the inside 
 when Officer Pinto arrived, which circumstance 
 seemed to render it flatly impossible for the mur- 
 derer to have escaped that way. He tried the lock 
 and examined the stout bolt, then stepped through 
 to the other side, closing the door behind him. A 
 wrinkle of perplexity appeared above his eyes. Even 
 the Phantom's nimble wits could not devise a way 
 of passing through the door and leaving it bolted on 
 the inside. The feat did not seem feasible, and yet 
 the murderer must have accomplished it. His face 
 wore a frown as he reentered the little chamber. 
 
 "Can't figger it out, eh?" The housekeeper 
 seemed to have read his mind. "Well, you needn't 
 try. The police did, and they had to give it up as 
 a bad job. The Phantom has a cute little way with 
 him, doing things so they can't be explained." 
 
 "And yet," facing her squarely, "you don't think 
 the Phantom committed the murder?" 
 
 A scarcely perceptible shiver ran through her 
 shrunken figure. "What else can I think?" she 
 parried. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. The impression 
 haunted him that she was not so sure of the Phan- 
 tom's guilt as she appeared. He ran his eyes over 
 the floor, the walls, and the murky ceiling. 
 
 "And you needn't try to find any hidden openings, 
 either," she told him, again reading his unspoken 
 thoughts. "A bunch of headquarters detectives 
 spent half a day tapping the walls and the ceiling 
 
42 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 and ripping up boards in the floor. The Phan- 
 tom -" 
 
 The jangle of the bell at the outer door inter- 
 rupted her, and she looked scowlingly toward the 
 front of the store. "I guess that's Officer Pinto," 
 she muttered. "He's on night duty, but he's been 
 prowling around here most of the time since the 
 murder, asking silly questions when he ought to be 
 in bed.' 7 
 
 A hard, wary glitter appeared in the Phantom's 
 eyes as she left the room. In an instant he had 
 scented danger. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 DANGER 
 
 COOLLY, though every nerve and muscle in his 
 body were on the alert, the Phantom took a 
 case from his pocket and lighted a cigarette. 
 He stood face to face with a peril of a tangible and 
 definite kind. The protecting beard was dependable 
 only so long as he did not attract the attention of 
 the police and invite a closer scrutiny. It would not 
 for long deceive an officer whose training had made 
 him habitually suspicious of appearances and who 
 had been drilled in the art of seeing through dis- 
 guises. 
 
 Voices came from the outer room, Mrs. Trippe's 
 surly tones clashing with the gruff accents of Officer 
 Pinto. The Phantom felt a tingle of suspense. It 
 was the kind of situation he would have thoroughly 
 enjoyed but for the fact that in this instance he could 
 not jeopardize his liberty without also endangering 
 his purpose. 
 
 Footsteps approached, and presently a stocky 
 figure, with the housekeeper hovering behind, stood 
 framed in the doorway. The Phantom, smiling se- 
 renely, felt instant relief the moment he glanced at 
 the heavy and somewhat reddish features, with the 
 unimpressive jaw and the stolid look in the eyes. 
 Pinto might be a faithful plodder and a dangerous 
 adversary in a physical encounter, but it was plain 
 that he possessed only ordinary intelligence. 
 
 43 
 
44 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 "Well, who' re you?" bluntly demanded the of- 
 ficer. 
 
 It was the housekeeper who answered. u He says 
 he is Mr. What did you say your name was?" 
 
 "Mr. Adair, of Boston," replied the Phantom 
 with an air of superb tranquillity, adding the explan- 
 ation he had already invented for Mrs. Trippe's 
 benefit. "Hope I'm not intruding," he concluded. 
 
 Pinto stepped inside, his eyes fixed on the Phan- 
 tom's face in a hard stare. Then, by slow degrees, 
 the churlish expression left his features and a slightly 
 contemptuous grin took its place. 
 
 "You're welcome," he declared. "Go as far as 
 you like. I s'pose you're trying to dope out how 
 the Phantom got out of the room. Well, believe 
 me, you'll have to do some tall thinking." 
 
 The Phantom chuckled affably. Evidently Pinto 
 had classified him as one of the harmless cranks 
 who flock in the wake of the police whenever a mys- 
 terious crime has taken place. 
 
 "I was just discussing the problem with Mrs. 
 Trippe," he announced easily. "It's a fascinating 
 riddle. I infer it has gripped you, too, since you 
 come here in civilian clothes while not on duty." 
 
 "Well, I've been kidding myself along, thinking 
 maybe I would find the solution." Pinto's face bore 
 a sheepish look. "There's got to be a solution 
 somewhere, you know, and " 
 
 "And it would be a feather in your cap if you 
 were the one who found it first," put in the Phantom 
 genially. "Perhaps it would mean promotion, too 
 — who knows? But has it occurred to you that the 
 murderer's exit is no more mysterious than his en- 
 trance? If he accomplished a miracle getting out, 
 he also accomplished a miracle getting in." 
 
 "The Phantom's strong for the miracle stuff, all 
 
DANGER 
 
 45 
 
 right. But it's possible Gage himself let the mur- 
 derer in. Maybe he expected somebody to call. 
 Anyhow, we know the villain got in somehow. What 
 I'd like to know is how he got out." 
 
 The Phantom's eyes had been on the floor, near 
 the point where, according to the newspaper articles 
 he had read, Gage's body must have been found. 
 Of a sudden he looked up, and the gaze he surprised 
 in Pinto's slyly peering eyes sent a tingle of appre- 
 hension through his body. He wondered whether 
 the patrolman was as obtuse as he seemed. 
 
 "I understand," he said without a tremor in his 
 voice, "that you found the room dark upon break- 
 ing in. Couldn't the murderer have slipped out 
 while you were looking for the light switch?" 
 
 "Huh !" The contemptuous snort came from 
 Mrs. Trippe, who, with arms crossed over her chest, 
 stood in the rear of the room. "How could he, I'd 
 like to know, with me standing right outside the 
 door and a crowd of rubbernecks at the main en- 
 trance?" 
 
 The Phantom seemed to ponder. The theory he 
 had just suggested did not seem at all plausible, and 
 his only purpose in mentioning it had been to turn 
 Pinto's thoughts in a new direction. 
 
 "I'd swear the rascal wasn't in the room when I 
 broke in," declared the patrolman with emphasis. 
 
 "And he couldn't have got out before," remarked 
 the Phantom, with a grin. At the same moment he 
 felt Mrs. Trippe's eyes on his face. She was gazing 
 at him as if his last remark had made a profound 
 impression upon her. He sensed a new and baffling 
 quality in the situation, something that just eluded 
 his mental grasp, and he began to wonder whether 
 the housekeeper did not know or suspect something 
 which she had not yet told. 
 
46 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 "The Phantom's a 'devil," observed Pinto, again 
 slanting a queer glance at the other man. "Nobody 
 of flesh and bone could pull off a stunt like this. 
 Maybe some day he'll tell us how he did it. He'll 
 be roped in before long. Say," with a forced laugh, 
 "wouldn't it be funny if he should get caught right 
 here, in this room? They say a murderer always 
 comes back to the scene of his crime." 
 
 All the Phantom's self-control was required to 
 repress a start. Pinto's remark, though uttered in 
 bantering tones, was entirely too pointed to have 
 been casual, and the gleam in his eyes testified that 
 his suspicions were aroused. 
 
 "I think the Phantom's talents have been grossly 
 overestimated. When he is caught we shall prob- 
 ably find that he is quite an ordinary mortaL Don't 
 you think so, Mrs. Trippe?" 
 
 The woman started, then mumbled something 
 unintelligible under her breath. 
 
 "Well, maybe," said Pinto. "I've got a feeling 
 in my elbow that says he'll be caught before night, 
 and then we'll see. He may be an ordinary mortal, 
 but I'll be mighty interested to know how he got 
 out of this room. Got any ideas on the subject, 
 Mr. Adair?" 
 
 The Phantom's frown masked the swift working 
 of his mind. "Yes, but you will laugh when I tell 
 you what they are. My frank opinion is that the 
 Phantom had nothing whatever to do with this 
 murder." 
 
 Mrs. Trippe stared at the Phantom as if expecting 
 an astounding revelation to fall from his lips. 
 
 Patrolman Pinto, too, seemed taken aback. A 
 little of the color fled from his face, and for an 
 instant his eyes held an uneasy gleam. In a moment, 
 however, he had steadied himself, and a raucous 
 
DANGER 
 
 47 
 
 chuckle voiced his opinion of the Phantom's last 
 statement. 
 
 "Say, you amateur clicks make me laugh. The 
 Phantom had nothing to do with it, "eh? Well, if 
 he didn't commit this murder, maybe you'll tell us 
 who did." 
 
 The Phantom, quiveringly alert, strolled across 
 the floor and back again. There was a bland smile 
 on his lips and the amused twinkle in his eyes con- 
 cealed the tension under which his mind was labor- 
 ing. 
 
 "That's asking a lot of an amateur detective, isn't 
 it?" he suavely inquired. "Maybe it will help you, 
 however, to know how the situation looks to a lay- 
 man. You say you are willing to swear that the 
 murderer was not in the room when you broke in. 
 It is almost equally certain, viewing the matter in 
 the natural order of things, that he could not have 
 left the room between the commission of the crime 
 and your forcible entrance. Therefore " 
 
 He broke off, feeling a violent rush of blood to the 
 head. He had been talking against time, hoping to 
 find a way of diverting Pinto's suspicions from him- 
 self. Suddenly it struck him that his. rambling dis- 
 course had led him straight to the solution of the 
 mystery. The revelation flashed through his mind 
 like a swift, blinding glare. To hide his agitation he 
 lighted a cigarette. Through the spinning rings of 
 smoke he saw the housekeeper's ashen face, mouth 
 gaping and eyes staring with fierce intensity. 
 
 "Well?" prompted Pinto. His voice was a trifle 
 shaky. 
 
 The Phantom was himself again. "Well, as I 
 was about to say, if the murderer was not in the room 
 when you broke in, then the circumstances point 
 
48 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 straight to you, Mr. Pinto, as the murderer o£ 
 Sylvanus Gage." 
 
 For a time the room was utterly still. The police- 
 man seemed torn between astonishment and a 
 nervous fear. The housekeeper held her breath, her 
 features twisted into a smile that rendered her ex- 
 pression ghastly. 
 
 "I knew it!" she cried. "I knew it all the time!" 
 
 "You must be crazy," muttered Pinto, at last find- 
 ing his voice. 
 
 "Not at all. But for the fact that you are an 
 officer in good standing, you would have been sus- 
 pected immediately. In the light of all the circum- 
 stances, it stands to reason that the man who broke 
 through the door was the man who murdered Gage. 
 No one else could have done it. Mrs. Trippe, do 
 you remember how long Pinto was alone in the room 
 after forcing his way in?" 
 
 The housekeeper seemed to search her memory. 
 "It took him several moments to find the electric- 
 light switch," she mumbled haltingly. "After that — 
 well, he was in there for some time before he came 
 out. Maybe two minutes, maybe five — I can't be 
 sure." 
 
 "At any rate, long enough to drive a knife into 
 Gage's chest." There was an exultant throb in the 
 Phantom's tones, the eagerness of the hunter who 
 is tracking down his quarry. "Gage, we may assume, 
 was awakened by the noise when the door crashed in, 
 and sprang from his bed. You probably grappled 
 in the dark. Then " 
 
 Pinto interrupted with a harsh, strident laugh. 
 "Some cock-and-bull story you're handing us! If 
 I killed Gage, then Mrs. Trippe here must have 
 been in on the job. It was she who called me and 
 told me to force the door." 
 
DANGER 
 
 49 
 
 The Phantom waved his hand airily. "Because 
 she had heard a mysterious noise. That noise may 
 have been prearranged to give you a chance to knife 
 Gage. I don't pretend to understand all the minor 
 details yet, but the essentials are clear as day. You 
 must have committed the murder, for the simple 
 reason that nobody else could have done it." 
 
 "Yeh?" There was a vicious sneer in Pinto's 
 face. "Maybe you'll tell me, then, why Gage thought 
 the Phantom was the one who knifed him." 
 
 "Because of the forged letter he had received the 
 day before. Besides, Pinto, w T e don't know that Gage 
 thought anything of the kind. We have nothing but 
 your word for it. You were the only witness to the 
 declaration you say Gage made. A man who will 
 commit a cowardly murder is also capable of telling 
 a lie." 
 
 Great bluish veins stood out on Pinto's forehead. 
 "You're doing fine for an amateur dick," he jeered. 
 "All you've got to do now is to figger out a motive, 
 and the case will be complete." 
 
 "Motive? Ah, yes! The Duke has a habit of 
 recruiting his men in queer places. Once he had an 
 assistant district attorney on his staff; at another time 
 an associate professor of philosophy with a penchant 
 for forbidden things. Why shouldn't he have a hard- 
 working patrolman?" 
 
 Pinto's figure squirmed beneath his gaze. 
 
 "Such a man would prove useful to the Duke, 
 especially if he wanted to frame an enemy," pursued 
 the Phantom. "Nobody suspects a policeman. A 
 man in uniform is beyond reproach. Even if the 
 circumstances of a crime point straight to him as 
 the perpetrator, it is always easier to suspect some- 
 body else, particularly someone who has a criminal 
 record. I guess you banked on that, Pinto." 
 
50 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 His tones bespoke a free and easy confidence, but 
 he felt none of it. He believed that the murderer 
 of Syivanus Gage stood before him, but his only 
 reason for thinking so was that, so far as appearances 
 went, no one else could have committed the crime. 
 He was poignantly aware that his theory would be 
 laughed at and derided, and that he himself would 
 be subjected to the hollow farce of a trial which must 
 inevitably result in his conviction. Once in the 
 clutches of the police, his chances of clearing him- 
 self would be extremely slender. "Well, Pinto, what 
 about it?" His tones were clear and faintly taunt- 
 ing, giving no hint of the swift play of his wits. 
 "Did you take the precaution of arranging an alibi ?" 
 
 "No, I didn't." The policeman spoke defiantly. 
 For an instant he fumbled about his pockets, as if 
 searching for something. Evidently the object he 
 wanted was not to be found about his civilian garb. 
 xi l didn't have to fix up an alibi. Say, Mr. 
 Adair " 
 
 He paused for a moment and came a step closer 
 to the Phantom. 
 
 "Say," he went on, "while you're telling us so 
 much, maybe you'll tell us how long the Gray Phan- 
 tom has been wearing a beard." 
 
 Momentarily startled by the verbal thrust, the 
 Phantom was unprepared for the physical attack that 
 instantly followed. He felt the sudden impact of 
 the policeman's ponderous body, precipitating him 
 against the farther wall of the chamber. In a 
 moment, with unexpected agility, the officer had 
 seized Mrs. Trippe by the arm and hurried her from 
 the room. 
 
 Then a 'door slammed and a key turned gratingly 
 in the lock. The Gray Phantom was alone, a 
 prisoner. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE WAY OUT 
 
 DUSK was falling, and the little room was al- 
 most dark. The sudden attack, all the more 
 surprising because of Pinto's previous air of 
 stolidity, had left the Phantom a trifle dazed, but 
 in a twinkling he realized the full seriousness of his 
 dilemma. The door had no sooner slammed than 
 he was on his feet, regaining his breath and flexing 
 his muscles for action. 
 
 With a spring agile as a panther's he threw him- 
 self against the door. Once it had succumbed to 
 the superior weight of Patrolman Pinto's body, but 
 the Phantom's leaner and nimbler figure was no 
 match for its solid resistance. After thrice hurling 
 himself against the obstruction, he saw that he was 
 only wasting time and strength. 
 
 Hurriedly he switched on the light. From his 
 pocket he took a box containing an assortment of 
 small tools which on several occasions had stood him 
 in good stead. In vain he tried to manipulate the 
 lock, finding that it was too solidly imbedded in the 
 wood. Next he tried the hinges, but the flaps were 
 fastened on the other side of the door and there- 
 fore inaccessible. He cudgeled his wits, but to no 
 avail; evidently the door was an impassable barrier. 
 It seemed by far the most substantial part of the 
 room, suggesting that Gage might have had it spe- 
 cially constructed as a protection against burglars. 
 
 51 
 
52 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 He sprang to the window, then recalled that He 
 had already ascertained that it was too narrow to 
 permit him to crawl through. Another precaution 
 of the wily Sylvanus Gage, he grimly reflected. His 
 eyes, quick and crafty, darted over floor, ceiling, and 
 walls, but nowhere could he see a sign of a movable 
 panel or a hidden passage, and he remembered Mrs. 
 Trippe's statement that headquarters detectives had 
 spent half a day searching for a secret exit. Though 
 he worked his wits at furious speed, the situation 
 baffled his ingenuity. 
 
 The Phantom perceived he was trapped. The 
 amazing luck that had attended him in the past had 
 made him reckless and indiscreet, and now it seemed 
 to have deserted him like a fickle charmer. He sup- 
 posed that Pinto, too shrewd to attempt to deal 
 single-handed with such a slippery and dangerous 
 adversary as the Gray Phantom, was already in com- 
 munication with headquarters, summoning reinforce- 
 ments. In a few minutes he would be hemmed in 
 on all sides and pounced upon by overwhelming num- 
 bers of policemen, and in a little while the newspapers 
 would shriek the sensation that at last the Gray 
 Phantom had been captured. 
 
 It surprised him that he could view the end of his 
 career with philosophical calm, unaffected by vain 
 regrets. He had always suspected that some day art 
 overbold play on his part would result in his undo- 
 ing, and he had trained himself to look upon his 
 ultimate defeat with the indifference of a cynic and 
 fatalist, but he had never guessed that the crisis 
 would come like this. He smiled faintly as it dawned 
 on him that the disaster which now stared him in 
 the face was the direct result of his determination to 
 vindicate himself in the eyes of a woman. He had 
 
THE WAY OUT 
 
 53 
 
 played for high stakes in the past, but Helen Hard- 
 wick's faith in him was the highest of them all. 
 
 His smile faded as quickly as it had come. There 
 was a sting in the realization that his boldest and 
 biggest game was foredoomed to failure. Only a 
 few more minutes of liberty remained, and after that 
 all chance of exculpating himself would be gone. 
 Officer Pinto, having become famous of a sudden as 
 the Gray Phantom's captor, would now, more than 
 ever before, be beyond suspicion, and he could be 
 depended upon to make the most of his advantage. 
 The Phantom, whose hands had never been sullied 
 by contact with blood, would be an object of horror 
 and loathing as the perpetrator of a vile and sordid 
 murder. Helen Hardwick, like all the rest, would 
 shudder at mention of his name. 
 
 The dismal thoughts went like flashes through his 
 mind. Only a few minutes had passed since the door 
 slammed. The thought of Helen Hardwick caused 
 a sudden stiffening of his figure and imbued him with 
 a fierce desire for freedom. He refused to believe 
 that his star had set and that this was the end. Many 
 a time he had wriggled out of corners seemingly as 
 tight and unescapable as the present one, chuckling 
 at the discomfiture of the police and the bedevilment 
 of his foes. Why could he not achieve another of 
 the astounding feats that had made his name 
 famous? 
 
 He spurred his wits to furious effort, repeatedly 
 telling himself that somewhere there must be a way 
 out. It was hard to believe that a man like Sylvanus 
 Gage, living in constant danger of a surprise visit 
 by the police, had not provided himself with an 
 emergency exit. Despite the failure of the detectives 
 to find it, there must be a concealed door or secret 
 
54 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 passage somewhere, though without doubt it was 
 hidden in a way worthy of Gage's foxlike cunning. 
 
 He ran to the door and shot the bolt. The police 
 would be forced to break their way in, and this would 
 give him a few moments' respite. Again, as several 
 times before in the last few minutes, his eyes strayed 
 to the window. Though he knew it was far too 
 narrow to afford a means of escape, it kept attract- 
 ing his gaze and tantalizing his imagination. Decid- 
 ing to make a second attempt, he hastened across the 
 floor, pushed up the lower sash, and edged his 
 shoulder into the opening. Writhe and wriggle as 
 he might, he could not squeeze through. Even a 
 man of Gage's scrawny build would have become 
 wedged in the frame had he attempted it. 
 
 Outside the house a gong clanged, signaling the 
 arrival of the police patrol. From the front came 
 sharp commands and excited voices. Already, the 
 Phantom guessed, a cordon was being thrown around 
 the block, ensnaring him like a fish in a net. Precious 
 moments passed, and still he was unable to take his 
 eyes from the window. A vague and unaccountable 
 instinct told him that his only hope of safety lay 
 in that direction. 
 
 He raised the shade a little and looked out upon: 
 a court disfigured by ramshackle sheds and heaps of 
 refuse. Several temporary hiding places awaited him 
 out there, if he could only get through the window. 
 Even an extra inch or two added to its width would 
 enable him to wriggle out of the trap. But how 
 
 The answer came to him with sudden, blinding 
 force. Yet it was simple and obvious enough; in 
 fact, the only reason he had not thought of it before 
 was that his mind had been searching for something 
 more intricate and remote. It had not occurred to 
 him that the extra inch or two that he needed could 
 
THE WAY OUT 
 
 55 
 
 be provided by the simple expedient of dislodging 
 the window frame. 
 
 Already his fingers were tearing and tugging at 
 the woodwork. He noticed that the casements were 
 thick, so that the removal of the frame would give 
 him considerable additional space, yet he had been 
 at work only a few moments when he discovered 
 that his plan was far more difficult of execution than 
 he had expected. The frame, at first glance, ill- 
 fitting and insecurely fastened, resisted all his efforts. 
 His nails were torn and there were bleeding scratches 
 on his fingers. He looked about him for something 
 that he could use as a lever. 
 
 Someone was trying the lock, then came a loud 
 pounding on the door. 
 
 "Open!" commanded a voice. 
 
 The Phantom, failing to find any implement that 
 would serve his purpose, inserted his fingers beneath 
 the sill and tugged with all his strength. 
 
 "Come and get me!" was the taunt he flung back 
 over his shoulder. Then he pulled again, but the 
 sill did not yield. He straightened his body and 
 attacked the perpendicular frame to the right, but 
 again he encountered nothing but solid resistance. 
 
 "The game's up, Phantom," said the voice out- 
 side the door. "Might as well give in. If you don't 
 we'll bust the door." 
 
 The Phantom worked with frantic strength. His 
 knuckles were bruised, his muscles ached, and sweat 
 poured from his forehead. 
 
 "I'll drill a hole through the first man who enters 
 this room," he cried loudly, hoping that the threat 
 would cause the men outside to hesitate for a few 
 moments longer before battering down the door. 
 Then, placing his feet on the sill, he centered his 
 efforts on the horizontal bar at the top. 
 
56 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 A quick glance through the window revealed a 
 broad-shouldered man in uniform standing with his 
 back to a shed. Evidently the cordon was tighten- 
 ing. Even if he succeeded in getting through the 
 window, he would have to fight his way through a 
 human barrier. The outlook was almost hopeless, 
 but he persisted with the tenacity that comes of de- 
 spair. He sprang from the sill, turned the electric 
 light switch, plunging the room into darkness and 
 hiding his movements from the eyes of the man out- 
 side, then leaped back to his former position and 
 tugged frenziedly at the horizontal piece. 
 
 Of a sudden his hand slipped and a metallic pro- 
 tuberance scratched his wrist. With habitual atten- 
 tion to detail, he wound his handkerchief around the 
 injured surface, stopping the flow of blood. If by a 
 miracle he should succeed in getting out, he did not 
 care to leave behind any clews to his movements. 
 Another sharp glance through the window satisfied 
 him that the man at the shed was not looking in his 
 'direction. Then he ran his fingers along the horizon- 
 tal frame, found the object that had wounded him, 
 and discovered that it was a nail. 
 
 The hubbub outside the door had ceased momen- 
 tarily. Suddenly there came a loud crash, as if a 
 heavy body had dashed against the door. The Phan- 
 tom, a suspicion awakening amid the jumble of his 
 racing thoughts, fingered the nail, twisting it hither 
 and thither. It occurred to him in a twinkling that 
 it was an odd place for a nail, since it could serve 
 no apparent purpose. In a calmer moment he would 
 have thought nothing of it, but his mind was keyed 
 to that tremendous pitch where minor details are 
 magnified. 
 
 Another crash sounded, accompanied by an 
 ominous squeaking of cracking timber. He bent the 
 
THE WAY OUT 
 
 57 
 
 nail to one side, noticing that its resistance to pressure 
 was elastic, differing from the inert feel of objects 
 lirmly imbedded in solid wood. An inspiration came 
 to him out of the stress of the moment. He twisted 
 the nail in various directions, at the same time tug- 
 ging energetically at a corner of the frame. 
 
 Once more a smashing force was hurled against 
 the door, followed by a portentous, splintering crack. 
 Quivering with suspense, his mind fixed with des- 
 perate intentness on a dim, tantalizing hope, the 
 Phantom continued to bend and twist the nail at all 
 possible angles. He knew that at any moment the 
 door was likely to collapse, and then 
 
 He uttered a hoarse cry of elation. Of a sudden, 
 as he bent the nail in a new direction, it gave a 
 quick rebound, and in the same instant the frame 
 yielded to his steady pull, as if swinging on a hinge, 
 revealing an opening in the side of the uncommonly 
 massive wall. For a moment his discovery dazed 
 him, then a terrific crash at the door caused him to 
 pull himself together, and in a moment he had 
 squeezed his figure into the aperture. 
 
 He drew a long breath and wiped the blinding, 
 smarting perspiration from his face. Thanks to an' 
 accidental scratch on the wrist, he had discovered 
 Sylvanus Gage's emergency exit. And none too soon, 
 for already, with a splitting crash, the door had 
 collapsed under the repeated onslaughts of the mert 
 outside, and several shadowy forms were bursting 
 headlong into the room. 
 
 The Phantom, wedged in the narrow opening, 
 seized the side of the revolving frame and drew it 
 to. A little click signified that a spring had caught 
 it and was holding it in place. Excited voices, muffled 
 by the intervening obstruction, reached his ears. He 
 smiled as he pictured the consternation of the detec- 
 
58 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 tives upon discovering that once more the Gray 
 Phantom had lived up to his name and achieved an- 
 other of the amazing escapes that had made him 
 feared and secredy admired by the keenest sleuths in 
 the country. 
 
 He had no fear that the police would follow him, 
 for his discovery of the secret exit had been partly 
 accidental and partly due to the accelerated nimble- 
 ness of mind that comes to one laboring under 
 tremendous pressure. To the police the nail on the 
 top of the window frame would be nothing but a 
 nail. It is the hunted, not the hunter, whose mind 
 clutches at straws, and they would never guess that 
 the nail was a lever in disguise. The Phantom, as 
 he contemplated the ingenious arrangement, found 
 his respect for the dead man's inventiveness rising 
 several notches. 
 
 From the other side of the wall came loud curses, 
 mingling with dazed exclamations, baffled shouts and 
 expressions of incredulity. With a laugh at the dis- 
 comfiture of his pursuers, who but a few moments 
 ago had thought him inextricably trapped, the Phan- 
 tom moved a little farther into the opening. It 
 appeared to be slanting slowly into the ground, and 
 it was so narrow that each wriggling and writhing 
 movement bruised some portion of his body. Inch 
 by inch he worked his way downward, wondering 
 whither the passage might lead. Now the voices in 
 the room were almost beyond earshot, and he could 
 hear nothing but a low, confused din. 
 
 Presently he felt solid ground at his feet, and at 
 this point the passage turned in a horizontal direc- 
 tion. There was a slight current of dank air in the 
 tunnel, suggesting that its opposite terminus might 
 be a cellar or other subterranean compartment.] 
 Limbs aching, he moved forward, with slow twists 
 
THE WAY OUT 
 
 59 
 
 and coilings of the body. He estimated that he had 
 already covered half a dozen yards, and he wondered 
 how much farther the passage might reach. One 
 thing puzzled him as he writhed onward. Why had 
 Gage not made use of the secret exit on the night of 
 the murder? Was it, perhaps, because the murderer 
 had come upon him so suddenly that he had not 
 had time to reach the hidden opening? 
 
 He dismissed the question as too speculative. A 
 few more twists and jerks, and he found himself in 
 an open space where he could stand upright and 
 move about freely. For a few moments he fumbled 
 around in the inky darkness, finally encountering a 
 stairway. He ascended as quietly as he could, tak- 
 ing pains that the squeakings of the decaying stairs 
 should not disturb the occupants above. Reaching 
 the top, he listened intently while his hand searched 
 for a doorknob. Slowly and with infinite caution 
 he pushed the door open. Again he stopped and 
 listened. The room was dark and still, and he could 
 distinguish no objects, yet his alert mind sensed a 
 presence, and he felt a pair of sharp eyes gazing at 
 him through the shadows. 
 
 Then, out of the gloom and silence came a voice: 
 
 "Don't move!" 
 
 The words were a bit theatrical, but the voice 
 caused him to start sharply. A few paces ahead of 
 him he saw a blurry shape. His hand darted to his 
 hip pocket; then he remembered that he had left 
 his pistol in the grip at his hotel, for when he started 
 out he had not expected that his enterprise would 
 so soon take a critical turn. 
 
 u Hold up your hands," commanded the voice, and 
 again an odd quiver shot through the Phantom. 
 
 Nonchalantly he found his case and thrust a 
 cigarette between his lips. Then he struck a match, 
 
60 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 acIvanceS a few paces, gazed sharply aheaH as the 
 fluttering flame illuminated the: scene, and came to a 
 'dead stop. 
 
 He was looking straight into the muzzle of a 
 pistol, and directly behind the bluishly gleaming 
 barrel he saw the face of Helen Hardwick. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 DOCTOR BIMBLE'S LABORATORY 
 
 SHE was the last person the Gray Phantom had 
 expected to see at that moment, and this was 
 the last place where he would have dreamed of 
 finding her. He stared into her face until the flame 
 of the match bit his fingers. 
 
 "You!" He dropped the stub and trampled it 
 under his foot. She stood rigid in the shadows, and 
 the wan glint of the pistol barrel told that she was 
 still pointing the weapon at him. Her breath came 
 fast, with little soblike gasps, as if she were trying 
 to stifle a violent emotion, 
 
 "How did you get here?" she demanded, her voice 
 scarcely above a whisper. 
 
 "By a tight squeeze," he said lightly. "I must be 
 a sight." 
 
 "You came through the — tunnel?" 
 
 "I did as a matter of fact, though I don't see 
 how you guessed it." 
 
 Staring at her through the dusk, the Phantom was 
 conscious that his statement had exerted a profound 
 effect upon her. She drew a long breath, and her 
 figure, scarcely distinguishable in the gloom, seemed 
 to shrink away from him. 
 
 "Oh!" she exclaimed, an odd throb in her voice. 
 "Then you did it!" 
 
 "Did what?" 
 
 "Murdered Sylvanus Gage." 
 
 61 
 
02 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 The Phantom shook his head. u You deduce I 
 am a murderer from the fact that I got here through 
 a tunnel. Well, that may be very good feminine 
 logic, but " 
 
 "It is excellent logic, my friend," interrupted a 
 voice somewhere in the darkness; and in the same 
 moment there came a click, and a bright electric light 
 flooded the scene. The Phantom had a brief glimpse 
 of a ludicrous little man with an oversized head, a 
 round protuberance of stomach, and short, thin legs 
 ;encased in tightly fitting trousers; then he turned 
 to Helen Hardwick and gazed intently into her large, 
 misty-bright eyes. 
 
 "Oh, they're brown, I see," he murmured. "I 
 had a notion they were either blue or gray. Queer 
 how one forgets." 
 
 The girl looked as though utterly unable to under- 
 stand his levity, for as such she evidently construed 
 his remark. The thin-legged man stepped away from 
 the door through which he had entered and 
 approached them slowly, giving the Phantom a 
 gravely appraising look over the rims of his glasses. 
 The Phantom had eyes only for Helen Hardwick. 
 He studied her closely, almost reverentially, noticing 
 that her eyes, which upon his entrance had been 
 steady and cool, were now strangely agitated, radiat- 
 ing a dread that seemed to dominate her entire being. 
 The hand that clutched the pistol trembled a trifle, 
 and there were signs of an extreme tension in the 
 poise of the strong, slender figure, in the quivering 
 nostrils, and in the pallor that suffused the smooth 
 oval of her face. 
 
 "Remarkable!" murmured the spectacled indi- 
 vidual, drawing a few steps closer to obtain a clearer 
 view of the Phantom. "The young lady and myself 
 are covering you with our pistols, and yet you exhibit 
 
DOCTOR BIMBLE'S LABORATORY 63 
 
 no fear whatever. Most remarkable! May I feel 
 your pulse, sir?" 
 
 The Phantom's lips twitched at the corners as he 
 looked at the speaker. The latter's automatic, 
 pointed at a somewhat indefinite part of the Phan- 
 tom's body, seemed ludicrously large in contrast with 
 the slight stature of the man himself. 
 
 "My name, sir," declared the little man with an 
 air of vast importance, "is Doctor Tyson Bimble. 
 You may have heard of me. I have written several 
 treatises on the subject of criminal anthropology, and 
 my professional services have occasionally been en- 
 listed by the police. Not that such work interests 
 me," he added quickly. "The solution of crime 
 mysteries and the capture of criminals are the pas- 
 times of inferior minds. As a man of science, I am 
 interested solely in the criminal himself, his mental 
 and physical characteristics and the congenital traits 
 that distinguish him. Again I ask you if I may feel 
 your pulse." 
 
 Smiling, the Phantom extended his hand. Ad- 
 monishing Miss Hardwick to keep a steady aim, 
 Doctor Bimble pocketed his own weapon and took 
 out his watch. 
 
 "Perfectly normal," he declared when the exami- 
 nation was finished. "At first I thought that at least 
 a part of your superb coolness was simulated. It is 
 all the more remarkable in view of the fact that at 
 this very moment you are surrounded on all sides by 
 the police. They have thrown a cordon around the 
 block and every house is being systematically 
 searched." 
 
 The Phantom stiffened. His abrupt and unex- 
 pected meeting with Helen Hardwick had momen- 
 tarily blunted his sense of caution, causing him to 
 forget that he was still in imminent danger. He 
 
64 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 threw her a quick glance noticing a look of alarm 
 in her face. He made a rapid appraisal of the situa- 
 tion. His flight through the tunnel could not have 
 taken him more than twelve or fifteen yards from 
 the rear of the Gage establishment, and he was al- 
 most certain that the passage had extended in a 
 straight southerly 'direction. Consequently the place 
 in which he now found himself must be one of the 
 shed-like structures he had seen from the window 
 of Gage's bedroom. 
 
 His eyes opened wide as he looked around. What- 
 ever the place might look like from the outside, the 
 interior certainly did not have the appearance of a 
 shed. It was a strange setting, and it seemed all the 
 stranger because he had found Helen Hardwick in it. 
 At one end was a long bench covered with bottles, 
 glass jars, tubes, and a queer-looking assortment of 
 chemical apparatus. The walls were lined with rows 
 of tall cabinets with glass doors, each containing a 
 skeleton, and above these was a frieze of photo- 
 graphs and X-ray prints in black frames. 
 
 He wondered how Miss Hardwick happened to 
 be in such strange surroundings. Her large, long- 
 lashed eyes avoided him, and her right hand, 
 cramped about the handle of the pistol, wavered a 
 trifle. She had changed since their last meeting, 
 he noticed. She had seemed half child and half 
 woman then, a vivacious young creature with a mix- 
 ture of reckless audacity, demure wistfulness and 
 adorable shyness whose bewildering contradictions 
 had enhanced a loveliness that had gone to the Phan- 
 tom's head like foaming wine. In the course of a 
 few months she had acquired the subtle and indefin- 
 able something that differentiates girlhood from 
 womanhood. Her face — he had liked to think of 
 it as heart-shaped — Ka9 sobered a little, and the 
 
DOCTOR BIMBLE'S LABORATORY 
 
 65 
 
 graceful lines of chin and throat seemed firmer. 
 Faintly penciled shadows at the corners of her lips 
 hinted that a touch of somberness had crept into her 
 mood, but even such a trifling detail as a few wisps 
 of loosened hair dangling sportively against her 
 cheeks seemed to go a long way toward upsetting 
 this effect. 
 
 Doctor Bimble's thin and rasping voice startled 
 the Phantom out of his reverie. 
 
 "My laboratory, sir," he explained with a com- 
 prehensive wave of the hand. "What you see here 
 is probably the most remarkable collection of its kind 
 in the world. Each of these skeletons represents a. 
 distinct criminal type. Here, for instance are the 
 bones of Raschenell, the famous apache. They are 
 supposed to be buried in a cemetery in Paris, but 
 a certain French official for whom I once did a favor 
 was obliging. In my private rogues' gallery you see 
 photographs of some of the most notorious criminals 
 the world has ever known, and these X-ray pictures 
 illustrate various pathological conditions usually 
 associated with criminal tendencies. Quite remark- 
 able, you will admit." 
 
 "Quite," said the Phantom a little absendy, as if 
 his mind were occupied with more pressing matters 
 than the bones of notorious malefactors. 
 
 "You may feel perfectly at ease, my friend." The 
 little doctor, noticing the Phantom's abstraction, 
 spoke soothingly. "I think I have already made it 
 clear that the pursuit and capture of criminals don't 
 interest me. Without doubt we shall arrive at some 
 amicable understanding that will insure your safety." 
 
 "Understanding?" echoed the Phantom, having 
 detected a slight but significant emphasis on the 
 word. 
 
 "Yes; why not? You have interested me for some 
 
66 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 time, Mr. — ahem. Let me see — I believe your real 
 name is Cuthbert Vanardy?" 
 The Phantom nodded. 
 
 "Making due allowance for the exaggerations of 
 stupid newspaper writers, I have long recognized that 
 you are a remarkable individual. Yes, remarkable. 
 You do not belong to any of the types mentioned 
 by Prichard, Pinel, and Lombroso, but you are a type 
 of your own. Naturally you arouse my scientific 
 curiosity. Nothing would please me more than to 
 add you to my collection." 
 
 The Phantom glanced at the grisly contents of 
 the cabinets. A serio-comic grin wrinkled his face. 
 "Aren't you a bit hasty, doctor? I am not dead yet, 
 you know." 
 
 "True — quite true. But a man like you leads a 
 precarious existence. If he doesn't break his neck 
 in some rash adventure the electric chair is always a 
 menacing possibility. The chances are that I shall 
 outlive you by a score of years. Promise that you 
 will give the matter due consideration." 
 
 The Phantom blinked his eyes. Doctor Bimble 
 seemed amiable enough, yet the man was scarcely 
 human. His whole being was wrapped up in his 
 science and his entire world was composed of anthro- 
 pological specimens and fine-spun theories. 
 
 "You wish me to make arrangements to have my 
 body turned over to you after my death?" 
 
 "Precisely, Mr. Vanardy. That is what my friend 
 and neighbor, Sylvanus Gage, did. An inferior 
 personality, yet he had his points of interest. I am 
 obliged to you for hastening his demise." 
 
 A tremulous gasp sounded in the room. The 
 Phantom turned, and his brow clouded as he noticed 
 the expression of anguish that had crossed Helen's 
 face at the doctor's words. 
 
DOCTOR BIMBLE'S LABORATORY 67 
 
 "You're mistaken, Bimble," he declared sharply; 
 "I didn't kill Gage. If I had done so, I should 
 scarcely be here at the present monient." 
 
 Doctor Bimble shrugged his shoulders. "The 
 matter is of little consequence, my dear sir. Whether 
 or not you killed Gage is not of the slightest interest 
 to me. However," with a significant glance at 
 Vanardy's mud-streaked clothing and begrimed fea- 
 tures, "I am strongly of the opinion that you did. 
 The only thing that perplexes me is that you are 
 taking the trouble to deny it. Did I hear you say 
 that you came here through the tunnel?" 
 
 "I did." As he spoke the two words, the Phan- 
 tom felt Helen's eyes searching his face. 
 
 "Enough." The anthropologist made a gesture 
 expressive of finality. "Your admission that you 
 came through the tunnel is an admission that you 
 killed Gage. I perceive you do not follow me. Well, 
 then, the circumstances of the crime prove conclu- 
 sively that it was committed by someone who was 
 aware of the existence of the tunnel. What the 
 foolish newspapers refer to as astounding and 
 miraculous is simplicity itself. The murderer entered 
 Gage's bedchamber by way of the underground pas- 
 sage and made his escape by the same route. Nothing 
 could be simpler." 
 
 The Phantom laughed mirthlessly. The doctor's 
 theory, though at first glance shallow and far-fetched, 
 impressed him uncomfortably, instilling in his mind 
 an idea that had not occurred to him until now. 
 Helen, standing a few paces away, was regarding 
 him intently. 
 
 "To-day, I infer, you returned to the scene of 
 your crime," continued the doctor, speaking in the 
 dry tones of one developing a thesis. "Criminals 
 often do, but why you, a superior type, should exhibit 
 
68 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 the same failing is beyond me. Some time in the 
 near future I shall write a monograph on the subject, 
 with particular reference to your individual case. 
 However, the fact remains that you returned to the 
 scene of your crime. I take it that by some blunder 
 or careless move you betrayed your presence. At any 
 rate, you found yourself trapped in Gage's bed- 
 chamber. What more natural than that, for the 
 second time within a week, you should use the tunnel 
 as a means of escape ?" 
 
 The Phantom was silent for a moment. Helen 
 Hardwick seemecl to be searching his soul with eyes 
 that gave him a distressing impression of doubt, sus- 
 picion, and reproach. 
 
 "You're mistaken." He was addressing the 
 'doctor, but the effect of his words was intended for 
 the girl. "I went to Gage's house this afternoon, 
 hoping to find some clew to the murderer." 
 
 "Ah!" The doctor's chuckle expresse'd amuse- 
 ment. "You were acting on the idea that it takes 
 a crook to catch a crook, I suppose. Go on. Your 
 ingenious explanations are 'diverting." 
 
 "I found myself cornered," continued the Phan- 
 tom, stifling his resentment. "With the house sur- 
 rounded and the police pouncling on the cloor, I had 
 only a few moments in which to finH a way out. I 
 used the tunnel, but I discovered the opening by 
 merest accident." 
 
 "Impossible — flatly impossible ! Yes, I see your 
 wrist is scratched, but that proves nothing. That 
 opening, my dear sir, could never have been dis- 
 covered by accident." 
 
 "You seem to know something about it yourself," 
 remarked the Phantom pointedly. 
 
 "I 'do," aHmitteH the anthropologist, with a broad 
 grin. 
 
DOCTOR BUMBLE'S LABORATORY 69 
 
 "And the tunnel runs into the cellar of your 
 house." 
 
 "So it does." The doctor seemed not at all dis- 
 turbed by Vanardy's sharp gaze. "Years ago, when 
 I was looking for an inconspicuous and out-of-the- 
 way place in which to pursue my studies in quiet, I 
 leased the house to which this laboratory forms an 
 extension. I saw Gage now and then, and the man 
 interested me. Even before we became confidential 
 I had noticed phrenological manifestations that 
 seemed to classify him as belonging to one of the 
 types described by Lombroso. Step by step I be- 
 came familiar with his history and mode of life. I 
 learned that he was conducting an extensive traffic 
 in stolen goods, and that he had a broad circle of 
 acquaintances in the underworld. Gage proved use- 
 ful, introducing me to criminals whom I wished to 
 study at close range, and, in addition to that, the man 
 himself interested me. I saw traits and peculiarities 
 in him that were strangely contradictory. And so, 
 when one day he confided to me that he was living 
 in constant fear of the police, who were likely to raid 
 his premises at any time and confiscate his valuables, 
 I made a proposition to him." 
 
 "You offered to help on the condition that he sign 
 his body over to you for dissecting purposes," 
 guessed the Phantom. 
 
 "Exactly, my friend." Bimble rubbed his hands 
 in glee. "I offered to invent an avenue of escape 
 that would be absolutely safe and proof against de- 
 tection. Gage accepted, and I set to work fulfilling 
 my part of the bargain. The result, if I may bestow 
 compliments on myself, was a work of genius." 
 
 The Phantom gazed in frank astonishment at the 
 versatile anthropologist. "The police have a nasty 
 name for that sort of thing," he observed. 
 
70 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 "The police and I are friends. I help them on 
 occasions, when the spirit moves me and the case 
 interests me. And a scientific man, my dear sir, 
 cannot afford to have moral scruples. The ends of 
 science justify all other things, even assisting a crim- 
 inal to escape. Incidentally I derived a lot of en- 
 tertainment out of the planning of the tunnel. In 
 the first place, the window was purposely built so 
 small that no one would consider it for a moment 
 as a possible means of escape. Still less would any 
 one think of looking for an exit hidden behind the 
 frame of such a window. You noticed the nail, of 
 course. A lot of psychology is centered around that 
 nail." 
 
 "So it's a psychological nail, eh?" The Phantom 
 looked at the scratch on his wrist. 
 
 "I knew, from my observations of the workings 
 of the human mind, that not one person in ten mil- 
 lion would give a second thought to that nail. Even 
 if, by remote chance, someone should touch it, he 
 would never suspect that it was a part of a mechan- 
 ism. If, by a still remoter chance, he would in- 
 vestigate more closely, he would not know how to 
 operate it. So, you see, there is not one chance in a 
 billion that a stranger would find the tunnel. Do you 
 blame me for doubting your statement that you 
 found it by accident?" 
 
 The Phantom looked at Miss Hardwick. Doctor 
 Bimble's explanation seemed to have impressed her 
 strongly. He did not wonder at this, for he knew 
 there was logic in the anthropologist's argument. 
 Nothing but his firm belief that Gage had provided 
 himself with an emergency exit of some sort had 
 prompted the Phantom to give the nail a closer 
 scrutiny. 
 
 Doctor Bimble gave him a mildly amused look. 
 
DOCTOR BIMBLE'S LABORATORY 71 
 
 "You agree with me — 'don't you, Vanardy? I think 
 my logic holds together. Only a person familiar 
 with the tunnel could have committed the murder. 
 Conversely, a person betraying a knowledge of the 
 tunnel is a worthy object of suspicion." 
 
 "Haven't you forgotten something?" The Phan- 
 tom suddenly called to mind his own theory of the 
 crime. "One other person could have committed the 
 murder without a knowledge of the tunnel." 
 
 "Yes, I know," said the doctor wearily. "You 
 are thinking of Officer Pinto. The possibility that 
 he might be the guilty one occurred to me as soon as 
 I saw the newspaper account, but the probabilities 
 of the case controverted that view. Officer Pinto is 
 an honest, dull-witted, conscientious soul — nothing 
 else. That kind of man doesn't com " 
 
 The jangling of a bell in front of the house inter- 
 rupted him. There was a humorous twinkle in his 
 eyes as he looked at the Phantom over the rims of 
 his spectacles. Helen inhaled sharply. 
 
 "The police have come to search the house, I 
 think," Doctor Bimble murmured languidly. "My 
 man Jerome — an estimable fellow, by the way — is 
 already admitting them. In a few moments they will 
 be coming this way. Of course, if I tell them that I 
 have seen nothing of a fugitive, they will go away 
 without making an extended search." 
 
 Vanardy stiffened. His head went up and his eyes 
 narrowed; then he glanced quizzically at the doctor. 
 It seemed to him that Bimble had stressed the word 
 if, as though a condition were implied. 
 
 "Well, Vanardy?" The anthropologist's tone 
 was light and playful. Sounds of distant footfalls 
 reached their ears. The Phantom's darting eyes 
 rested for an instant on one of the skeletons, and in 
 
72 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 a twinkling he understood. He laughed shortly, for 
 the idea impressed him as grotesquely humorous. 
 
 "I see," he said quickly. ''You'll say the necessary 
 word to the police if I agree to dedicate my earthly 
 remains to your private hall of fame." 
 
 "You grasp my meaning exactly. But the time is 
 short and I shaVt press you for a definite promise. 
 Only give me your word that you will consider the 
 proposition." 
 
 "Very well; I'll consider it," promised the Phan- 
 tom. "But I warn you that I have no burning am- 
 bition to become a skeleton for some time yet." 
 
 A pleased grin wrinkled the doctor's face. The 
 footfalls, mingling with gruff voices, were coming 
 closer, signifying that the searchers were rapidly ap- 
 proaching the laboratory. 
 
 "This way, Vanardy." The doctor beckoned the 
 Phantom to follow as he started toward the door. 
 Approaching footsteps caused him to draw back. A 
 look of bewilderment came into his face. 
 
 "We have wasted too much time," he said com- 
 plainingly; then, as he looked about the room, his 
 face brightened. "But this will do for a hiding 
 place. Better come along, Miss Hardwick. It may 
 save you embarrassing questions." 
 
 He stepped hurriedly to one side of the room, 
 opened a 'door and motioned them into a narrow 
 closet. A moment later they heard a key turn in the 
 lock. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 LOGIC VERSUS HEART. THROBS 
 
 VAGUE misgiving assailed the Phantom as 
 
 the door closed. The hiding place chosen for 
 
 them by the genial Doctor Bimble seemed not 
 quite adequate to the emergency. There had been 
 no time for argument, however, and nothing for the 
 Phantom to do but follow instructions. The versa- 
 tile anthropologist knew best, he had thought, and 
 very likely the police would take Bimble's word for 
 it that nobody was concealed in the laboratory. 
 
 The closet was so dark that, but for a faint fra- 
 grance and the occasional scraping of a foot, he 
 might have thought himself alone. From the other 
 side of the door came subdued sounds, and he pic- 
 tured the tubby little doctor protesting against the 
 intrusion on his sacred privacy. Of Helen he could 
 see nothing but the pallid glint of her face in the 
 gloom, but her quick, nervous breathing told him 
 that she was keyed up to a high tension. There was 
 a medley of questions in his mind, but he found it 
 hard to put them into words. 
 
 "Hel — Miss Hardwick," he whispered. 
 
 "Logic is silly rot." 
 
 A moment's pause. "I don't believe I under- 
 stand." 
 
 "According to the learned doctor's logic, I am the; 
 murderer of Sylvanus Gage. He made out quite a 
 
 73 
 
 Yes? 
 
74 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 convincing case, and I could see you were impressed. 
 Yet, deep down in your heart, you know he was talk- 
 ing piffle. You don't believe I killed Gage." 
 
 She stood silent for a time. He pressed closer to 
 the wall and fumbled for her hand. It was cold, and 
 the pulsations at the wrist made him think of a 
 frightened, fluttering bird. 
 
 "I wish I could believe you didn't," she murmured, 
 freeing her hand. 
 
 "Thank you." Her candor had given him a little 
 thrill of faint and indefinable hope. "Would it sur- 
 prise you very much if I told you that my only 
 reason for leaving Sea Glimpse was to convince you 
 of my innocence?" 
 
 "Convince meV She gave a low, incredulous 
 laugh. "Why?" 
 
 "I'm not sure I can tell you that. From a prac- 
 tical point of view it was a foolish move, wasn't it? 
 By the way, you knew that the police were hunting 
 high and low for me. You alone knew where I was 
 to be found, and yet you didn't tell. I wonder why." 
 
 She meditated for a little; then, in a whisper: "I 
 r don't know." 
 
 He laughed softly. "It seems neither one of us is 
 very practical. We don't understand our own mo- 
 tives. Can you tell me what you are doing in this 
 gallery of skeletons?" 
 
 "I am not sure, but I will try. The morning after 
 the murder of Gage, I read the accounts in all the 
 papers. I can't tell you how I felt. It was as if a 
 great illusion had been shattered. I remember how 
 I cried one day when I fell and broke my first doll. 
 My feelings after reading the papers were something 
 like that, only more poignant." 
 
 "I understand," he murmured. "You had placed 
 the Gray Phantom on a pedestal. When he fell and 
 
LOGIC VERSUS HEART THROBS 75 
 
 broke to bits, just like common clay, you were dis- 
 appointed." 
 
 "Yes, it was something like that. I had placed 
 your better self on a pedestal. I didn't want to be- 
 lieve it had fallen or that it was just common clay. 
 I read the papers very carefully; hoping to find a 
 weak point in the evidence against you, but it seemed 
 complete and conclusive down to the tiniest detail. 
 One of the articles puzzled me a little, though." 
 
 "Oh — the Sphere's! Yes, I noticed it, too." 
 
 "It read as though the writer were not quite sure 
 that you were the guilty one. After thinking it over 
 for a while I called up the Sphere and asked for the 
 reporter who had written the article. They had 
 some little trouble finding him, and when he finally 
 came to the 'phone he acted as if he were not quite 
 sober. I tried to question him about the case, but 
 he gruffly told me he had nothing to tell aside from 
 what he had put into his story. If I had a personal 
 interest in the matter, he said, the best thing I could 
 do was go and consult Doctor Bimble." 
 
 "And you adopted the suggestion?" 
 
 "I had never heard of Doctor Bimble, but the 
 reporter told me he was the cleverest investigator of 
 criminal cases in town. He warned me that Doctor 
 Bimble might refuse to help me, since he accepted 
 nothing but cases of unusual interest, but the fact that 
 the murdered man was a friend and neighbor might 
 make a difference. Yesterday I called on the doctor, 
 but at first he would talk of nothing but his skeletons. 
 The murder didn't seem to interest him in the least. 
 He said the Phantom's guilt was clear and that all 
 that remained was to catch him. Then, when he 
 saw how earnest I was, he told me about the tunnel." 
 
 "The doctor is a queer duck," murmured the 
 Phantom musingly. "The ordinary man wouldn't 
 
76 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 take strangers into his confidence about such things. 
 The eccentricity of genius, I suppose." 
 
 "The whole affair seemed to bore him immensely. 
 He told me the man who killed Gage must have used 
 the tunnel, since he could not have left the room any 
 other way. He thought it possible the murderer 
 was still hiding there, lying low until the excitement 
 should die down, and if I didn't have anything better 
 to do I might watch for him at this end. As for 
 himself, he said he wasn't at all concerned in the 
 apprehension and punishment of criminals, but he 
 gave me his revolver and told me I might watch the 
 door leading from the laboratory, since the mur- 
 'derer, if he were still in the tunnel, had to come out 
 that way. I think my interest in the case amused 
 the doctor. I suspected he was chuckling at me most 
 of the time. 
 
 "I watched the door till late last night, all the time 
 hoping that, if anyone came out of the tunnel, 
 it would not be you. Shortly before midnight I per- 
 suaded the doctor to let his man take my place. You 
 see, if the murderer proved to be anyone but you, I 
 wanted him caught, because then your innocence 
 would be established. Early this morning I went 
 back to my post. When I heard steps on the stairs 
 my heart stood still for a moment. As the 'door 
 opened I felt like shrieking. And then " 
 
 She broke off with a gasp. From above came the 
 sounds of footsteps and doors slamming, indicating 
 that the police were searching the upper part of the 
 house. 
 
 "AnH when you saw me," the Phantom put in, 
 "you immediately jumped to the conclusion that I 
 was guilty. Well, I suppose it was good logic. What 
 can I do or say to convince you that I didn't kill 
 Gage?" 
 
LOGIC VERSUS HEART THROBS 77 
 
 "Nothing," she said, a hysterical catch in her 
 throat. Of a sudden she seemed cold and distant, 
 as if realizing that in telling her story she had be- 
 trayed too much of her feelings. "I fear there is 
 nothing more to be said." 
 
 The Phantom drew a deep breath. "I don't 
 blame you," he said gently. "There are several 
 black chapters in my past. But some day I'll prove 
 to you that I had nothing to do with this murder. I 
 admit that just now the evidence weighs heavily 
 against me. It is true there was something of a feud 
 between me and Gage once upon a time and " 
 
 "And the threatening letter," she interrupted. 
 "Why did you send it if you didn't mean to kill 
 him?" 
 
 "It was a forgery. I never wrote it." 
 
 "Handwriting experts say you did." 
 
 "I know." He remembered having read in the 
 newspapers that three experts had compared the 
 letter with samples of his handwriting on file in the 
 bureau of criminal identification, and that two of 
 them had declared that the Phantom had written it. 
 "That only goes to show that it was an exceptionally 
 clever forgery, and experts have been known to 
 differ before." 
 
 "But Gage told the officer that it was you who 
 stabbed him." She spoke as if determined to hear 
 his explanation of the damning bits of evidence even 
 though every word hurt her. 
 
 "True enough. But Gage didn't see me. He had 
 the threatening letter in mind when he said that." 
 
 "Nothing but the Maltese cross was missing, and 
 you had had a quarrel with Gage about that." 
 
 "True, too." The Phantom chuckled bitterly. 
 "If I had committed the murder I should have taken 
 pains to carry away a lot of other things for a blind." 
 
78 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 She was silent for a few moments. Footsteps 
 were coming down the stairs, and the Phantom knew 
 that the searchers would soon be in the laboratory. 
 Again he found her hand, but she quickly drew it 
 away. 
 
 "You knew about the tunnel," she reminded him, 
 her shaky accents betraying the struggle going on 
 within her. 
 
 "I swear that I found it by accident." 
 
 He could not see her face, but he sensed that she 
 doubted him and that the remnant of faith in her 
 heart was unable to withstand the corroding effect 
 of a growing suspicion. The footsteps were draw- 
 ing closer, and now they could hear voices outside 
 the door. He recognized the rasping accents of 
 Doctor Bimole. 
 
 "I tell you, my dear sir, that the closet contains 
 nothing but chemicals which I use in my laboratory 
 work. Some of them are very valuable. That's 
 why I keep them under lock and key." 
 
 Tensing every muscle as if preparing for an at- 
 tack, the Phantom stepped in front of the girl. She 
 made no protest as he took her pistol, which she 
 had been holding all the time and which now hung 
 limply from her fingers. 
 
 "I don't doubt your word," answered a gruff 
 voice outside, "but orders are to search everywhere 
 and make a good job of it. Hate to trouble you, 
 but it's got to be done." 
 
 The doctor, evidently sparring for time, insisted 
 that he had been in his laboratory all day and that 
 nobody could have slipped into the closet unnoticed 
 by him; but the other was obdurate. 
 
 "Very well, then," finally grumbled the anthropol- 
 ogist, "but I shall make complaint to Inspector 
 Wadham. Jerome, where are my keys?" 
 
LOGIC VERSUS HEART THROBS 
 
 79 
 
 Despite the suspense under which he was laboring, 
 the Phantom grinned. He strongly suspected that 
 Bimble was working a ruse in order to gain time. 
 Yet he wondered what the outcome was to be, for 
 unless the keys were promptly produced the officers 
 would undoubtedly force the door. 
 
 His next sensation was one of astonishment. A 
 curious calm appeared to have fallen over the group 
 outside, for moment after moment passed without 
 a word being spoken. The Phantom wondered what 
 it could mean. It seemed as though the speakers 
 had been suddenly stricken dumb. After what 
 seemed a long period of silence, somebody uttered 
 an exclamation of astonishment, then a laugh 
 sounded, and next footsteps moved away from the 
 closet door. A minute or so passed, then someone 
 fumbled with the lock, and presently the door was 
 opened by Doctor Bimble. He was smiling blandly, 
 but the Phantom thought he detected an uneasy 
 gleam behind the spectacles. 
 
 "What's happened?" he inquired, looking about 
 him dazedly and noticing that the girl and himself 
 were alone with the doctor. 
 
 The anthropologist waved a hand toward the 
 front of the house. "Listen!" 
 
 From the streets came loud and raucous shouts, 
 and a blank look crossed the Phantom's face as he 
 made out the words: 
 
 "Uxtra! Gray Phantom capchured! All 'bout 
 the big pinch ! Uxtra I" 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE PHANTOM IS MYSTIFIED 
 
 TT^OR a time the little group in the laboratory stoocl 
 as if turned into inanimate shapes, their senses 
 under the spell of the hoarse shouts in the 
 street. The Phantom felt a curious churning in his 
 head. The anthropologist was still smiling, but the 
 smile was gradually growing thin and hard. Helen 
 fixed the Phantom with a stony look. 
 
 "It appears a mistake of some kind has been 
 made," muttered the doctor at length. "It was a 
 fortunate one for you, my friends, for the officers 
 were becoming quite insistent. Luckily the cries di- 
 verted their attention from the closet, and they went 
 away apologizing after telephoning headquarters 
 and verifying the report." 
 
 The Phantom, still feeling Helen's gaze on his 
 face, pocketed the pistol he had been holding. The 
 newsboys' cries had given him a jolt that left him a 
 little dazed and caused his mind to turn to trivial 
 things. He found himself admiring Helen's simple 
 little hat and plain but tasteful dress, noticing that 
 they seemed as much a part of her as her hair and 
 her complexion. He saw that she tried to be brave 
 despite a crushing disaster to her illusions, and some- 
 how he felt sorry for her. 
 
 Doctor Bimble turned on him with a frown. 
 
 "Sir," he demanded, "are you the Gray Phantom 
 or merely a clumsy impostor?" 
 
 80 
 
THE PHANTOM IS MYSTIFIED 81 
 
 The question seemed so ludicrous that the Phan- 
 tom could only chuckle. 
 
 "It has long been my desire to meet the Gray 
 Phantom," pursued the doctor, still scowling darkly. 
 "I should dislike to think I have been imposed upon. 
 But that cant be, unless" — with another suspicious 
 look — "you are acting as a foil for the Phantom. 
 Well, we shall see presently, I suppose. In the mean- 
 time, you may consider yourself at home under my 
 roof." 
 
 Without knowing why, the Phantom hesitated 
 before accepting the invitation. To take advantage 
 of the doctor's hospitality was clearly the proper 
 thing to do. In a little while the police would learn 
 they had blundered, and then the man hunt would 
 be resumed with redoubled vigor. To venture forth 
 on the streets after that would be little short of 
 madness. The Phantom, conquering his misgivings 
 — which, after all, were nothing more than a vague 
 doubt in regard to the doctor — murmured his appre- 
 ciation. 
 
 Bimble's manservant, a lanky, thin-faced indi- 
 vidual with a gloomy expression and wary eye, en- 
 tered with a copy of the extras. The Phantom gave 
 him a quick and keenly searching glance, and again 
 he felt strangely bewildered. The man looked in- 
 nocent enough, and it was nothing but an intangible 
 something in his gait and his manner of carrying 
 himself that caused the Phantom to look twice. 
 
 Doctor Bimble took the damp sheet, still redolent 
 of ink, and read aloud the triple-leaded article under 
 the scare head. During the perusal Helen regarded 
 him with strange, expressionless eyes, while now and 
 then the servant shot the Phantom a stealthy glance 
 which the latter found hard to interpret. 
 
 Evidently the extra had been hurriedly prepared, 
 
82 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 'for the article contained only a few pithy facts. It 
 seemed that the Phantom, with an audacity and a 
 recklessness characteristic of him, had for some un- 
 accountable purpose visited the East Houston Street 
 establishment in which the murder of Sylvanus Gage 
 had been perpetrated. Wearing no other disguise 
 than a black beard, which he had evidently grown 
 since his last appearance in public, he had ap- 
 proached the housekeeper, introduced himself as 
 Mr. Adair, of Boston, a criminal investigator, and 
 requested to inspect the scene of the murder. The 
 unsuspecting housekeeper had admitted him, little 
 guessing that her visitor was one of the most cele- 
 brated criminals of the age. 
 
 The Gray Phantom had been in the room only a 
 few minutes when Officer Joshua Pinto appeared on 
 the scene. With laudable perspicacity the officer 
 recognized the Phantom almost immediately, despite 
 the disguising beard, and by clever maneuvering 
 managed to lock him in the room, standing guard 
 outside the door while the housekeeper telephoned 
 headquarters. In a few moments an impenetrable 
 cordon had been thrown around the house, and the 
 capture of the Phantom seemed an absolute cer- 
 tainty. Yet, when the door was battered down, 
 the astonished officers saw that the room was empty 
 and that the notorious rogue had achieved another 
 of his miraculous escapes. 
 
 Apparently, so the article stated, the Phantom had 
 accomplished the impossible, but then the Phantom's 
 entire career had been a series of incredible accom- 
 plishments. How he had managed to leave the room 
 and elude the cordon of police would probably re- 
 main a mystery forever unless the criminal himself 
 should divulge the secret. His capture, which had 
 taken place while the police were making a system- 
 
THE PHANTOM IS MYSTIFIED 83 
 
 atic search of the houses in the block, had been due 
 to one of the strange aberrations which seize even 
 the astutest criminals. A brawl had occurred in a 
 "blind pig" in Bleecker Street, and the commotion 
 had attracted the attention of a passing sergeant. 
 After sending in a hurry call for help the sergeant 
 had raided the place, and among the prisoners taken 
 was one who was almost instantly recognized as the 
 Gray Phantom. The identification was rendered all 
 the easier by the fact that he had removed his beard 
 after making his sensational escape from the East 
 Houston Street establishment. The belief was ex- 
 pressed that the prisoner would be induced to make 
 a statement as soon as he had recovered from the 
 effects of the raw whiskey he had consumed in the 
 dive, presumably in celebration of his latest coup. 
 
 "Rot!" ejaculated the doctor, throwing the paper 
 clown with a gesture of disgust. U A fool would 
 know that a man of the Gray Phantom's tempera- 
 ment, whatever other folly he might commit, would 
 not get intoxicated at a critical moment like this. 
 This proves — But what's become of Miss Hard- 
 wick?" 
 
 The Phantom looked up with a start. The girl 
 was gone. Evidently she had taken advantage of 
 the other's absorption in the newspaper article to slip 
 out unnoticed. Jerome, a crestfallen look on his 
 long face, hastily left the laboratory, returning in a 
 few moments with the report that Miss Hard wick 
 was nowhere in sight. The Phantom imagined that 
 there was an expression of sharp reproach in the 
 doctor's eyes as they rested on the servant, but the 
 impression was fleeting. 
 
 "The young lady has probably gone home," ven- 
 tured the anthropologist. "She must have been tired, 
 and in a measure her task was accomplished. The 
 
84 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 question is, can you rely on her not to communicate 
 what she knows to the police?" 
 
 The Phantom looked a trifle Houbtful. He had 
 perceived that the impulses of her heart had been 
 swamped by logic. It was possible she had gone 
 away hating him, firmly convinced he was a mur- 
 derer, and in that event her sense of duty might 
 easily overcome everything else. 
 
 "Frankly, I don't know," he declared. "At any 
 rate, I am about as safe here as anywhere for the 
 present. I should like a bath, if I may presume on 
 your hospitality." 
 
 "By all means. And as soon as you have rested 
 a bit we shall dine. Dear me, it is almost nine 
 o'clock! Jerome!" 
 
 He instructed the servant, and the Phantom fol- 
 lowed the silent and soft-footed man to the bath- 
 room. As he splashe'd about in the tub, he tried to 
 forget the bitter ache which Helen's words had left 
 in his heart. Her frigid attitude and her abrupt 
 going away had merely strengthened his determina- 
 tion to convince her of his innocence. He saw that 
 he must act quickly and take advantage of the com- 
 parative security which he could enjoy until the 
 police discovered that they had arrested the wrong 
 man. 
 
 His mind was at work on a plan while he hurried 
 into his clothes, which Jerome had brushed and 
 pressed while he was in the tub. A question that 
 troubled him greatly was how far he could safely 
 take Bimble into his confidence. The sharp-witted 
 anthropologist, with his keen insight into human 
 nature, would prove a valuable ally, but the Phantom 
 felt a great deal of mystification in his presence. 
 There was something about the man which his senses 
 could not quite grasp. Likely as not, it was only; 
 
THE PHANTOM IS MYSTIFIED 85 
 
 the scientific temperament, which gave him an ap- 
 pearance of secretiveness and dissimulation, but of 
 this the Phantom could not be sure. 
 
 The dinner, which he ate in the doctor's company, 
 was excellent, and Jerome served them in a faultless 
 manner, proving that the anthropologist's devotion 
 to his science had not blunted his taste for physical 
 comforts. The host discoursed learnedly and bril- 
 liantly on Lucchini's theory in regard to the respon- 
 sibility of the criminal, and it was not until the serv- 
 ant had withdrawn and they had reached their coffee 
 and cigars that he mentioned the subject on the 
 Phantom's mind. 
 
 The dining room, furnished with an approach to 
 elegance that one would scarcely have expected to 
 find on such a shabby street, was lighted by a heavily 
 shaded electrolier. The lights and shadows playing 
 across Bimble's face as he gesticulated with his head 
 gave him an added touch of mystery and accentuated 
 the general air of inscrutability that hovered about 
 his person. He broached the subject of Gage's death 
 while lighting his cigar. 
 
 "Come now, Vanardy, let us be confidential. It 
 was you who murdered Gage. Why deny it?" 
 
 Smiling faintly, the Phantom shook his head. 
 
 Bimble regarded him curiously. "The only thing 
 about the crime that interests me is your denial. But 
 I think I understand. In some criminals there is art 
 aesthetic sense which revolts against the vulgar and 
 sordid. Having, on the impulse of the moment, 
 committed a sordid crime, your aesthetic sense re- 
 asserts itself, and you want to forget the ugly affair 
 as quickly as possible. Am I right?" 
 
 The Phantom laughed. "You clothe the thing in 
 such attractive phrasing that I almost wish I could 
 
86 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 plead guilty. But I didn't kill Gage, and that's all 
 there is to it." 
 
 "You still insist that Pinto did?" 
 
 "Until two or three hours ago I was firmly con- 
 vinced of it." 
 
 "Ah! Now we are getting down to facts. Until 
 two or three hours ago you were certain Pinto was 
 the murderer. Why?" 
 
 "Because at the time I felt sure that no one else 
 could have committed the crime. The mysterious 
 circumstances could be explained in no other way 
 than on the assumption that Pinto was the perpe- 
 trator." 
 
 "Exactly. Your logic was not at all bad. But I 
 infer that within the last three hours you have 
 changed your mind." 
 
 "Not quite; I have merely modified my opinion. I 
 am no longer positively certain that Pinto committed 
 the murder." 
 
 "Why?" A shrewd grin twisted the anthropol- 
 ogist's lips. "What has caused you to modify your 
 view — the tunnel?" 
 
 "Yes, the tunnel. The existence of the tunnel 
 makes it possible for someone other than Pinto to 
 have committed the murder. It suggests another 
 hypothesis, in the light of which all the circumstances 
 are explainable. Without the tunnel I should be 
 morally certain of Pinto's guilt; with it in existence I 
 am no longer sure." 
 
 "Bravo, my friend! You are doing very well for 
 an amateur detective. Your idea is that the mur- 
 derer entered Gage's bedchamber by way of the 
 tunnel and took his departure the same way. Do 
 you know," with a broad grin, "that I thoroughly 
 agree with you? The only point of difference be- 
 tween us is the identity of the human mole." 
 
THE PHANTOM IS MYSTIFIED 87 
 
 The Phantom's face 'darkened a trifle. "I ad- 
 vanced the idea only as a hypothesis," he declared a 
 little testily, "and as yet I am not at all sure that it 
 has any value. For instance, in order to reach Gage's 
 bedroom by way of the tunnel, the murderer had to 
 go through your house and get down in the cellar." 
 
 "Which could easily be done. Both Jerome and 
 myself are sound sleepers and the house has no 
 burglar protection." 
 
 u But that isn't all. After traversing the tunnel, 
 the murderer had to enter the bedroom. In order 
 to do so he had to work the mechanism which con- 
 trols the revolving window frame. From the inside 
 of the chamber it is worked by the nail. Can it be 
 manipulated from the outside as well?" 
 
 "Dear me!" exclaimed the doctor, almost jumping 
 out of the chair. "I never thought of that." 
 
 The Phantom eyed him keenly, though he seemed 
 wholly absorbed in contemplation of the salt shaker. 
 The exclamation, he thought, had not sounded quite 
 natural. 
 
 "You invented the contraption," he pointed out. 
 "Surely you ought to know whether the mechanism 
 can be worked by a man approaching the room by 
 way of the tunnel." 
 
 "So I thought An inventor ought to know the 
 children of his brain." He gave a forced chuckle, as 
 if fencing for time in which to frame an answer. 
 "The fact of the matter is that the contrivance was 
 intended to be an emergency exit and nothing else. 
 The spring by which the mechanism is operated can't 
 be reached by a man approaching the room by way 
 of the tunnel. But that," with a grin which wrinkled 
 his whole face, "does not exclude the possibility of 
 a man getting through by the use of force. For in- 
 stance, the frame could be budged by prying." 
 
88 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 "Perhaps. As matters stand, the whole question 
 hinges on whether the room can be entered from the 
 tunnel. If it can't, then it is certain that Pinto com- 
 mitted the murder. If it can, there is a possibility 
 that someone else did it, though the preponderance 
 of evidence still points in Pinto's direction, for it is 
 extremely unlikely that the murderer was aware of 
 the existence of the tunnel. However " 
 
 He checked himself, deciding to let the thought 
 remain unspoken. The anthropologist, having re- 
 covered from his temporary embarrassment, gave a 
 hearty laugh. 
 
 "You are incorrigible, my friend. You are willing 
 to a'dmit almost any theory but the plain and obvious 
 one, which is that the Gray Phantom committed the 
 murder. Reminds me of Pinel's excellent treatise 
 on the psychology of the criminal. But you must be 
 tired. Please excuse me while I make a telephone 
 call." 
 
 The Phantom regarded him narrowly as he 
 trundled from the room and closed the door behind 
 him. The doctor intrigued and baffled him. He was 
 almost certain that Bimble had been guilty of equivo- 
 cation in regard to the tunnel and the revolving 
 frame. On the other hand, this and other peculiari- 
 ties might be due to an erratic temperament. His 
 stubborn insistence on the Phantom's guilt could be 
 the result of mental laziness and a disinclination to 
 exert himself over a case which did not interest him. 
 Yet, after making all due allowances, the Phantom 
 could not feel wholly at ease. 
 
 The doctor, smiling placidly and without a sign' 
 of guile in his face, interrupted his reflections. 
 
 "I've just had my friend Inspector Wadhane on 
 the wire," he announced. "It has been decided to 
 let the prisoner sleep off the effects of his 'debauch. 
 
THE PHANTOM IS MYSTIFIED 89 
 
 He will not be questioned until along toward morn- 
 ing. So, my friend, you can sleep in peace. Shall 
 I show you to your room?" 
 
 The Phantom, blinking his eyes drowsily, ex- 
 pressed a desire to retire at once. Doctor Bimble 
 conducted him to a pleasant bedroom with two large 
 windows facing the street, saw that everything was 
 in order, and wished his guest a hearty good night. 
 Even before he was out of the room the Phantom 
 had started to remove his clothes. 
 
 Yet, no sooner had the door closed than he hurried 
 back into the garments. Though only a few mo- 
 ments ago he had showed signs of great drowsiness, 
 he was now fully awake, and his springy motions 
 and the twinkle in his eyes hinted that sleep was 
 farthest from his mind. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 IN THE TUNNEL 
 
 THE Phantom waited for fifteen minutes, then 
 he quietly opened the door and looked down 
 the hall. The lights were turned low and not 
 a sound broke the stillness. Apparently the anthro- 
 pologist and the manservant had retired. Stepping 
 inside the room, he took from an inside pocket the 
 little metal box he always carried, examined the 
 snugly packed tools it contained, and made sure that 
 each was in good condition. Finally, he switched 
 off the light, noiselessly closed the door behind him, 
 and tiptoed down the stairs. 
 
 Stealing down a corridor through the main part 
 of the house, he reached the extension formed by 
 the laboratory. He stopped at the door, tilted his 
 ear to the keyhole, and listened carefully. It had 
 occurred to him that Doctor Bimble might be at 
 work, and an encounter with his host would have 
 proved embarrassing. His keen ears detected no 
 sounds, however, and in another moment he had 
 passed through the door and was groping his way 
 across the floor of the laboratory. 
 
 Of a sudden he stopped. A faint sound seemed 
 to come from the direction where the skeletons stood 
 in their glass-framed cages. He strained his ears to 
 catch a repetition, but none came. Evidently he had 
 been mistaken. He knew how sounds are magnified 
 at night, and what he had heard was probably noth- 
 
 90 
 
IN THE TUNNEL 
 
 91 
 
 ing but the rattling of a windowpane or the creaking 
 of a board under his foot. He proceeded to the 
 opposite wall, darting swift glances to left and right, 
 as if half suspecting that someone was lurking in 
 the shadows. Again a door swung noiselessly on its 
 hinges, and the Phantom glided down the stairs 
 leading to the cellar. From his hip pocket he took 
 a small electric flash and let its beam play over the 
 floor while he looked for the entrance to the tunnel. 
 
 For a time he searched in vain, traversing the 
 length of the murky brick walls and carefully scan- 
 ning each square foot of space without finding a 
 trace of the opening. The mouth of the passage 
 seemed to have disappeared in the three or four 
 hours that had passed since he emerged from the 
 subterranean tube. He tried to locate it by tracing 
 backward the course he had followed in reaching the 
 stairs, but it proved a difficult task, for he had floun- 
 dered about in total darkness, not daring to use his 
 flash for fear of attracting attention. He had a hazy 
 impression, however, that the opening was in a di- 
 agonal line with the foot of the stairway. 
 
 The gleam of his flash leaped over the grimy 
 bricks, and presently he detected a narrow fissure in 
 the wall. It extended in a quadrangular course and 
 was barely wide enough to admit a match or a nail. 
 Inserting one of the sharp-nosed tools from his 
 metal case, he pried outward, and a narrow portion 
 of the wall swung open. He saw now that the little 
 fissures constituted the boundaries of a door. It was 
 composed of bricks threaded on iron rods and re- 
 sembling in color and general appearance those in 
 the surrounding wall, and it was so deftly concealed 
 that only a careful search would reveal its existence. 
 Evidently it had stood open when the Phantom 
 crawled out of the tunnel, which explained why he 
 
92 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 ha'd not noticed it. He suspected that the thoughtful 
 anthropologist, not caring to have too many outsiders 
 discover the tunnel, had closed it while the officers 
 were searching the front of the house. 
 
 The Phantom waited for a few minutes while a 
 little of the dank air in the cellar found its way into 
 the passage. He did not relish the task ahead of 
 him, but he was determined to settle a point on which 
 the doctor had been singularly evasive. The prob- 
 lem he had set out to solve would be simplified to 
 a great .extent, and he would save himself needless 
 [efforts and loss of valuable time by ascertaining 
 whether the bedchamber of the late Sylvanus Gage 
 could be entered by way of the tunnel. 
 
 Having buttoned his coat tightly and made cer- 
 tain that his instrument case was within easy reach, 
 he inserted head and shoulders in the opening and 
 began the weary crawl toward the other end. His 
 progress was painfully slow, and the smell of the 
 moist earth gave him a sense of oppression which 
 he found hard to shake off. The air, dank and in- 
 sufficient, was almost stifling, and the walls of the 
 narrow passage, bruising his body at each twist and 
 turn, seemed to exude a sepulchral atmosphere that 
 insinuated itself into body and mind. 
 
 At length he reached the point where the tunnel 
 slanted upward into the wall, and here his progress 
 became even more difficult. Time and again he 
 slipped, and he could maintain a footing only by 
 bracing the tips of his shoes against rough spots 
 along the sides. He was puffing from exertion when 
 finally he struck a solid obstruction which told him 
 he had reached the end of the passage. 
 
 Finding a precarious foothold, he took out his 
 flash and closely scrutinized his surroundings. On 
 two sides were walls of brick, while directly in front 
 
IN THE TUNNEL 
 
 93 
 
 of him was the flank of the window frame. He 
 pushed against the latter with all his strength, but it 
 presented a firm and solid resistance to his efforts. 
 Next he went over it inch by inch, looking for a 
 hidden lever or spring, but the most careful search 
 revealed nothing that suggested a means of operating 
 the mechanism. Finally he took out one of his tools 
 and, inserting it in the tiny rift between the wall and 
 the edge of the frame, began to pry steadily. After 
 several minutes of constant fcffort he gave up the 
 task as hopeless. 
 
 He leaned back against the wall and bent the full 
 force of his wits to the task of finding a way through 
 the obstruction. Evidently there was none. He had 
 tapped r every inch of the surface and looked every- 
 where for a concealed knob or wire by which the 
 mechanism might be operate'd. A larger and heavier 
 tool than the instrument in his metal case would 
 have been of no avail, for in those narrow quarters 
 he could not have obtained leverage. His search, 
 though thorough and infinitely painstaking, had 
 netted nothing. 
 
 The conclusion was clear. The revolving Hoor 
 could not be operated from the outside; hence the 
 murderer of Sylvanus Gage could not have entered 
 the room through the tunnel. Again the Phantom's 
 mind reverted to the inevitable deduction that no one 
 but Officer Pinto could have committed the crime. 
 
 His lungs, which had been straining for air for 
 the last quarter of an hour, felt as though they were 
 on the point of bursting, and he was about to release 
 his foothold and start back through the tunnel when 
 a faint tapping sound caught his ears. He could 
 not tell how long it had been going on, for until now 
 his whole attention ha'd been focused on the problem 
 before him. For all he knew it might just have be- 
 
94 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 gun, or it might have starte'd long before he enterecl 
 the tunnel. 
 
 He pressed his ear against the side of the frame: 
 and listened. The sounds, quick and sharp, were 
 coming in rapid succession, and at first he wondered 
 whether someone was trying to attract his attention. 
 Then he noticed that the sounds skipped and jumped, 
 as if the tapping covered a considerable area, and his 
 next surmise was that the person on the other side: 
 was making a systematic search for something. 
 
 "For what?" he wondered; and in the next mo- 
 ment the answer flashed through his mind. He re- 
 membered how, while he was imprisoned in the bed- 
 room, momentarily expecting the police to force the 
 door and pounce upon him, he had looked to the 
 window as the only possible means of escape, and 
 how finally he had discovered the nail that proved his 
 salvation. Evidently the person on the other side 
 was now doing the very thing the Phantom himself 
 had been doing a few hours ago. 
 
 But who could it be? As far as he knew, no one: 
 but Helen, Doctor Bimble and himself was aware 
 of the existence of the revolving door, and the tunnel. 
 It did not seem likely that anyone should be search- 
 ing at random for an opening. And who could be? 
 prowling about the Gage house at such an hour? 
 Again he put his ear to the frame. The tapping ha'd 
 ceased, but now he heard another and different sound 
 that caused him to quiver with excitement. A slight 
 metallic noise, like that produced by the contact of 
 two objects of steel, told him that the person on the: 
 inside had found the nail. 
 
 In a twinkling he had forgotten his cramped posi- f 
 tion, the dank air and the sickening smell of moist 
 earth. All his senses were centered on the sounds 
 coming from the other side, so slight that his keen 
 
IN THE TUNNEL 
 
 95 
 
 ears could scarcely detect them. Something told him 
 that in a few minutes he would make a discovery 
 of tremendous importance in relation to the 
 Gage murder mystery. Everything depended upon 
 whether the person on the other side would give the 
 nail the proper twist. 
 
 Minutes dragged by on leaden feet. The Phan- 
 tom felt his heart pound chokingly against his ribs, 
 its loud beats almost drowning the slight metallic 
 sounds coming from the other side. After what 
 seemed hours of nerve-racking suspense, a sharp and 
 sudden click caused him to start violently, and he al- 
 most lost his insecure footing. 
 
 Then the window frame began to turn. A glare 
 of light struck his eyes as the opening wedge widened. 
 With great, eager gulps he drank in the air coming 
 from the aperture. A minute passed, and then a 
 face, strained and ashen, was thrust into the opening. 
 
 It was Mrs. Trippe, the housekeeper. For an in- 
 stant she stared into the Phantom's startled eyes. 
 
 "He's killing me!'; she cried. "He's afraid Til 
 tell! He locked me in " 
 
 She jerked her head to one side. Slight though 
 she was, she almost filled the narrow opening, and 
 he could see only a small strip of the room at her 
 back. Suddenly a shiver coursed down her spine. A 
 hand was projected beyond the wall, and he caught a 
 glimpse of steel flashing in the light. Then, in quick 
 succession, came a scream and a thud, and the woman 
 slid from the window sill. 
 
 It had happened so quickly that the Phantom had 
 not time to utter a word or raise a hand. Now, be- 
 fore he could move a muscle, the window frame 
 slammed shut. He heard a click, signifying that the 
 frame was caught in the steel clutches of the mech- 
 anism. He pressed his shoulders against it, but to 
 
96 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 no avail, and he knew from his previous attempt that 
 the effort was useless. Filled with horror at what he 
 had just seen, he slid Sown the incline between the 
 walls and began to work back toward the cellar*- -4 
 
 Finally, after endless jerks and twistings, he; 
 reached the tnd of the tunnel — and there a fresh 
 shock awaite'd him. His feet brought up against a 
 solid obstruction. Shove against it as he might, the 
 little door would not yield to his frenzied pressure. 
 For a little he laid still on his back, thinking. His 
 mind was heavy and his thoughts flitted about in 
 circles, but finally it came to him that while he was 
 at the other lend of the tunnel someone must have % 
 placed a heavy weight against the door. 
 
 He was trapped. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 A BLOW PROM BEHIND 
 
 ONLY one thought stood out clearly In the Phan- 
 tom's mind as he lay on his back in the tunnel 
 breathing the suffocating fumes of the damp 
 :earth, and surrounded by a silence and a darkness 
 so profound that he felt as if a vast void was separa- 
 ting him from the world of the living. His senses 
 were numbed and his brain had ceased to function, 
 but somehow his mind grasped the realization that 
 this was the end of the Gray Phantom's career. 
 
 The fate awaiting him seemed as inexorable as the 
 darkness that surrounded him. He had faced great 
 dangers and had found himself in fearful predica- 
 ments before, but never had Heath appeared as 
 certain and inevitable as now. Through his dazed 
 consciousness filtered a resolution to meet death, even 
 in this hideous form, with the same unconcern and 
 stoicism with which he had accepted the favors 
 destiny had strewn in his path. The thought brought 
 a feeble smile to his lips, and he hoped the end would 
 come before the thought faded away. He wanted 
 the world in general and Helen Hardwick in par- 
 ticular to know he had died smiling. 
 
 Something, he did not know what, stirred faintly 
 in his mind. Instinctively his thoughts groped for a 
 memory that seemed dim and far away, a memory 
 that caused his body to vibrate with a reawakening 
 desire to live. Slowly, out of the whirling chaos in 
 
 97 
 
98 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 his mind, it came to him. He could not — must not 
 — die! He could not pass out into oblivion with a 
 foul crime staining his name. He must live in order 
 to revive and vindicate the faith Helen Hardwick 
 had once reposed in him. 
 
 The resolve buoyed him a little, causing his body 
 to throb with a renascent life impulse. Already his 
 mind felt a little clearer, and his nerves and sinews 
 were beginning to respond to the driving force of his 
 will. If his parched lungs could only get a little air! 
 
 Again he placed his feet against the door and 
 pushed with all the strength he could summon. He 
 might as well have tried to dislodge a mountain. The 
 implements in his pocket case had helped him 
 out of many a tight dilemma in the past, but they 
 were of no avail now. He still had the pistol he had 
 taken from Helen's hand while they stood in the 
 closet, and for an instant it occurred to him that the 
 report of a shot might penetrate the roof of the tun- 
 nel and bring him assistance. A moment later he 
 reconsidered bitterly. If the shot were heard, it 
 w T ould more likely bring the police; besides, the fumes 
 released by the explosion might smother him to death 
 in a few minutes. 
 
 With a great effort he crawled away from the 'door 
 thinking the air might be not so stifling toward the 
 center of the tunnel. He moved only two or three 
 paces when the terrific pounding of his heart and the 
 protest of his tortured lungs forced him to lie still and 
 rest. For several minutes he lay motionless, save for 
 the heaving of his chest, matching his wits against 
 the hardest problem he had ever faced. 
 
 Of a sudden something chill and wet fell upon his 
 face. It was a mere drop of moisture, but it felt like 
 ice to his parched skin, causing every nerve to quiver. 
 The contact acted like an electric stimulant on his 
 
A BLOW FROM BENIND 
 
 99 
 
 mind. He lay rigid, expectant, wondering why the 
 trivial occurrence should affect him so strangely, and 
 presently another drop of moisture splashed against 
 his forehead, sending an icy shiver down his spine. 
 
 Suddenly he jerked up his head, striking it against 
 the roof of the tunnel. In a twinkling he had grasped 
 the significance of the dropping moisture. There 
 must be a leak in the vault of the passage, and the 
 soil above was probably soft and porous, enabling 
 the tiny globules of water to percolate. 
 
 The deduction jolted the last remnant of stupor 
 out of his body. He was still weak, but the play of 
 his wits kindled his nervous energy. He ran his 
 hand along the roof, locating the point where the 
 moisture was seeping through. The arched vault 
 was supported by boards running in a longitudinal 
 direction and braced at intervals by diagonal props. 
 He gave a hoarse shout of elation as he noticed that 
 the boards were rotting from infiltration of moisture. 
 
 He had forgotten the agonized straining of his 
 lungs for air. His exploring fingers found a point 
 where the ends of two boards came together. Tak- 
 ing a tool from the metal case, he inserted it in the 
 joint and pried. After a few vigorous wrenches the 
 board bent downward. Now he gripped its edges 
 with his fingers and, lifting himself from the floor 
 of the tunnel, forced it down by the sheer weight of 
 his body. It snapped, and he pushed it down the 
 passage, then attacked the next board. It gave more 
 easily than the first, and now he began to claw and 
 scratch his way through the damp earth. Remember- 
 ing the length of the incline at the farther end of the 
 passage, he judged that the layer of soil could not be 
 more than four or five feet deep. 
 
 More than once he felt on the point of utter ex- 
 haustion, but the prospect of ultimate release fortified 
 
100 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 him. Clump after clump of dirt fell at his feet, and 
 now and then he struck a stratum of gravelly soil 
 that yielded more easily to his efforts. From time 
 to time he had to stop digging and brush aside the 
 accumulation at his feet. A wall of dirt was gradu- 
 ally forming on each side of him, cutting down the 
 scant supply of humid air that had so far sustained 
 him, but he kept at his work with the frenzied per- 
 sistence of one battling for his life. There was a dull 
 roaring in his head and a burning torment in his 
 lungs, and there came moments of despair when he 
 wondered whether his strength would last until he 
 had clawed through the remaining layer of earth. 
 
 Then, after what seemed hours of agonizing toil, 
 a cascade of small stones and loose dirt tumbled 
 down over his head and shoulders. Momentarily 
 blinded, he could scarcely realize that his hand had 
 thrust through the obstruction and was now clutching 
 at empty air. 
 
 The supense over, he felt suddenly limp and shaky. 
 His legs doubled up under him and he sank back 
 against the wall of the tunnel, greedily sucking in the 
 fresh air that poured down through the opening. 
 For a time he was content to do nothing but rest his 
 racked limbs and drink in huge lungfuls of air. 
 
 Through the rift overhead he caught a glimpse of 
 leaden sky. A myriad of strident noises told that 
 the city was awakening. The discordant sounds were 
 like jubilant music in his :ears, for a while ago he had 
 thought he would never see the light of another day. 
 After his terrifying experience in the subterranean 
 passage it was hard to realize that he was again one 
 of the living. He struggled to his feet, lurchefl 
 dizzily hither and thither, and rubbed the dirt out of 
 his eyes. Then, steadying himself with one hand, 
 he cautiously pushed his head through the opening. 
 
A BLOW FROM BEHIND 101 
 
 No one being in sight, he scrambled to the surface. 
 He stood in the center of the narrow space be- 
 tween Doctor Bimble's laboratory and the rear of 
 the Gage Establishment. On the other sides of the 
 inclosure were a squatty structure that might have 
 been a laundry and a slightly taller building that, 
 judging from the barrels and boxes piled against the 
 wall, was probably a grocery. Evidendy the stores 
 and shops had not yet opened, for there was no sign 
 of life in either direction. 
 
 The Phantom took a few steps forward, then 
 stopped abruptly, his eyes fixed on the small window 
 in the rear of the cigar store. A recollection sent 
 a shiver through his body. He remembered the 
 hand that had appeared so suddenly in the narrow 
 opening, the swift, murderous stroke and the groan 
 that had died so quickly. There was an air of peace] 
 and tranquillity about the building that struck him as 
 weirdly incongruous, in view of the scene that had 
 been enacted w T ithin. 
 
 He was about to turn away when a quick, light 
 step sounded behind him. Before he could move, 
 two sinewy hands had gripped him about the throat, 
 forcing him down. He tried to resist, but he was 
 still too weak to exert much physical effort. A sick- 
 eningly sweetish smell assailed his nostrils, he felt 
 his body grow limp, there was a roaring in his head 
 that sounded like a distant waterfall, and then he 
 had a sensation of sinking — sinking. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE PHANTOM HAS AN INSPIRATION 
 
 " EMARKABLE, sir ; most remarkable ! May 
 I feel your pulse?" 
 
 The Gray Phantom knew, even before he 
 opened his eyes, that the speaker was Doctor Tyson 
 Bimble. He was lying in bed, undressed, in the same 
 room his host had assigned him the night before. 
 The lights were on, so he must have slept through 
 the day, and he felt correspondingly refreshed. 
 
 The anthropologist, sitting in a chair beside the 
 bed, was timing his pulse beats. The doctor's thin 
 legs were wrapped in the same tight trousers he had 
 worn on their first meeting, and an acid-stained coat 
 was tightly buttoned across his plump stomach. 
 
 "Normal," he declared admiringly, pocketing his 
 w r atch. "You possess extraordinary recuperative 
 powers, my friend. What a constitution!" 
 
 The Phantom's lips tightened. Scraps of recol- 
 lection were coming to him. He gazed narrowly 
 into the doctor's guileless face. 
 
 "A little chloroform goes a long way even with a 
 constitution like mine," he remarked pointedly. 
 
 "Ah, but you were utterly exhausted, my friend. 
 Otherwise my excellent Jerome would not have had 
 quite such an easy time with you. A little strong- 
 arm play and a whiff or two of chloroform were all 
 that was necessary. The effect soon wore off, and 
 you lapsed into a natural and invigorating sleep." 
 
 102 
 
THE PHANTOM HAS AN INSPIRATION 103 
 
 "So, it was Jerome. I guessed as much." The 
 Phantom looked perplexedly at the doctor. "But 
 wasn't it a rather rough way of putting a man to 
 bed?" 
 
 "It was the only safe way of dealing with an im- 
 pulsive and strong-headed man like you. But for 
 the timely appearance of my admirable Jerome, you 
 would undoubtedly have walked straight into the 
 arms of the police." 
 
 The argument sounded plausible enough. The 
 Phantom realized that the reaction following his 
 escape from the tunnel might have caused him to do 
 several foolish things. 
 
 An astute grin creased the doctor's face. "Evert 
 the Gray Phantom is at times very transparent. Last 
 night, when you started removing your clothes in my 
 presence, I knew that you had no intention of going 
 to bed. However, I reasoned that you were an in- 
 telligent man and could be trusted to take care of 
 yourself. I woke up at an early hour this morning 
 and stepped to your door. You had not returned. 
 Greatly alarmed, I told Jerome to look for you. 
 The estimable fellow found you shortly after you 
 had dug your way out of the tunnel. You ought to 
 feel deeply indebted to him, sir." 
 
 "I do," with a faint trace of sarcasm. "But I 
 should like to wring the neck of the practical joker 
 who blockaded this end of the passage while I was 
 at the other." 
 
 The words were no sooner spoken than the doc- 
 tor's face underwent a startling transformation. 
 The affable smile vanished, giving way to a look of 
 such violent wrath that even the Phantom felt a little 
 awed. 
 
 "The hound shall get his just deserts, sir," de- 
 clared the doctor in snarling tones. Then, as if 
 
104 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 regretting his display of temper, he laughed easily. 
 "Provided, of course, we learn who perpetrated the 
 outrage." 
 
 Again the Phantom was puzzled. He was certain 
 the anthropologist's ferocious outburst had been 
 genuine. It had been far too real and convincing to 
 be feigned even by a clever actor. Yet he sensed a 
 contradiction. Whoever was responsible for the 
 blockaded door must have traversed the doctor's 
 house, on his way to the cellar. It did not seem likely 
 that strangers could be taking such liberties in a 
 private residence without the knowledge of its occu- 
 pant. 
 
 "I really ought to have new locks put on the 
 doors," observed Bimble, addressing himself rather 
 than his guest. "That collection of mine is too val- 
 uable to be left unprotected." 
 
 It sounded convincing, and the casual tone went a 
 long way toward quieting the Phantom's misgivings. 
 He knew that an unduly suspicious nature is as bad 
 as a gullible one. Hadn't he been too prone to put 
 the wrong construction on the eccentricities of a sci- 
 entist? Everything considered, the doctor s actions 
 had certainly been friendly. Had his intentions been 
 hostile, he could easily have turnecl his guest over to 
 the police. 
 
 The Phantom shifted the subject. "Well, at any 
 rate, I proved to my satisfaction that Gage's bed- 
 chamber can't be entered by way of the tunnel." 
 
 The twinkle behind the lenses expressed doubt and 
 amusement. "And so you have convinced yourself 
 that Pinto committed the murder?" 
 
 "That nobody else could have committee! it," cor- 
 rected the Phantom. 
 
 "Which" means precisely the same thing. Evert 
 if we grant that you are being frank with me — whicK 
 
THE PHANTOM HAS AN INSPIRATION 105 
 
 I strongly doubt, by the way — you seem to have a 
 passion for drawing obvious inferences. From the 
 fact that you were unable to operate the mechanism 
 from the outside you deduce that the murderer could 
 not have entered the room via the tunnel. That, 
 my friend, is very superficial reasoning. For in- 
 stance, Gage himself might have admitted the mur- 
 derer through the revolving frame." 
 
 The Phantom's brows went up. The possibility 
 suggested by the doctor had not occurred to him. 
 The next moment he grinned at the sheer preposter- 
 ousness of the idea. "But few men are obliging 
 enough to welcome their murderers with open arms." 
 
 "Not if they come as murderers." The doctor 
 gave him a keen, searching look. "But suppose they 
 come in the guise of friends? That's only a ran- 
 dom suggestion, but you will admit the possibility 
 exists." He shrugged his shoulders, as if to dismiss 
 the subject. "Jerome has repaired the damage you 
 wrought in the tunnel last night, covering up all 
 traces of your little adventure, so there is no danger 
 of the police tracing you here." 
 
 "Thoughtful," murmured the Phantom a little 
 absendy. 
 
 "Which reminds me," added the anthropologist, 
 "that you are again a hunted man. The police have 
 seen their mistake and the prisoner was released this 
 morning. He bears a superficial resemblance to you, 
 but comparison of his finger prints with those of the 
 Gray Phantom proved conclusively he was not the 
 man they wanted, and he seems to have given a sat- 
 isfactory account of himself in every way." 
 
 "What else?"' asked the Phantom, deeply inter- 
 ested. 
 
 Doctor Bimble laughed merrily. "Every news- 
 paper in town is poking fun at the stupid police — and 
 
106 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 well they might. The prisoner proved to be a re- 
 porter employed by the Sphere, whose only offense 
 is an inclination to forget that these are dry times. 
 A reporter, of all persons! It's delicious!" 
 
 "A reporter — on the Sphere/" echoed the Phan- 
 tom, sensing a possible significance in the combina- 
 tion. "Not, by any chance, the one who reported 
 the Gage murder?" 
 
 "The same. That's what lends an extra touch of 
 humor to the silly blunder. Imagine a journalist, 
 confronted with a scarcity of news, going out and 
 committing a murder in order to have something to 
 write about!" 
 
 The Phantom joined in the doctor's laughter, but 
 his face sobered quickly. "Is this unfortunate jour- 
 nalist wearing a beard?" 
 
 "No; but I understand your photograph in the 
 rogues' gallery shows you smooth shaven, so the 
 absence of a beard really enhances the resemblance 
 to the pictures published." 
 
 The Phantom was silent for a time. There was 
 a hint of deep thought in the lines around his eyes. 
 His hand passed slowly across his beard, still gritty 
 and tangled from his experience in the tunnel. Sud- 
 denly the muscles of his face twitched. 
 
 "Anything else in the papers, doctor?" 
 
 "Only the usual silly doings of a silly world." 
 
 "I mean in connection with the murder. No new 
 developments?" 
 
 "None whatever, except that the search for the 
 Gray Phantom has been renewed with increased 
 vigor. There is an interview with the police commis- 
 sioner, in which that optimistic soul declares the 
 rascal cannot have left New York and that he will 
 surely be captured within the next few hours." 
 
 The Phantom smiled amusedly, but there was a 
 
THE PHANTOM HAS AN INSPIRATION 107 
 
 fog in his mind. Was it possible no one had yet dis- 
 covered that a second murder had been perpetrated 
 in the Sylvanus Gage house? With his own eyes 
 the Phantom had seen the housekeeper's face fade 
 into the ashen hue of death, and it seemed incredible 
 that the body had not been found. 
 
 "By the way," remarked Doctor Bimble, as if 
 carrying out the other's train of thought, "I wonder 
 what has become of Gage's housekeeper. I walked 
 over there this morning to see if I could do anything 
 for the poor lady. The front door was unlocked, 
 but Mrs. Trippe wasn't about." 
 
 It required a little effort on the Phantom's part to 
 keep his voice steady. "H'm. She has had quite a 
 shock. Perhaps she is lying ill and helpless in some 
 part of the house." 
 
 "The same thing occurred to me, and so I looked 
 in every room in the house. The lady was nowhere 
 in sight, however. Naturally she found it unpleas- 
 ant to live alone in the place after the murder. She 
 may have gone away for a visit." 
 
 "Yes, quite likely." It was on the Phantom's 
 tongue to tell what he had seen, but for a reason not 
 quite clear to himself he desisted. Doctor Bimble's 
 revelation was somewhat staggering, and the disap- 
 pearance of the housekeeper's body was a poser that 
 baffled the Phantom's astuteness. The mystery 
 seemed to grow more tangled and intricate with every 
 passing hour, and he felt that, so far, his progress 
 had been dishearteningly slow. Yet, with the whole 
 city and its environs converted into a vast man trap, 
 what could he do? 
 
 "Dear me!" The anthropologist jumped up with 
 the abruptness of a rabbit. "I sit here babbling like 
 a garrulous old woman while you must be famishing. 
 I shall have Jerome bring you some food at once. I 
 
108 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 suppose," stopping on his way to the door and re- 
 garding the Phantom with a serio-comic expression, 
 "it isn't necessary to warn you that it would be un- 
 wise to go out on the streets a night like this." 
 
 A grin masked the Phantom's searching look. 
 "You seem deeply concerned in my welfare, doctor." 
 
 "Naturally." ^ Bimble drew himself up. "With 
 me a bargain is always a bargain. I hope you 
 haven't forgotten our understanding." 
 
 "I see," the Gray Phantom replied. "You want 
 my skeleton to come to you intact. Yes, doctor, I'm 
 aware of the inclemency of the weather. You 
 needn't worry on my account." 
 
 The doctor tarried a moment longer, cleared his 
 throat as if about to say something else, then swung 
 around on his heels and left the room. The Phan- 
 tom looked about him. On a chair near the bed 
 hung his clothes, neatly brushed and pressed, and 
 on the dresser, laid out in an orderly row, were the 
 contents of his pockets, including pistol, metal case, 
 and watch. The Phantom slipped out of bed and 
 examined the articles. Nothing was missing and 
 nothing had been disturbed. Evidently Doctor 
 Bimble trusted to his guest's good sense to keep him 
 indoors. 
 
 And well he might, was the Phantom's grim 
 thought. There were excellent reasons why he 
 should remain under the anthropologist's roof — 
 reasons which only a fool or a desperado would 
 ignore. The police, goaded by ridicule and incensed 
 at the way they had been made game of, were un- 
 doubtedly exerting every effort and using every trick 
 and stratagem to ensnare their quarry. There were 
 pitfalls at every crossing, traps in every block, prying 
 eyes in a thousand places. To defy such dangers 
 would be sheer madness. 
 
THE PHANTOM HAS AN INSPIRATION 109 
 
 Yet there were equally urgent reasons why the 
 Phantom should not remain idle. One of them, and 
 the most potent of them all, had to do with Helen 
 Hardwick. Another was the Phantom's irrepressible 
 passion for flinging his gauntlet in the face of danger. 
 A third was the firm conviction that he could rely 
 on his mental and physical agility to see him through, 
 no matter what hazards he might encounter. 
 
 He sprang back into bed as a noise sounded at 
 the door. The cat-footed and tight-lipped man- 
 servant entered with a folding table, a stack of 
 newspapers, and a trayful of steaming dishes. The 
 Phantom watched the nimble play of his long, pre- 
 hensile fingers as he set the table. 
 
 "You're quite a scrapper, Jerome," he observed 
 good-naturedly. 
 
 u Yes, sir." The man's gloomy face was un- 
 readable. 
 
 "You didn't give me much of a chance to use my 
 fists on you." 
 "No, sir.' 1 
 
 The Phantom attacked the hot and savory soup. 
 "Pugilistic and culinary talents are a rare combina- 
 tion, Jerome.' 1 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "But you are not very much of a conversation- 
 alist." 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 The man, standing with his back to the wall, ap- 
 parently immovable save when he unbent to pass a 
 dish or replenish the water tumbler, piqued the 
 Phantom's curiosity. A grenadier turned to stone 
 while standing at attention could not be more rigid 
 and impassive than Jerome, yet there was a hint of 
 constant alertness about the dull eyes and the lines 
 at the corners of his mouth. 
 
110 THE GRAY PHANTOMS RETURN 
 
 "There are moments when silence is golden," ob- 
 served the Phantom. "Perhaps this is one of them." 
 "Perhaps, sir." 
 
 The Phantom finished the meal in silence. When 
 Jerome had gone, he turned to the newspapers, notic- 
 ing that the front pages were largely given over to 
 himself. His own photograph was published side by 
 side with that of the Sphere reporter, whose name 
 appeared to be Thomas Granger. Many thousands 
 of dollars were being wagered on the outcome of 
 the contest between the Phantom and the police, with 
 the odds slightly in favor of the latter. A yellow 
 journal was offering prizes to those of its readers 
 who furnished the best suggestions for the capture 
 of the famous outlaw. There were interviews with 
 leading citizens in all walks of life, expressing amaze- 
 ment and indignation over the murder of Sylvanus 
 Gage and the dilatory tactics of the officials. Even 
 Wall Street was disturbed, for who knew but what 
 the celebrated rogue was planning another of the 
 stupendous raids that had rocked the financial world 
 on two or three occasions in the past? 
 
 The Phantom was amused, but also a trifle per- 
 turbed. The handicaps he had to overcome if he 
 were to accomplish his purpose were rather stagger- 
 ing. But for the eccentric anthropologist's hospi- 
 tality he might even now be in the coils of the police. 
 There was a troubled gleam in his eyes as he tossed 
 the papers aside. For several minutes he sat on the 
 edge of the bed, a thoughtful pucker between his 
 eyes, abstractedly gazing down at the papers on the 
 floor. 
 
 Of a sudden he roused himself out of a brown 
 study. While his thoughts had been far away, his 
 eyes had been steadily fixed on the two photographs 
 in the center of the page spread out at his feet. Now 
 
THE PHANTOM HAS AN INSPIRATION 111 
 
 a steely glitter appeared in his narrowing eyes anb! 
 a smile spread slowly from the corners of his lips. 
 
 In an instant he was on his feet, glancing at his 
 watch. It was almost ten o'clock. He hurried 
 quietly to the door, listened at the keyhole for a few 
 moments, then shot the bolt. From now on his 
 movements were characterized by the brisk precision 
 of one acting on an inspiration. Taking a sharp- 
 edged tool from his pocket case, he stepped to the 
 wash stand and mixed some lather. A few deft 
 strokes and slashes, and his beard was gone. Since 
 Patrolman Pinto had recognized him in spite of it, 
 the beard was no longer useful, and the reddish and 
 bristly mustache which he took from a wrapper in 
 his metal case and affixed to his lips would serve 
 fairly well as a temporary disguise. After a brief 
 glance in the mirror, he put on his clothes and 
 pocketed the articles on the dresser. 
 
 The Gray Phantom was ready for one of the 
 maddest and most perilous enterprises of his career. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 KIDNAPED 
 
 SOMEWHERE a clock was striking ten as the 
 Phantom withdrew the bolt and, silent as a cat, 
 stepped out into the hall. He leaned over the 
 balustrade and looked down. From the rear came 
 an occasional tinkle of glassware. Doctor Bimble, 
 never dreaming that his guest was foolhardy enough 
 to leave his secure retreat a second time, was evi- 
 dently at work in his laboratory. Noiselessly the 
 Phantom stole down the stairs, carefully testing each 
 step before he intrusted his weight to it. The door 
 opened without a sound, and he darted a quick 
 glance up and down the street. 
 
 A fine drizzle was falling and the sidewalks glis- 
 tened in the lights from the street lamps and win- 
 dows. There was a thin sprinkling of pedestrians 
 in the thoroughfare. Outside a pool room across 
 the street stood a group of loafers, and a band of 
 gospel workers was addressing an apathetic crowd 
 on the nearest corner. The Phantom was about to 
 step away from the Hoor when he saw something 
 that caused him to press close to the wall. 
 
 "Our friend Pinto, " he mused as a thickset figure 
 jogged past. "Seems a bit distracted this evening. 
 Wonder what's up." 
 
 The policeman passeH on with only a perfunctory 
 glance in the Phantom's direction. There was some- 
 thing about his gait and the way he swung his baton 
 
 112 
 
KIDNAPED 
 
 113 
 
 which" suggested that his mind was not quite at ease. 
 The Phantom waited until he had turned the corner, 
 then crept out of the doorway, assuming an easy, 
 swinging gait as he struck the sidewalk and turned 
 west. 
 
 The streets had their usual humdrum appearance, 
 but beneath the calm on the surface he sensed a ten- 
 sion and an air of repressed activity. It might have 
 been only imagination, but he thought people were 
 regarding each other with covert suspicion, as if 
 friends and neighbors were no longer to be trusted. 
 The Phantom sauntering along as if he had not a 
 care in the world, turned into the Bowery and pro- 
 ceeded toward the nearest station of the elevated 
 railway. No taxicabs were in sight, but he would 
 be comparatively safe once he was aboard a train. 
 
 He whistled a merry little tune, but he was uncom- 
 fortably aware that the cut and quality of his clothes 
 were attracting attention in that squalid neighbor- 
 hood. Now he was only a few paces from the ele- 
 vated stairs. The space immediately in front of him 
 was brightly illuminated by a corner light, and each 
 forward step was taken at great risk. He advanced 
 with an air of unconcern, glanced languidly at the 
 papers and magazines spread out on the news stall, 
 and in another moment he would have been starting 
 up the stairs. 
 
 Just then he felt the sharp scrutiny of a pair of 
 eyes. Their owner, he fancied, was stationed in the 
 dark doorway of an abandoned corner saloon, only 
 a few steps from the foot of the stairway, but he 
 dared not look back or sideways. In a second he 
 had rallied his wits to the emergency. To show the 
 slightest nervousness or seem in a hurry would in- 
 stantly provoke a sharp command to halt. He pur- 
 chased a newspaper, glanced disdainfully at the head- 
 
114 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 lines on the first page, and was chuckling over a 
 cartoon on the sporting page as he leisurely began to 
 ascend the stairs. 
 
 A loud rumbling told that a train was approach- 
 ing. The Phantom pursued his unhurried pace, 
 conscious that the owner of the prying eyes had 
 stepped out of the doorway and was regarding him 
 suspiciously. Suddenly, as he reached a turn in the 
 stairs, a cry rang out: 
 
 "Stop!" 
 
 The Phantom looked down with an air of idle 
 curiosity, as if it were unthinkable that the command 
 could be meant for him, and climbed on. He had 
 almost reached the top when a second and more in- 
 sistent cry sounded. 
 
 u Hey, there ! I mean you/" 
 
 The Phantom climbed the remaining steps, reach- 
 ing the ticket window just as a train roared into the 
 station. Three sharp taps sounded against the side- 
 walk below, followed by a shrill blast of a police 
 whistle. The Phantom dropped his ticket in the 
 chopper and stepped out on the platform. The train 
 gates were open and a few passengers were getting 
 aboard. For a moment he hesitated; then he hurried 
 swiftly to the end of the deserted platform and 
 leaped out on the narrow walk used by track 
 workers. 
 
 The train rolled out of the station. The Phantom, 
 lying flat, guessed that the agent at the next stop had 
 already been notified to hold it for search, and it 
 was this circumstance that had decided him against 
 getting aboard. From the street rose a great hub- 
 bub. He began to crawl along the narrow span, 
 screened from sight by a heavy beam. Each mo- 
 ment was precious now, for soon the police would 
 learn that the Phantom was not on the train, and 
 
KIDNAPED 
 
 115 
 
 then they would guess that he was hiding somewhere 
 on the platform or the track. 
 
 He had crawled the length of half a block when 
 he stopped and looked down. The commotion at 
 the corner had ceased, but as he glanced behind him 
 he saw that several dark forms were moving rapidly 
 across the platform, as if looking for someone. At 
 the point where he lay the street was dimly lighted 
 and almost deserted. Agilely he swung his body 
 from the walk, clutched the beam with both hands 
 until he could obtain a foothold along one of the 
 heavy iron pillars that supported the structure, then 
 slid quickly to the ground. Standing in the shadow 
 of the pillar, he looked about him. Apparently he 
 had not been seen, but in a few moments a dragnet 
 would be thrown around the vicinity, and he would 
 have to exercise the utmost speed and caution if he 
 was to escape. 
 
 Quickly he dodged into a side street. On the 
 corner was a patrol box, and, even as he glanced at 
 it, the bulb at the top of the pole flashed into a green 
 brilliance. He knew what the signal meant. A gen- 
 eral alarm had been sent out, spreading the news that 
 the Gray Phantom had been seen. He hurried on, 
 but he had not reached far when a patrolman ap- 
 peared around the opposite corner, forcing him to 
 take refuge in a dark cellarway. Luckily the green 
 light had already attracted the policeman's atten- 
 tion, and he hurried past the point where the Phan- 
 tom was hidden, and made for the box on the corner. 
 While the bluecoat was receiving his instructions 
 'from the station house the Phantom crawled out of 
 his retreat and, clinging close to the shadows along 
 the walls, hastened in the other direction. 
 
 He was very cautious now. Once out of the im- 
 mediate neighborhood, the greatest danger would 
 
116 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 be past, but for the present every step of the way 
 bristled with perils. A taxicab hove into sight as he 
 reached an intersection of streets, but the chauffeur 
 showed no inclination to heed his signal. The Phan- 
 tom placed himself directly in the path of the onrush- 
 ing vehicle. It stopped with a grinding of brakes, 
 accompanied with a medley of oaths. 
 
 "What d'ye mean?" demanded the chauffeur. 
 "Can't you see I'm busy?" 
 
 "Double fare," suggested the Phantom tempt- 
 ingly. 
 
 A sharp glance shot out from beneath the visor 
 of the driver's cap. "Where to?" 
 
 "South Ferry," said the Phantom, though his 
 actual destination was a good distance short of that 
 point. 
 
 "All right," with a shrewd glance at his fare. 
 "Get in." 
 
 He held the door open and the Phantom entered 
 the cab. They had proceeded only a short distance, 
 however, when the passenger pinned a bill to the 
 cushion, cautiously stepped out on to the running 
 board and hopped off in the middle of a dark block. 
 He had not quite approved of the chauffeur's looks. 
 
 Just ahead of him lay the wholesale section of 
 Broadway, at that time of night as gloomy and life- 
 less a stretch of thoroughfare as can be found in all 
 New York. The Phantom walked briskly to the 
 corner and was turning south when he all but col- 
 lided with a red-faced heavy-jowled policeman. 
 
 "Pardon," he said lightly. Quickly he stuck a 
 cigar between his lips, tugging at his mustache with 
 one hand and exploring his vest pocket with the 
 other. "By the way, officer, happen to have a 
 match?" 
 
 The officer produced the desired article, and in 
 
KIDNAPED 
 
 117 
 
 return the Phantom proffered a cigar while he lighted 
 his own. With a hearty "Thank you, sor," the po- 
 liceman put the weed in his pocket and trudged on, 
 deciding he would smoke the affable stranger's cigar 
 when he went off duty. He didn't, however. After 
 straightening out certain tangles in his mind and ar- 
 riving at certain conclusions, Officer McCloskey re- 
 solved to keep the cigar as a souvenir of the occasion 
 when he accommodated the Gray Phantom with a 
 match. 
 
 Chuckling at the happy circumstances that some 
 policemen are more gullible than others, the Phan- 
 tom hurried forward in the shadows of tall brick 
 buildings. He thought he had left the zone of great- 
 est danger behind him, but the utmost caution was 
 still needed; the crucial test would not come until 
 he reached his destination. As often before, he was 
 relying for success and safety on the fact that he was 
 doing the very thing a hunted man was least likely 
 to do. 
 
 A hansom drawn by a scraggy nag came toward 
 him and drew up at the curb on his signal. He fixed 
 an appraising look on the driver, a despondent-look- 
 ing individual in sadly dilapidated livery, whose sole 
 concern in his prospective passenger seemed to have 
 to do with the collecting of a generous fare. 
 
 "Drive me to the Sphere office,'' directed the 
 Phantom, satisfied with his inspection of the man on 
 the box. 
 
 He climbe'd iri, and a crack of the whip startled 
 the nag into activity. The Phantom, tingling with a 
 familiar sensation, leaned back against the cushion 
 and watched long rows of somber buildings stream 
 past. He was bent on a madcap adventure, and the 
 details of his plan were still vague, but if the scheme 
 succeeded he would have gained an important ad- 
 
118 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 vantage. His task, besides being 'difficult and 'dan- 
 gerous, was also somewhat strange to him. Many 
 sensational ventures embellished his past, but he had 
 never until now essayed a kidnaping, at least not 
 under circumstances like these. 
 
 The vista brightened. A short 'distance ahead 
 loomed the Municipal Building and the Woolworth 
 Tower. Serenely the cab jogged into City Hall 
 Park, carrying its passenger into a brightly lighted 
 square that even at night stirred with activity and 
 bristled with a thousand dangers. The hansom 
 stopped, and the Phantom gazed a trifle dubiously 
 at a tall building from which issued the clatter of 
 linotype machines and the dull rumble of presses. 
 
 "Here we are, sir," observed the jehu expectantly, 
 speaking through the trap over the passenger's head. 
 
 The Phantom did not move. The entrance of the 
 Sphere building was brightly lighted and people were 
 constantly passing in either direction. On the corner, 
 keenly scanning the face of each passer-by, stood a 
 lordly policeman. The Phantom counted his 
 chances, knowing that much more than his personal 
 freedom was at stake. The mustache, his sole dis- 
 guise, seemed inadequate. He might be recognized 
 by anyone in the passing throng who chanced to 
 give him a second glance, and he would face another 
 ticklish situation when he was inside the building. 
 
 "Didn't you say the Sphere } sir?" inquired the: 
 'driver. 
 
 The Phantom was about to reply when fate un- 
 expectedly stepped in and solved his problem. A 
 few vigorous expressions spoken in loud and boister- 
 ous tones drew his attention to the doorway. A 
 gaudily garbed person who seemed to be in an ad- 
 vanced stage of inebriation was being propelled 
 through the door by a stocky man with a reddish and 
 
KIDNAPED 
 
 119 
 
 cietermine'd face. As he caught a glimpse of the 
 tipsy individual's features, the Phantom started and 
 wedged his figure into the farther corner of the 
 hansom. 
 
 From his well-filled wallet he took a bill and thrust 
 it through the trap. The jehu took it, stared for a 
 moment at the numeral in the corner, which was im- 
 posing enough to corrupt stancher souls than his, 
 then listened attentively to the instructions his fare 
 was giving in low and hurried tones. 
 
 "I get you, sir," was his comment. "Leave it to 
 me." 
 
 In the meantime the stout person had given the 
 tipsy one a final departing shove, and now he stood 
 aside, with thumbs crooked in the armpits of his vest, 
 his face glowing with the consciousness of a job well 
 performed. His victim picked himself up with great 
 difficulty and looked about him with groggy eyes 
 while loudly proclaiming how he would avenge the 
 affront. 
 
 "Cab, sir?" invitingly inquired the jehu. 
 
 The inebriate one careened forward, blinked his 
 eyes and, with head wagging limply from side to 
 side, gave the hansom a slanting look. Evidently it 
 met his approval, for he nodded and staggered 
 closer. The driver jumped from the box and oblig- 
 ingly assisted his new fare to the seat. A moment 
 later the cab was clashing away from the curb, fol- 
 lowed by the amused glances of several spectators. 
 
 The tipsy passenger, sprawling lumpishly in his 
 seat, rolled a little to one side as the conveyance 
 turned a corner. To his amazement his head struck 
 someone's shoulder; then a firm, low voice spoke in 
 his ear: 
 
 "Tommie Granger, you're just the person I have 
 been looking for." 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THOMAS GRANGER 
 
 SLOWLY and with difficulty the intoxicated man 
 straightened himself and looked unsteadily at 
 his companion. They were in a dark street and 
 their faces were indistinct. 
 
 "Shay," demanded the tipsy one, "thish ish my 
 cab. Get out!" 
 
 "Now, Granger," replied the Phantom with a - 
 chuckle, "you surely 'don't mind giving a fellow a 
 lift? By the way, where do you think you are 
 going?" 
 
 "Home, but " 
 
 "You forgot to tell the 'driver your address." 
 
 "Dam' the driver! He ought to know enough 
 — hie — to take a fellow home when he's soused. 
 Where elsh would I be going? Huh?'* 
 
 "But your address " 
 
 "Dam' my address! It's nobody'sh business. I 
 live where I please — see? I'm drunk. I get drunk 
 when — hie — whenever I feel like it. Know where 
 to get the sh-stuff, too. Alwaysh carry a bottle ort 
 my hip. Want a drink?" 
 
 "Never touch it. Thanks, just the same. What 
 was the matter back at the office? They were treat- 
 ing you rather roughly." 
 
 Granger seemed to recall a grievance. He macte 
 an effort to draw himself up. "I inshulted the city 
 editor and — hie — he told the watchman to bounce 
 
 120 
 
THOMAS GRANGER 
 
 121 
 
 me. I alwaysh inshult people when I'm soused. Did 
 I ever inshult you?" 
 "Not yet, Granger." 
 
 "Maybe I will shome day. Shay, tell the cabby 
 to turn back. I wanta go back to the offish and clean 
 out that bunch of stiffs." 
 
 "Now, Granger " 
 
 "Lemme go! I'll show 'em they can't treat me 
 that way. Lemme go, I tell you ! Hey, cabby, re- 
 versh the current." 
 
 Granger sprang from the seat, lurched against the 
 side of the cab, and would have hurled himself 
 against the pavement had not the Phantom jerked 
 him back. The drunken man lunged out with arms 
 and legs, but he subsided quickly as he felt something 
 hard pressing against his chest. 
 
 "Cut out the nonsense!" The Phantom spoke 
 firmly and incisively. "I have you covered, and I 
 won't stand for any foolishness." 
 
 The touch of steel against his ribs seemed to have 
 a sobering effect on Granger. For a few moments 
 he stared sulkily at his companion, then he settled 
 himself against the cushion, and his mind appeared 
 to be groping its way out of stupefying fumes. The 
 cab was pursuing a zigzagging route through 
 crooked and dimly lighted streets, the jehu having 
 been instructed to drive at random until he received 
 further orders. The Phantom's mind worked 
 quickly while he pressed the pistol against his cap- 
 tive's chest. A new problem confronted him. He 
 had kidnaped his man, but where was he to take 
 him? The logical answer was Sea-Glimpse, but the 
 trip would consume too much time, to say nothing 
 of the risks involved. Doctor Bimble's house? The 
 Phantom shook his head even as the idea occurred 
 to him. The anthropologist was too erratic a man 
 
\n THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 to inspire confidence, and the Phantom needed some- 
 one whom he could trust absolutely. 
 
 Presently he felt Granger's eyes on his face. The 
 cool night air, together with the steady pressure of 
 the pistol, was rapidly driving the alcoholic vapors 
 from the reporter's brain, and now he was subjecting 
 his captor to a blinking, unsteady scrutiny, as if he 
 were just beginning to suspect that something was 
 amiss. 
 
 "Is this a pinch?" he asked, his tones still a trifle 
 thick. 
 
 The Phantom laughed. "No, Granger. I'm not 
 an officer. Besides, why should I be pinching you?" 
 
 "For being drunk and disorderly and carrying a 
 bottle on my hip." 
 
 "Those heinous crimes don't interest me. Any- 
 how, I understand journalists are more or less priv- 
 ileged persons. I am merely taking you to a safe 
 place, where you won't go around insulting people 
 and getting your head smashed." 
 
 Granger fell into a moody silence, and the Phan- 
 tom thought he detected signs of a growing uneasi- 
 ness about his captive. Evidently the period of de- 
 pression that follows artificial stimulation was al- 
 ready setting in. Because of the darkness and his 
 befuddled state of mind, the reporter had not yet 
 recognized the man at his side, but his gaze was 
 taking on a keener edge and would soon penetrate 
 the thin disguise afforded by the mustache. The 
 Phantom felt the need of a quick decision. 
 
 A clock struck one. In scrupulous obedience to 
 his orders the jehu was urging his nag over the 
 darkest and most dismal streets he could find. The 
 Phantom looked out, and a glance at a corner sign 
 told him that they were crossing Mott Street and 
 were not far from the heart of old Chinatown. A 
 
THOMAS GRANGER 
 
 123 
 
 recollection flashed through his mind, and in its wake 
 came an idea. 
 
 "Stop," he called through the trap. The hansom 
 jolted to the curb and halted. The street was silent 
 and the sidewalks, as far as eyes could reach, were 
 deserted. There was a thin, lazy drizzle in the air 
 and the atmosphere was a trifle heavy. 
 
 "Listen, Granger," he spoke sharply. "We are 
 getting out here, but I intend to keep you covered 
 every instant. The slightest sound or the least false 
 move will cost you your life. Is that clear?" 
 
 The reporter's response was surly, but the Phan- 
 tom knew that his warning had had the effect he 
 desired. Holding the pistol with one hand, he took 
 out his wallet with the other and selected a bill. 
 Then he stepped down on the curb, ordering the re- 
 porter to follow. 
 
 "Here, cabby." He extended the bill, which, with 
 the other the Phantom had previously given him, 
 was surely enough to make the jehu forget any little 
 irregularity he might have observed. With a fervent 
 "Thank you, sir," he whipped up the scrawny nag 
 and drove away. 
 
 "Now, Granger." The Phantom spoke in low 
 but commanding tones. "My life depends on the 
 success of this little undertaking. I'll shoot you the 
 instant you show the least intention to spoil my plan. 
 Understand?" 
 
 Granger nodded, seemingly convinced that he was 
 dealing with a desperate man and that, for the time 
 at least, it behooved him to obey orders and ask no 
 questions. The Phantom wound his arm about the 
 other's back, firmly jabbing the muzzle of the pistol 
 against the fellow's armpit, thus giving the appear- 
 ance of steadying a slightly incapacitated friend. 
 
 They approached the center of Chinatown, keep- 
 
124 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 ing in the shadows whenever possible. Granger was 
 sullenly silent, and he seemed to be hoping and 
 watching for a sign of relaxing vigilance on his cap- 
 tor's part. The Phantom understood, and as they 
 left the shelter of darkness and turned the corner 
 at Pell Street, he pressed the pistol a little harder 
 against the reporter's armpit. 
 
 A slumberous gloom hung over the district, as if 
 the famous old quarter were brooding over mem- 
 ories of a lurid past, when terror stalked in subter- 
 ranean crypts and strange scenes were enacted under 
 cover of Oriental splendor. There were a few strag- 
 glers in the streets and some of the shops and res- 
 taurants were lighted; but, on the whole, the section 
 presented a dull and lifeless appearance. The Phan- 
 tom scanned the signs and numbers as he hurried 
 along with his captive, keeping the latter close to 
 his side, and constantly on the alert against lurking 
 dangers. 
 
 Finally he stopped before one of the smaller es- 
 tablishments and, after descending a few steps, 
 knocked on the basement door. Signs painted across 
 the window in Chinese and English announced that 
 the place was occupied by Peng Yuen, dealer hi 
 Oriental goods. Once, years ago, while the district 
 was ripped and rocked by one of its frequent tong 
 wars, the Phantom had chanced to do Peng Yuen 
 a great favor, and the Chinaman had sworn undy- 
 ing gratitude and promised to show his appreciation 
 in a practical way if the opportunity should ever 
 come. A strange friendship had developed, and 
 Peng Yuen, though wily and rascally in his dealings 
 with others, had impressed the Phantom as a man 
 whom he could safely trust. 
 
 The front of the store was Hark, but through art 
 open door in the rear came a shaft of light. As he 
 
THOMAS GRANGER 
 
 125 
 
 waited, the Phantom threw an uneasy giance up and 
 down the street. Luck had been with him so far, 
 but the tension was beginning to tell on his nerves. 
 
 A puny figure crossed the path of light, then the 
 door opened a few inches, and the two arrivals were 
 given a keen, slant-eyed scrutiny. The Phantom 
 knew a little Chinese, and a few words spoken in 
 that tongue had a magic effect on the man inside. 
 With a curious obeisance, he drew back and motioned 
 them to enter. The Phantom, pushing his quarry 
 ahead of him through the door, spoke a few more 
 words in Chinese, and their host pointed invitingly 
 to the door in the rear. 
 
 The three entered, and Peng Yuen, arrayed in 
 straw-colored garments embroidered with black bats, 
 shot the bolt. His face was as impassive as that of 
 the image of Kuan-Yin pu tze which stood on a shelf 
 over a lacquered teak-wood cabinet, and he was so 
 slight of stature that it seemed as though a puff of 
 wind would have blown him to the land of his an- 
 cestors. The air in the little den was heavy with 
 scents of the East. 
 
 The light, filtering through shades of green and 
 rose, gave Granger his first clear view of the Phan- 
 tom's face. With a start he fell back a step and 
 stared at his captor out of gradually widening eyes. 
 The last signs of stupor fled from his face, and 
 a startled cry rose in his throat as the Phantom smil- 
 ingly snatched the false mustache from his lips. 
 
 The Chinaman, standing with arms folded across 
 his chest, viewed the scene with supreme indifference. 
 Granger slowly ran his hand across his forehead, as 
 if wondering whether his senses were playing him 
 tricks. His lips came apart, and a startled gleam 
 appeared in his bleary, heavy-lidded eyes. 
 
126 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 "The — the Gray Phant6m!" he muttered shakily, 
 wetting his lips and falling back another step. 
 
 The Phantom looked amused. "Just think what 
 a scoop you've missed, Granger." He turned to the 
 Chinaman. "Peng, you old heathen, I guess you 
 know they are accusing me of murder?" 
 
 "So?" said Peng Yuen in his slow, precise English. 
 "I did not know. I never read the newspapers." 
 
 "Then, of course, you are not aware that the 
 police are conducting a lively search for me?" 
 
 "My friend," said the Chinaman, unimpressed, 
 "I have told you that I do not read the papers." 
 
 The Phantom searched the almond-shaped eyes 
 for a sign of a twinkle, but found none. 
 
 "Peng Yuen, you are lying like a gentleman. It 
 grieves me to shatter such beautiful ignorance, but 
 it must be done. I did not commit the murder of 
 which I am accused. For reasons of my own I 
 desire to find the murderer and hand him over to the 
 police. I am seriously handicapped by the interest 
 the authorities are taking in me, which makes it un- 
 safe for me to move a single step. I have thought 
 of a ruse by which that obstacle may be removed.' 1 
 
 The Chinaman lifted his brows inquiringly. 
 
 "This gentleman," continued the Phantom, indi- 
 cating the inebriate, "is Mr. Thomas Granger, 
 a reporter on the Sphere. As you may have noticed, 
 he looks something like me. The police, deceived 
 by the resemblance, took it into their heads to arrest 
 him. He was able to give a satisfactory account o£ 
 himself, of course, and his finger prints quickly con- 
 vinced the authorities they had made a mistake. 
 They are not likely to make that kind of mistake 
 a second time. You follow me, Peng Yuen?" 
 
 The ghost of a grin flickered across the China- 
 
THOMAS GRANGER 
 
 127 
 
 man's face. "Your words, my friend, have their 
 roots in eternal wisdom." 
 
 "Thanks for that kind thought, Peng Yuen. I 
 knew you would see the point. Granger has seen it, 
 too, though his mind is not functioning with its usual 
 brilliance to-night. He has consented to disappear 
 for a few days and has agreed to let me borrow his 
 identity in the meantime. As the Gray Phantom 
 I can scarcely move a step. In the role of Thomas 
 Granger, newspaper reporter, I shall be able to move 
 about unmolested. What, Granger — not backing 
 out of the bargain, I hope?" 
 
 A seemingly careless gesture with the pistol, to- 
 gether with a warning look, quickly silenced the pro- 
 tests on Granger's lips. After a few moments of 
 fidgeting and indecision, he accepted the situation 
 with a good-natured grin, as if its humorous side had 
 appealed to him. 
 
 "Excellent !" drawled the Phantom. "I knew you 
 would be reasonable. Now we strip." 
 
 He handed the pistol to Peng Yuen, placed his 
 metal case on the table, and began to remove his 
 clothes. Granger followed his example, and in a 
 few minutes the two had exchanged garments. The 
 reporter was addicted to vivid hues and extreme de- 
 signs. At first the Phantom felt a trifle uncomfort- 
 able in the strange garb, but he knew it was neces- 
 sary to the role he was assuming. He studied the 
 reporter carefully while he took a number of tubes 
 and vials from his case. Granger was a younger 
 man, his eyes were of a slightly different hue from 
 the Phantom's, and there were other differences 
 which were easily discernible to the keen eye. 
 
 The Phantom, viewing himself in a cheval glass, 
 Saubed a dark tint over the gray at his temples. 
 
128 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 With an occasional backward glance at the reporter, 
 he dappled his cheeks with a faintly chromatic 
 powder, traced a tiny line on each side of the mouth, 
 poured a little oil on his hair and patted it till it 
 lay smooth and sleek against his head, performing 
 each touch with such a delicate skill that, though 
 the resemblance was greatly enhanced, there was 
 scarcely a suggestion of make-up. 
 
 "What do you think, Peng Yuen?" he inquired, 
 turning from the cheval glass. 
 
 A look of admiration came into the Chinaman's 
 usually woodenlike face. Even the voice was Gran- 
 ger's. The expression around the mouth and the 
 eyes and the characteristic set of the shoulders were 
 adroitly imitated, and already the Phantom had 
 picked up several of the reporter's mannerisms. 
 
 "It is good," murmured Peng Yuen, putting the 
 maximum of approval into the minimum of w r ords. 
 
 The Phantom was beginning to show signs of rest- 
 lessness. He glanced at his w r atch, then fixed the; 
 Chinaman with a penetrating look. 
 
 "Peng Yuen," he said, "in the good old days there 
 were hiding places on these premises where people 
 could disappear." 
 
 "It may be so." The Chinaman's face was ex- 
 pressionless. "I do not recollect." 
 
 But even as he spoke, a touch of his fingers pro- 
 duced an opening in the wall. The Phantom mo- 
 tioned, and with a shrug of the shoulders the re- 
 porter stepped through the aperture. A moment 
 later a sliding panel had shut him from view. 
 
 "The Phantom has disappeared," mumbled the 
 Chinaman. "Except w T hen I bring him food and 
 drink, I will forget that he exists. Going so soon, 
 Mr. Granger?" 
 
THOMAS GRANGER 
 
 129 
 
 The bogus journalist grinned as he gripped Peng 
 Yuen's thin, weazened hand. He squeezed it until 
 the Chinaman winced, then hurried out into the 
 'dark, dripping night, turning his steps in the direc- 
 tion of the house on East Houston Street. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 A WARNING FROM THE DUKE 
 
 THE Phantom walked briskly, with an easy, 
 carefree swagger, breathing freely for the first 
 time since the beginning of the strange events 
 that had attended his efforts to solve the mystery of 
 the Gage murder. In the role of an irresponsible 
 journalist with a weakness for strong liquor he could 
 feel reasonably secure, for the police had been so 
 cruelly nagged and ridiculed that they would think 
 twice before repeating their sad blunder. 
 
 "Stop!" commanded a voice as he swung into 
 Houston Street. The Phantom halted and smiled 
 impudently into the face of a plain-clothes man who 
 emerged from a dark doorway to look him over. 
 
 "Oh, Granger," muttered the officer disgustedly 
 after a glance at his showy attire and a sniff of the 
 whisky with which the Phantom, making use of the 
 reporter's bottle, had prudently scented himself. 
 "Sober for a change, I see. Where do you get the 
 stuff, anyhow?" 
 
 "That would be telling. Any news of the Phan- 
 tom?" 
 
 "Naw! We thought we had him a while ago, 
 over at a Third Avenue L station, but he blew 
 away. I s'pose you're out to nab him and get a 
 scoop for that yellow rag of yours." 
 
 "Maybe," said the Phantom cheerfully. "It 
 
 130 
 
A WARNING FROM THE DUKE 131 
 
 would be quite an event in my young life. I'll be on 
 my way, if you're sure you don't want to take me 
 to headquarters and get another sample of my 
 finger prints." 
 
 u Aw — beat it!" muttered the detective, touched 
 in a sore spot. The Phantom chuckled and moved 
 on. His new role promised to be amusing as well as 
 profitable, and the ease with which he had passed 
 the first test gave him added confidence. Twice 
 within the next fifteen minutes he was stopped and 
 questioned, only to be dismissed with a disgusted 
 grunt or a facetious remark. 
 
 As he crossed the Bowery a stocky figure in patrol- 
 man's uniform appeared around the corner and 
 moved down the street a few paces ahead of him. 
 After studying his gait and bearing for a few mo- 
 ments, the Phantom knew it was Officer Pinto. He 
 slackened his pace and followed, stepping softly so 
 as not to attract the policeman's attention. 
 
 Pinto's steps faltered as he approached the mid- 
 dle of the block, and he walked with a shuffling and 
 uncertain air. Finally he stopped, and the Phantom 
 thought he was gazing at a window directly in front 
 of him. He tiptoed a little closer, and now he saw 
 that the building on which the officer's attention was 
 fixed so intently was none other than the murky and 
 silent structure that had been occupied by Gage and 
 his housekeeper. 
 
 The policeman "drew a little closer to the window, 
 then stood rigid and motionless, as if the building 
 were exerting a peculiar fascination upon him. At 
 that moment the Phantom would have given a great 
 deal to know what was going on in the mind of the 
 man he was watching. He could make a guess, but 
 guesses were unsatisfactory. At length the officer 
 shrugged his shoulders, as if to shake off something 
 
132 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 that oppressed him, then tried the lock In matter-of- 
 fact fashion and moved on down the street. 
 
 The Phantom hastened after him. He was no 
 longer trying to avoid detection, and his footfalls 
 sounded clear and sharp in the quiet street. The 
 policeman stopped, looked back, and peered sharply 
 at the oncomer. 
 
 "Granger — huh!" he snorted after giving the 
 Phantom a derisive once-over. 4 'Say, does your ma 
 know you're out as late as this? Getting all them 
 glad rags mussed up in the rain, too! What's the 
 idea?" 
 
 "The Phantom has got my goat," confessed the 
 pseudo reporter. "It isn't natural for a man to pop 
 in and out the way he does without getting caught." 
 
 "Well, what are -you going to do about it?" 
 grumbled the patrolman, resuming his walk. 
 
 The Phantom fell into step beside him, now and 
 then casting a sidelong glance at his sour and un- 
 communicative face. All of a sudden he wondered 
 whether the policeman was aware that a second 
 murder had been committed in the Gage house, and 
 again it struck him as bafflingly strange that no men- 
 tion had been made of the finding of the house- 
 keeper's body. What had become of it, and how 
 much, if anything, did Pinto know? 
 
 "Something seems to be eating you," he observed 
 casually, trying to adopt a phraseology suited to his 
 role. "You were staring at that window as if you 
 expected old Gage's ghost to take a stroll. What 
 were you thinking of, Pinto?" 
 
 The policeman gave a quick, searching look. 
 "Say, you've been watching me, ain't you? What's 
 the big idea? And how do you know my name?" 
 
 The Phantom laughed engagingly. "How touchy 
 we are to-night! I wasn't watching you, exactly. 
 
A WARNING FROM THE DUKE 133 
 
 Just strolling along, hoping to bump into the Phan- 
 tom and cover myself with glory. Then I saw you, 
 and I couldn't imagine what you were seeing in that 
 window. As for knowing your name, I happen to 
 be aware that the officer on this beat is one Joshua 
 Pinto and that he was called by the housekeeper the 
 night Gage was murdered.'' 
 
 The patrolman, evidently satisfied with the ex- 
 planation, mumbled something under his breath. 
 
 "But you haven't answered my question," per- 
 sisted the Phantom, speaking in gently teasing tones. 
 U I am still wondering what you were thinking of 
 while standing in front of the window." 
 
 u Why, I was — just thinking, that's all." 
 
 "How illuminating! I wonder if, by any chance, 
 your profound meditations had anything to do with 
 the present whereabouts of Mrs. Mary Trippe, 
 Gage's housekeeper." 
 
 The patrolman came to a dead stop. Of a sudden 
 his face turned almost white and his eyes grew wider 
 and wider as they stared into the questioner's face. 
 
 "What — what d'you mean?" he demanded 
 thickly. 
 
 The Phantom laughed easily. "Why, Pinto, 
 you're the scaredest cop I ever saw. Your nerves 
 must be in a bad way. I was only wondering if 
 you've seen anything of Mrs. Trippe lately." 
 
 "My nerves are a bit jumpy," admitted Pinto. 
 He was moving again, but there was evidence of 
 weakness in the region of his knees. "They've been: 
 that way ever since I had a touch of indigestion last 
 month. What was it you asked me about Mrs. 
 Trippe?" 
 
 "I walked over there yesterday afternoon, mean- 
 ing to ask her a question or two in connection witK 
 the murder. I couldn't find her, and the neighbors 
 
134 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 said they hadn't seen her for a day or two. Got 
 any idea where she is?" 
 
 "No, I haven't." Pinto was speaking in calmer 
 tones now. "Likely as not she's visiting friends or 
 relatives somewhere. Wimmen don't like to stay 
 in a place where there's been a murder." 
 
 "Something in that. By the way, Pinto, when 
 were you last inside the house?" 
 
 Again, for a mere instant, the patrolman's steps 
 faltered. He threw the man at his side an uneasy 
 glance. "Why, let me see. It was the day 1 had 
 the Phantom locked up in the bedroom and he gave 
 me the slip. Why did you want to know?" 
 
 "No reason in particular. I was just thinking 
 that — But my mind's wandering. Got a bit tanked 
 early in the evening. Guess I'll turn in. See you 
 later." 
 
 With a yawn, he turned back, fancying there was 
 a note of relief in the policeman's farewell. He 
 smiled as he walked along. His conversation with 
 Pinto had cleared up one point in his mind. The 
 officer knew something of Mrs. Trippe's fate. The 
 'dread he had evinced at mention of the housekeeper's 
 name proved that, and his prevarications and eva- 
 sions were further evidence. The plea of indigestion 
 and nervousness, coming from one of Pinto's robust 
 physique, was highly amusing. 
 
 Yet, illuminating as his verbal fencing match with 
 the patrolman had been, it had merely confirmed 
 suspicions already firmly rooted in the Phantom's 
 mind. As yet he had not a single iota of concrete 
 [evidence, and there were several snarled threads that 
 had to be untangled before he could accomplish 
 much. For instance, there was the mystery sur- 
 rounding the murder of Mrs. Trippe and the equally 
 perplexing riddle of what had become of the body. 
 
A WARNING FROM THE DUKE 135 
 
 Both of them must be solved before he could go far 
 toward attaining his object. 
 
 He stopped, noticing that his mental processes had 
 guided his steps toward the Gage house. It was still 
 drizzling, and he was tired and hungry and wet, but 
 the problem on which he was engaged drove all 
 thought of rest and food from his mind. The black- 
 ness overhead was slowly breaking into a leaden 
 gray, and from all directions came sounds of awak- 
 ening life. He walked up to the door, believing that 
 the answers to the questions that troubled him were 
 to be found inside the house. 
 
 Then, out of the shadows, as it seemed to him, 
 came an undersized creature with a slouching gait 
 and glittering cat's eyes peering out from beneath 1 
 the wide brim of a soft hat. The Phantom felt a 
 slight touch on his elbow, and for an instant the 
 sharply gleaming eyes scanned his face, then the 
 queer-looking character shuffled away as swiftly and 
 silently as he had appeared. 
 
 The Phantom was tempted to follow, but just then 
 he noticed that a piece of paper was cramped be- 
 tween his fingers. He unfolded it and examined it 
 in the meager light. All he could see at first was 
 something crude and shapeless sketched with pencil, 
 but gradually the blur dissolved into a symbol which 
 he recognized. 
 
 It was a ducal coronet. The Phantom smiled as 
 he looked down at the emblem of his old rival and 
 [enemy, the Duke. The paper handed him by the 
 curious messenger was a reminder that the hand of 
 his antagonist was reaching out for him, that though 
 the Duke himself was in prison, his henchmen and 
 agents were active, being at this very moment on the 
 Phantom's trail. 
 
 He put the paper into his pocket, and in the same 
 
136 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 moment the amused smile faded from his lips. For 
 a time he had forgotten that, to all practical pur- 
 poses, he was no longer the Gray Phantom, but one 
 Thomas Granger, journalist. His lips tightened as 
 again he gazed at the tracings on the paper. Did it 
 mean that the Duke's emissaries had seen through 
 his disguise and alias, or did it mean — his figure stif- 
 fened as the latter question flashed in his mind — that 
 Thomas Granger was a member of the Duke's band? 
 
 In vain he pondered the problem, unable to decide 
 whether the paper had been intended for himself 
 or for Granger. If for himself, it seemed a some- 
 what idle and meaningless gesture on the Duke's 
 part, for his old enemy surely could gain nothing by 
 sending cryptic messages to him. On the other hand, 
 assuming that the reporter was the intended recip- 
 ient, what hidden meaning was Granger supposed to 
 read into a ducal coronet? 
 
 He tried to dismiss the problem from his mind 
 until he could have a talk with Granger, but thoughts 
 of the mysterious message and the strange messenger 
 pursued him as he once more turned to the door. 
 The entrance to the store was padlocked, but the 
 lock on the side door vielded readily to manipulation 
 with one of the tools in his metal case. A quick 
 glance to left and right assured him he was unob- 
 served. Closing the door and taking out his electric 
 flash, which he had transferred among other things 
 to the suit he was now wearing, he ran up the steep 
 and creaking stairs. 
 
 He stood in a long and narrow hall. At one end 
 was a stairway, presumably leading to the store 
 below, and along the sides of the corridor were three 
 doors. Opening one of them, he played the electric 
 beam over the interior, for he did not think it safe 
 to turn on the light. It was a small, tidily furnished 
 
A WARNING FROM THE DUKE 137 
 
 bedroom, and the prevalence of feminine touches 
 hinted that it had been occupied by the housekeeper. 
 In the neatness and immaculateness of things there 
 was not the slightest suggestion of tragedy, and he 
 looked in vain for a sign that the occupant had been 
 snatched from a humdrum life to a horrible death. 
 
 Yet, as his eyes flitted over the room, he felt a 
 vague and haunting sense of oppression. It must be 
 the air, he thought, which was heavy and stale, as 
 if the window had not been opened for several days. 
 The note handed him by the queer messenger was 
 still a disturbing factor in his thoughts, and he took 
 it from his pocket and examined it in the light of his 
 flash. 
 
 At first he saw nothing but the crude pencil trac- 
 ings in which he recognized the emblem of the Duke, 
 but presently, as he gave closer attention to the out- 
 lines of the design, he detected tiny waves and jags 
 that impressed him as being there for a purpose. He 
 placed his magnifying lens between the electric flash 
 and the paper, and now the uneven strokes dissolved 
 into uncouth but fairly legible letters. He chuckled 
 as he perceived that the Duke, always a lover of the 
 theatrical, was in the habit of communicating with 
 his agents by means of writing that had to be read 
 through a magnifying lens. 
 
 Quickly he deciphered the script hidden in the 
 ornate tracings. His face grew hard as a welter of 
 ideas and suspicions surged through his mind. The 
 message read: 
 
 Traitors sometimes die. Report at once. 
 
 The six words seemed to throb with a sinister 
 meaning. They started a long train of thoughts in 
 the Phantom's mind. For one thing, they proved 
 
138 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 that the message was intended for Granger, since 
 there was no reason why the Duke should accuse the 
 Gray Phantom of treachery. They also made it 
 clear that the reporter was a member of the Duke's 
 new organization and that by some faithless act he 
 had incurred the displeasure o£ the leaders of the 
 band. 
 
 The Phantom loathed a traitor, but the Duke him- 
 self was no stickler for fair methods, and that a 
 member of his gang should have been caught in a 
 perfidious act was not particularly surprising. As 
 the Phantom saw it, the chief importance of his dis- 
 covery lay in the fact that he was still laboring under 
 a serious handicap. He had thought that in assum- 
 ing the guise of a newspaper reporter he would in- 
 sure himself against molestation from all sides, but 
 now it appeared that the man whose identity he had 
 borrowed was an object of suspicion and possible 
 vengeance. The threat in the first sentence of the 
 message was clear and to the point. 
 
 He scowled darkly at the message, then folded it 
 carefully and put it in his pocket. He still had an 
 advantage, he told himself, for he was safe so far 
 as the police were concerned. What he had to guard 
 against was the stealthy machinations and intrigues 
 of the Duke's band. On the whole, it was fortunate 
 that the note had fallen into his possession, for fore- 
 warned was forearmed. Increased alertness and a 
 few extra precautions would see him clear of the 
 pitfalls. 
 
 Extinguishing his flash, he left the room and de- 
 scended the stairs at the end of the hall, emerging 
 behind the counter in the front of the store. He 
 walked down the narrow aisle between the show case 
 and the shelves that lined the wall. The door to 
 Gage's bedroom was unlocked, and he entered. A 
 
A WARNING FROM THE DUKE 139 
 
 shaft of gray light slanting in beneath the window 
 shade gave blurry outlines to the objects in the room. 
 He passed to the window and pulled the curtain 
 aside. It was a dull, bleak dawn, as dismal and 
 gray as the one that had greeted him twenty-four 
 hours ago when he crawled out of the tunnel. 
 
 His inspection of the room shed not the faintest 
 ray of light on the questions in his mind. He 
 searched carefully, sweeping the dark corners with 
 his flash, but nothing appeared to have been touched 
 since his last visit. Of the tragedy he had witnessed, 
 not the slightest sign was to be found. Yet the scene 
 was so vividly impressed on his mind that he felt as 
 though the very walls were alive with the echoes of 
 the dying woman's groans. He could still see the 
 quickly moving hand that had held the knife. 
 
 "Whose hand?" he asked. It had been a mere 
 flash, and, as far as he could recall, there had been 
 nothing distinctive about it. It was not likely he 
 would recognize the hand if he should see it a second 
 time; yet the question was already settled in his 
 mind. The housekeeper herself had given him the 
 answer to it in the few words she had gasped out 
 just before the blow was struck: 
 
 "He's killing me ! He's afraid I'll tell !" 
 
 She had referred to Pinto, of course, for her pre- 
 vious words and looks, the Gray Phantom thought, 
 had clearly shown that she suspected the policeman 
 of having murdered her employer. It was a safe in- 
 ference, then, that Pinto had slain the housekeeper 
 in order to seal her lips forever, and the Phantom 
 wondered whether the patrolman was not also re- 
 sponsible for the barricade at the end of the tunnel. 
 It seemed plausible enough. Pinto must have known 
 that there had been a witness to his deed, though he 
 probably did not know that this witness had seen 
 
140 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 only a Hand and a knife. It was even possible that 
 the policeman had seen more of the Phantom than 
 the Phantom had seen of him. At any rate, he was 
 doubtless aware that the housekeeper's words had 
 been addressed to someone hidden in the opening 
 back of the revolving frame. Fearing that this 
 person would betray him, he had quickly slammed 
 the frame into place, after which he had run around 
 to Doctor Bimble's cellar and blocked the mouth of 
 the passage, intending that the witness to his crime 
 should smother to death. 
 
 So much seemed clear; at least it furnisheH a 
 hypothesis in the light of which the strange events 
 of the night before were explainable. The only 
 puzzling factor in the situation was the disappear- 
 ance of the body. The Phantom, cudgel his wits as 
 he might, could see no other solution than that the 
 murderer must have removed it. No one else would 
 have been likely to 'do so. If the body had been 
 found by anyone else the matter would have been 
 promptly reported to the police, and without doubt 
 another crime would have been chalked up against 
 the Gray Phantom. Scanning the mystery from 
 every angle, the Phantom could see no other ex- 
 planation than that the body had been concealed by 
 the murderer. 
 
 u But why?" he asked himself. So far as He could 
 see, the murderer could have had no reason for cov- 
 ering up the crime, which in the absence of contrary 
 proof would have been imputed to the Gray Phan- 
 tom. The police and the press would have jumped 
 instantly to the conclusion that the arch-rogue had 
 followed up the killing of Gage with the murder of 
 the housekeeper, and their fertile brains could easily 
 have invented several plausible motives. This, to 
 all appearances, would have suited the murderer to 
 
A WARNING FROM THE DUKE 141 
 
 perfection. Why, then, had he gone out of his way 
 to keep the crime secret? 
 
 The Phantom's mind churned the problem for sev- 
 eral minutes before the answer came to him. As is 
 often the case, it was so ludicrously simple that he 
 wondered why he had not seen it at once. 
 
 "Clear as daylight!" he decided. "The murderer 
 knew the crime couldn't be fastened on me, because 
 I had an alibi. I was in jail, so to speak, when the 
 murder was committed. Of course, I was in jail only 
 by proxy, the real prisoner being Tommie Granger, 
 but the murderer didn't know that until later. He 
 thought I was locked up, and that was enough for 
 him." 
 
 The Phantom backed out of the room. His visit 
 to the scene of the two murders had helped him to 
 clarify certain problems, but he had accomplished 
 nothing definite. His suspicions in regard to Pinto 
 had become stronger, but as yet he had not a shred 
 of actual proof against the man. He considered 
 what his next step should be as he walked across 
 the store and started up the stairs. For several 
 reasons, he decided, he must have a talk with Thomas 
 Granger at once. 
 
 He paused for an instant outside the house- 
 keeper's bedroom, then walked on to the next door, 
 which opened into a kitchen. The third door, the 
 one farthest down the hall, gave access to a large 
 room, and the tall tiers of boxes and packing cases 
 indicated that Gage had used it for storage purposes. 
 'Abstractedly he let the gleam of his electric flash 
 glide over the floor and the long, jagged cracks in 
 the begrimed ceiling. He was looking for nothing 
 in particular, and apparently there was nothing to 
 'find. 
 
 Yet, as he started to walk out, something held 
 
142 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 him. He could not analyze the sensation at first, but 
 it was one he had experienced before, and it was 
 associated in his mind with dreadful and awe-in- 
 spiring things. He could not name it, but it gave 
 him the impression that he stood in the presence of 
 death. 
 
 He started forward, but of a sudden he checke'd 
 himself and listened intentiy to sounds coming from 
 the direction of the stairs. They were short, creak- 
 ing, and irregular sounds, like those produced by a 
 heavy man when he tries to walk lightly, and they 
 gave the Phantom an impression of hesitancy and 
 furtiveness. 
 
 The stealthy footfalls drew nearer. Quietly the 
 Phantom pushed the door shut, took the pistol from 
 his pocket, and stepped behind a row of packing 
 cases. The footsteps were now almost at the door. 
 An interval of silence came, as if the person outside 
 were hesitating before he entered, then the door 
 came open and a dark shape prowled across the floor. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE OTHER LINK 
 
 THE room was in total darkness save for a tiny 
 sliver of light filtering in through a crack be- 
 tween the packing cases stacked against the 
 window. The prowler advanced gropingly after 
 closing the door behind him, and from time to time 
 he cleared his throat with little rasping sounds, as 
 some persons do when laboring under intense excite- 
 ment. 
 
 The Phantom, wedged in a narrow opening be- 
 tween two rows of boxes, presendy heard a faint 
 scraping, as if the intruder were passing his hand 
 back and forth in search of a light switch. All he 
 could see was a shadow moving hither and thither 
 in the gloom, but the prowler's quick breathing and 
 jerky footsteps told that, whatever might be his 
 errand, he was going about it in a state of great 
 trepidation. 
 
 A sudden flash of light caused the Phantom to 
 press hard against the wall, for he wished to ascer- 
 tain the other's business before making his presence 
 known. He judged from the sounds made by the 
 prowler that he must be at the opposite side of the 
 room, and a succession of loud, creaking noises indi- 
 cated that he was dragging some of the cases away 
 'from the wall. After a little the sounds ceased and 
 the only audible thing was the prowler's hard pant- 
 
 143 
 
144 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 ing, mingling now and then with a low, hoarse 
 mutter. 
 
 The Phantom stood very still. A curious feeling 
 was stealing over him. It was the same weird and 
 oppressive sensation he had experienced shortly after 
 entering the room, but now it was more pronounced, 
 filling him with a sense of awe which he could not 
 understand. 
 
 The prowler's footfalls, moving toward the door, 
 broke the spell. The Phantom, casting off the un- 
 comfortable sensation with a shrug of his shoulders, 
 stepped out from his hiding place just as a hand 
 gripped the doorknob. 
 
 "Hello, Pinto!" He spoke in a drawl, toying 
 carelessly with his pistol. Out of the corner of an 
 £ye he slanted a look at an object lying on the floor. 
 It had not been there when he entered. 
 
 The patrolman's face had been white even before^ 
 he spoke; now it was ashen and ghastly. His eyes, 
 wide with horror, bored into the Phantom's face. 
 Several times he moistened his twitching lips before 
 he was able to speak. 
 
 "Where did you co — come from?" he gasped. 
 
 "Why, nowhere in particular. Just taking a walk. 
 Changed my mind about going home. But don't 
 look at me as if I was a ghost. Makes me nervous. 
 Great heavens, what's this?" 
 
 He started at the grewsome heap on the floor as if 
 he had just now chanced to cast eye upon it. Pinto 
 made a heroic effort to steady himself. His quaver- 
 ing gaze moved reluctantly toward the motionless 
 form lying a few feet from where he stood. 
 
 "That's — that's Mrs. Trippe," he announced, 
 twisting his head and working his Adam's apple as 
 if on the point of choking. 
 
 "So I see." The Phantom stepped closer to the! 
 
THE OTHER LINK 
 
 145 
 
 body, regarded it gravely for a few moments, then 
 lifted his narrowing gaze to the policeman's twitch- 
 ing face. "Where did it come from, Pinto?" 
 
 The officer was gradually gaining control of him- 
 self. He took out his handkerchief and mopped his 
 perspiring forehead. "Awful sight — ain't it, Gran- 
 ger? I thought I heard some kind of racket just as 
 I was passing the house. I tried the doors, and the 
 one at the side was unlocked. I thought it was 
 queer, for I had made sure it was locked when I 
 passed the other time, so I ran up the stairs and 
 looked around. When I came in here and turned 
 on the light, I found that thing lying there. It broke 
 me all up. Fine scoop for your paper, Granger, if 
 you grab it before the other reporters do." 
 
 Smiling, the Phantom looked Pinto squarely in the 
 eye. "Your story needs a little dressing up. It 
 doesn't hang together. Maybe you would have been 
 able to think up a better one if your nerves hadn't 
 been on the jump. For one thing, Pinto, no cop goes 
 into hysterics at sight of a dead body unless his con- 
 science is giving him the jimjams. For another, you 
 didn't find the body where it is lying now. Unless 
 I am very much mistaken, you dragged it out from 
 behind those packing cases." 
 
 He pointed to a corner of the room where several 
 large boxes had been displaced. The shamefaced 
 expression of a man caught in a clumsy lie mingled 
 with the look of dread in Pinto's countenance. 
 
 "What you driving at?" he demanded with a 
 feeble show of bluster. 
 
 The Phantom's mind worked quickly. In the last 
 fifteen minutes his suspicions in regard to Pinto had 
 become a certainty. The policeman's conduct left 
 not a shred of doubt as to his guilt, but the evidence 
 the law would require was still lacking. Pinto would 
 
146 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 soon gather his wits and invent a more plausible 'ex- 
 planation than the one he had just given, and on an 
 issue of veracity between the Gray Phantom and aa 
 officer of the law, the latter would have all the ad- 
 vantages. The Phantom, swiftly appraising the sit- 
 uation, saw that his only hope lay in subtler tactics. 
 Perhaps by adroitly working on the policeman's evi- 
 dent pusillanimity he could induce him to make a 
 clean breast of it. 
 
 "The game's up, Pinto," he said sternly. "You 
 murdered Mrs. Trippe, just as you murdered Gage. 
 Better come clean." 
 
 A ghastly grin wrinkled the patrolman's face. 
 "Think so, eh? You newspaper guys think you're 
 pretty wise, don't you? Well, what proof have you 
 got?" 
 
 For answer the Phantom Hecided on a random 
 thrust. He took a pencil and a sheet of paper from 
 his pocket and, placing his pistol on a packing case, 
 roughly sketched a ducal coronet. He held the de- 
 sign close to the patrolman's eyes. 
 
 Pinto glanced at the sketch. With a hoarse cry 
 he shrank back a step, but in a moment, by an exer- 
 tion of will power, he had partly mastered his emo- 
 tion. He guffawed loudly. 
 
 "Looks like a crow's nest to me," he gibed. 
 
 "You recognized it just the same, Pinto. Your 
 face told me you did, so there's no use denying it. 
 You're a member of the Duke's crew. You had 
 orders to kill Gage, and you did. It was fairly, 
 clever, too, the way you arranged things so suspicion 
 would fall on — ahem, on the Gray Phantom. But 
 the housekeeper somehow saw through you. She 
 was wise to you. And so, fearing she might tell what 
 she knew and send you to the chair, you killed her, 
 too. Then " 
 
nr HE OTHER LINK 
 
 147 
 
 "You've got some imagination, you have!" jeered 
 the policeman, struggling hard to maintain a grip on 
 himself. 
 
 "Then," continued the Phantom coolly, u you car- 
 ried the body up here and hid it. Not a very clever 
 move, but you were scared at the time, and people 
 do queer things when they are panicky. You real- 
 ized the Phantom couldn't be blamed for the murder 
 of Mrs. Trippe, for he was in jail when the job was 
 done. Anyhow, everybody thought he was, which 
 amounted to the same thing. You were in no condi- 
 tion to reason things out, and the only safe way out 
 of the mess you had made seemed to be to hide the 
 body. It would postpone discovery of the murder 
 for a while and give you a chance to think. The 
 hiding place you picked wasn't a very good one, but 
 it was the best you could find in a hurry." 
 
 "Yeah?" taunted Pinto. "Been hitting the booze 
 again, ain't you?" 
 
 "No; I'm sober for once. Well, Pinto, after our 
 little talk a while ago you were a bit worried. You 
 knew someone would find the body sooner or later, 
 and you thought things would look better all around 
 if you were the one to find it. Anyhow, there was 
 no reason for keeping it hidden longer after it turned 
 out that the police had nabbed the wrong man and 
 the Phantom had no alibi. I suppose if I hadn't 
 stopped you when I did, you would now be at the 
 telephone reporting your discovery to the station 
 house." 
 
 As he spolce\ the Phantom studied every change of 
 Expression in the other's face. Pinto winced as if 
 "each word had been a needle prick, but he seemed to 
 be drawing on a reserve force of fortitude, for his 
 courage was rising rather than ebbing. 
 
148 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 "After pulling all that dream stuff," he said sneer- 
 ingly, "mebbe you'll come across with the evidence." 
 
 "Sure thing." The Phantom's tones belied his 
 crumbling hopes. He realized he had no evidence, 
 and Pinto showed no signs of breaking down. "If 
 what I've said doesn't hit the bull's-eye, why did you 
 sneak in here and drag the body out from behind 
 the packing cases? You seemed to be making a bee 
 line for it. How did you know it was there?" 
 
 "So that's what you call evidence!" Pinto sneered. 
 "I guess if it comes down to brass tacks, my word's 
 as good as yours. Now that you've got all that 
 stuff off your chest, mebbe you'll answer a question 
 or two, and you might begin by telling what you're 
 doing here yourself." 
 
 "A reporter goes everywhere." 
 "Reporter — huh! You've been on the Sphere 
 four weeks, and soused half the time. You came 
 here from Kansas City. You worked on a news- 
 paper there only a week or two, according to the 
 dope the department got. Seems you've been tramp- 
 ing around a lot in your days. Mebbe you're an 
 honest-to-goodness reporter, and mebbe you're not. 
 I've got a hunch of my own." 
 
 "Let's hear it," said the Phantom lightly, though 
 inwardly he felt somewhat uneasy. Pinto's gaze, 
 constantly searching his face, was growing keener 
 with every passing moment. 
 
 "Well, it looks mighty queer to me that you 
 showed up in this burg just a few weeks ahead of 
 the Phantom, especially since you two look so much 
 alike. What's queerer still is that you got pinched 
 the other day just when the Phantom was as good 
 as caught in the net. He would have been hauled in 
 if you hadn't been grabbed by mistake." 
 
 "So, that's it." The Phantom chuckled amusedly. 
 
THE OTHER LINK 
 
 149 
 
 "Just because it happened that way, you're thinking 
 that I am acting as a foil for the Gray Phantom." 
 
 "You got me just right, Granger. I'm thinking 
 that, though I'm not saying much about it yet. 
 Here's another little thing I'd like to get your 
 opinion on." He came a step closer, looked hard at 
 the Phantom, and put the question sharply. "What's 
 become of Helen Hardwick?" 
 
 "He-Helen Hardwick?" The Phantom stood 
 rigid, mouth gaping and eyes staring. 
 
 "She's the one. They say the Phantom has £ 
 crush on her and that it was on her account he; 
 handed the Duke that wallop some months ago* 
 She's supposed " 
 
 The Phantom, his face deathly white, clutched 
 Pinto's arm in a grip that made the policeman 
 squirm. "What about Miss Hardwick?" he de- 
 manded hoarsely. "Has anything happened to her? 
 Speak, man !" 
 
 Pinto freed his arm and gave him a searching 
 look. "All I know is that she's missing, and I 
 thought mebbe you " 
 
 "Missing?" echoed the Phantom sharply. "What 
 r do you mean? Speak up !" 
 
 In his excitement he did not see that the look of 
 perplexity in Pinto's eyes had given way to a cun- 
 ning twinkle. In another moment the policeman had 
 acted with a precision and a swiftness that indicated 
 he was a far shrewder man that his looks led one 
 to think. In an instant the pistol had been beaten 
 'from the Phantom's numb hand and in the space o£ 
 a few seconds a steel link was gyved around his wrist. 
 
 "There, Mr. Gray Phantom!" exclaimed the po- 
 liceman with a triumphant chuckle. "I guess you 
 won't get away from me this time!" 
 
 The Phantom, at last sensing his danger, jumped 
 
150 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 to one side, but already the other link was fastened 
 around the policeman's wrist. Pinto's words regard- 
 ing Helen Hardwick had stunned him momentarily, 
 and he had not seen his peril until it was too late. 
 Now he was a prisoner, handcuffed to his captor! 
 
 "This is more like it!" exclaimed the policeman, 
 kicking aside the pistol his prisoner had dropped and 
 shoving his own weapon against the Phantom's dia- 
 phragm. "I've had a hunch all along that, if you 
 weren't the Phantom himself, you were his alibi. I'm 
 wise now, all right. You gave yourself away when 
 I spoke the name of the moll. You turned white to 
 the gills and almost jumped out of your shoes. Guess 
 you forgot to play your role that time, Mr. Phan- 
 tom. Granger, not being in love with the lady, 
 wouldn't have thrown a fit like that. Well, we're 
 off for the station. You can hand 'em the spiel you 
 gave me, and see how much they believe of it." 
 
 "Before we start, tell me what you know of Miss 
 Hardwick," pleaded the Phantom, for his own plight 
 still seemed of secondary importance. 
 
 Pinto shrugged his shoulders. "She's vamoosed; 
 that's all I know. Come along. Mebbe she'll drop 
 in and see you when you're in jail." 
 
 "Jail!" He braced his weight against the pull at 
 his wrist. "I'm not going to jail — not while Miss 
 Hardwick' s in trouble. You may be a little stronger 
 than I, Pinto, but x I'm in better trim, and you can't 
 budge me." 
 
 The policeman tore at the link, but in vain. The 
 Phantom dropped to the floor, dug his heels into a 
 crack between two boards, and resisted with all his 
 might. Pinto puffed and cursed, but he might as 
 well have tried to lift himself by his own boot straps, 
 and his efforts were further hampered by the neces- 
 sity of keeping the pistol aimed with his free hand. 
 
THE OTHER LINK 
 
 151 
 
 The glint in his captive's eyes hinted that *he was 
 but waiting for a chance to land a blow with his fist 
 between the policeman's eyes. 
 
 "Say, what's the use stalling?" argued Pinto, re- 
 sorting to diplomacy while regaining his breath. 
 "The game's up." 
 
 The Phantom knew it, but he was playing for 
 time. Some unexpected turn might yet reverse the 
 situation and give him the upper hand. 
 
 "You're done for, and you know it," said the po- 
 liceman impressively. "Might as well give in." 
 
 "Wrong, Pinto. You seem convinced that I'm 
 the Gray Phantom, and you ought to know that the 
 Phantom never gives in. I can sit here as long as 
 you can. Don't you think we had better com- 
 promise?" 
 
 "Compromise — your grandmother!" grumbled 
 Pinto. "You'll never get out of this." 
 
 Still pointing the muzzle at his prisoner, he? 
 brought the butt of the weapon close to one of his 
 pockets. Two fingers reached down and extracted 
 a police whistle, and in an instant it was between his 
 lips, giving forth a shrill blast. He waited expect- 
 antly for a few moments. Again and again the; 
 whistle shrieked, but no response came. 
 
 The Phantom grinned. "The acoustics are not 
 all that might be desired. The windows are closed, 
 and there are several heavy walls between here and 
 the street. I fear, Pinto, that your lung power is 
 going to waste." 
 
 Disgustedly Pinto dropped the whistle. He con- 
 sidered for a moment, then a grim smile lit up his 
 face. 
 
 "You've sung your last tune, Mr. Phantom," he" 
 muttered. "There's always a way to handle the 
 likes of you." 
 
152 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 As he spoke, he quickly shifted his hold on the 
 pistol, and in another moment the handle crashed 
 down on the prisoner's head. Of a sudden the Phan- 
 tom felt himself grow limp. A laugh broke hoarsely 
 through the gloom that descended upon him. He 
 heard a voice, but it sounded faint and remote, as 
 if coming to him across a vast chasm. 
 
 "Guess you won't get out of that!" 
 
 Then, miles away, a door slammed. He exerted 
 a supreme effort to shake off the numbness brought 
 on by the unexpected blow. His eyes fluttered open. 
 His mind struggled out of the blinding haze. The 
 light was still on, and his staring eyes flitted slowly 
 about the room. It seemed only a moment ago that 
 the door had slammed. Pinto was nowhere in sight, 
 and for a moment he wondered at this. 
 
 Then, his mind clearing, it came to him that the 
 policeman had gone out to summon assistance. He 
 had had his lesson, and this time he was taking no 
 chances with so dangerous and elusive a prisoner as 
 the Gray Phantom. Doubtless he would be back 
 in a few moments, and then 
 
 He raised himself to a sitting posture. A hideous 
 recollection electrified his body and mind. Helen 
 Hardwick was missing, Pinto had said. Perhaps she 
 w r as in trouble; perhaps some desperate danger con- 
 fronted her. He must find her at once, and he must 
 get out of the room before Pinto returned with 
 reinforcements. 
 
 He tried to rise, but something restrained him. 
 It was the steel link around his wrist. Only a mo- 
 ment ago, so it seemed, the other link had been 
 fastened to Pinto's hand. Now 
 
 A groan of horror broke from his lips as he saw 
 the thing to which he was linked by a band of steel. 
 
THE OTHER LINK 
 
 153 
 
 Pinto had, Indeed, taken no chances. Even if the 
 Phantom could get out of the room, his hand would 
 be chained to the cold, dead hand of the house- 
 keeper. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE DUKE'S MESSENGER 
 
 tN vain the Phantom spurred his wits to find a way 
 I out, but the thought that hurt him most was 
 that he was helpless at a moment when Helen 
 Hardwick might be in danger. 
 
 What had happened to her? His imagination pic- 
 tured one fearful possibility after another. The one 
 that seemed most likely was that the Duke's agents, 
 aware of the Phantom's interest in the girl, had lured 
 her into a trap. The Duke, thorough and artful in 
 all things, could be depended upon to miss no op- 
 portunity to make his revenge complete. 
 
 He tried to clear his mind of harrowing surmises. 
 His situation was desperate, and now as never before 
 he needed to think coolly and act quickly. At any 
 moment Pinto might return, and the seconds were 
 precious. The thought that sustained him was that 
 his wits had never yet failed him in an emergency, 
 and that always in the past he had contrived to 
 squeeze out of tight corners by performing some 
 astounding feat. 
 
 Yet, was his dismal afterthought, he had never 
 before faced a situation quite like this. To escape 
 with a lifeless form gyved to his hand was out of 
 the question. He looked swiftly about the room, but 
 saw nothing that suggested a means of deliverance. 
 Even the pistol he had dropped had been removed 
 by the thoughtful Pinto. If he escaped, was his con^ 
 elusion, it would be only by a stroke of amazing luck. 
 
 154 
 
THE DUKE'S MESSENGER 
 
 155 
 
 Suddenly, as a new thought came to him, he thrust 
 his free hand into his inside breast pocket. His face 
 brightened a little. Pinto had overlooked some- 
 thing, after all. His case, with its assortment of 
 carefully selected tools, was still there. Evidently 
 Pinto had not thought it necessary to search his 
 pockets. He took out the little box and ran his eyes 
 over the snugly packed implements, each of which 
 had been prepared with a definite purpose in view. 
 
 Quickly he tried several of his sharp-pointed tools 
 in the locks of the handcuffs, but the mechanism was 
 proof against manipulation, and he soon gave up the 
 attempt. Next he picked out a small, fine-toothed 
 saw, but he realized he would only be wasting time 
 if he tried to cut through the chilled steel of which 
 the links were made. It might be done if he had 
 hours at his command. 
 
 A step sounded in the hall. One more hope re- 
 mained. From his case he took a small capsule, 
 pointed at one end and scarcely longer than a pin. 
 It contained a combustible powder, and the Phan- 
 tom had carried it with him for just such an emer- 
 gency as this. Now he took one of Granger's ciga- 
 rettes from his pocket, inserted the capsule at one 
 end, and put the cigarette in his mouth. Then he 
 returned the case to his pocket and, just as the door 
 came open, was making an elaborate pretense of 
 hunting for a match. 
 
 He looked up with an air of unconcern — and in 
 the next instant the cigarette dropped from his gap- 
 ing lips. He had expected Pinto to walk in with 
 one or more of his colleagues, but instead he saw 
 the dwarfish creature who had handed him the paper 
 bearing the Duke's emblem. 
 
 For a few moments the little man remained in the 
 Sioorway, sweeping the room with a quick, nervous 
 
156 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 glance, then closed the 'door and came Torwar3. 
 Mechanically the Phantom restored the cigarette to 
 his lips while staring at the queer intruder. The 
 electric light lent a yellow tinge to his shriveled face 
 — a face so gloomy and sour that it gave the impres- 
 sion of never having been lit up by a grin. He drew 
 a pistol from his pocket as he approached the 
 Phantom. 
 
 "Well, Granger, you sure got into a mess," he ob- 
 served, speaking in a wheezy, drawling voice. 
 
 "So it seems," agreed the Phantom, his mind 
 working quickly. "Got a match?" 
 
 The weazened individual handed him one, but the 
 Phantom seemed in no hurry to light his cigarette. 
 
 "I kinda thought you'd get yourself in bad, the 
 way you carried on," continued the little man, gazing 
 indifferently at the body. "Didn't you savvy the 
 note I slipped you?" 
 
 "It was plain enough." 
 
 "But you paid no more attention than if it had 
 been an invitation to a dog fight." 
 
 "I didn't think there was any great rush," said 
 the Phantom cautiously. "I thought to-morrow 
 would be time enough." 
 
 "Time enough? He, he! Well, you're a queer 
 one, Granger. Guess you don't know the big chief 
 the way I do. When he sends for you it means he 
 wants you right away. He's already kinda leery 
 about you and — But that's your funeral. Hope 
 for your sake you can square yourself with him. 
 It's a lucky thing I turned back and got on your trail 
 after slipping you the note." 
 
 The Phantom, wondering what had happened to 
 the policeman, looked uneasily at the door. 
 "Where's Pinto?" he asked after a pause. 
 
 "The cop? Oh, I fixed him. Handed him one 
 
THE DUKE'S MESSENGER 157 
 
 'from the rear as he was starting down the stairs, 
 and he never knew what struck him. Just gave a 
 grunt and went down like a bag of cement. You 
 see, I'd been standing at the door trying to get the 
 hang of the gabfest between you and him. I couldn't 
 hear much — only a word now and then — but when 
 the door opens and the cop walks out I know there's 
 trouble, and so I hand him one on the bean. Say, 
 how much is that cop wise to?" 
 
 "Eh?" The Phantom stared for an instant, un- 
 certain how he should play his role, but he quickly 
 grasped the threads of the situation. "Oh, Pinto is 
 away off on his hunches. Hasn't the least idea I'm 
 one of your gang, but thinks I am dragging a red 
 herring across the Phantom's trail. Rich — what?" 
 
 The other chuckled mirthlessly. "I'll say it is. 
 Well, the cop won't do any talking for quite a long 
 stretch, and when he comes to things will be kind 
 of hazy in his coco. You'd better come along with 
 me and make your spiel to the big chief. You'll 
 have to do some tall explaining, and, unless you can 
 square yourself, you may wish the cop had got you." 
 
 There was an ugly smirk on the man's lips and he 
 spoke the last words as if gloating over the ordeal 
 in store for the other. 
 
 The Phantom shrugged his shoulders. "I can 
 explain things to the big chief. What worries me 
 is the bracelet on my wrist!" 
 
 "I'll get the key out of the cop's pocket," an- 
 nounced the little man. 
 
 The Phantom gazed after him as he left the room. 
 A little while ago he had told himself that only a 
 stroke of magic could save him, and the weazened 
 creature's appearance at the crucial moment seemed 
 almost miraculous. Yet he looked a trifle dubious. 
 
 "I'm coming out of the fire," he mumbled, "but I 
 
158 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 haven't the least idea what the frying pan will be 
 like. The little rat may be hard to shake, and Pinto 
 will spoil my alibi as soon as he comes out of ob- 
 livion." 
 
 The small man returned and tossed a metallic 
 object at the Phantom's feet, then stood aside, with 
 pistol leveled, while the handcuffs were being un- 
 locked. His sharp eyes followed every move the 
 Phantom made, but evidently there was not the 
 faintest suspicion in his mind as to the identity of 
 the man with whom he was dealing. In all likeli- 
 hood he knew Granger but slightly and had never 
 seen much of him. 
 
 "There!" exclaimed the Phantom as the link 
 around his wrist parted. u Pinto will be the most 
 surprised cop in creation when he walks in here and 
 finds the bird flown. I!-m dying for a smoke." 
 
 He rose to his feet and struck the match, glancing 
 narrowly at the other as he lighted his cigarette. 
 There was a look of habitual alertness in the little 
 man's glittering eyes, and the pistol in his hand more; 
 than equalized his physical disadvantage. 
 
 "Look here, Granger," he said in harsh, wheezy 
 tones, "I don't quite know how to size you up, but 
 you and the chief are going to have a chat directly. 
 I'm putting my gat inside my pocket — like this. I'll 
 have my finger on the trigger all the time, so you'd 
 better watch your step. We're off." 
 
 He motioned the Phantom to start. With a hard 
 pull on his cigarette, the Phantom drew in all the 
 smoke his mouth could hold, strolled forward with 
 an easy swagger, and, turning abruptly on the little 
 man, blew a cloud of smoke into his face. 
 
 The victim gasped, spluttered, and choked, then' 
 was seized with an attack of sneezing that racked his 
 sides and convulsed his entire body. Spasm after 
 
THE DUKE'S MESSENGER 
 
 159 
 
 spasm shook the puny figure until the little man was 
 quite exhausted. Covering his nose and mouth, the 
 Phantom stepped behind him and snatched the pistol 
 from his pocket. 
 
 "The sneezing powder worked even better than 
 the last time I tried it," he observed with a chuckle. 
 
 "Ker-choooo 1" was the other's explosive com- 
 ment. "Ker-chooooo !" 
 
 Slowly the acrid fumes drifted toward the ceiling. 
 The little man, with tears streaming from his red- 
 lidded eyes, lurched toward one of the rows of 
 packing cases and leaned against it. The smoke was 
 scattering, but repeated fits of sneezing were still 
 jolting his frame. 
 
 The Phantom smothered the cigarette under his 
 heel. A simple trick had turned the situation in his 
 favor, but now he faced another problem. How to 
 (dispose of the little man and Pinto was a poser. 
 The former did not worry him, for he had bungled 
 his job miserably, and silence and discretion were 
 highly esteemed virtues in the Duke's organization. 
 
 It was different with Pinto. The policeman had 
 seen through the Phantom's disguise. Immediately 
 upon recovering consciousness he would report that 
 the Phantom was masquerading as Thomas 
 Granger, and that would be the end of the ruse. 
 The personality he had borrowed would no longer 
 protect the Phantom, and he would once more be 
 a hunted man and obliged to watch his step at every 
 turn. 
 
 On the other hand, it was just possible Pinto 
 would not tell what he had discovered. The police- 
 man, had a bad conscience, and that in itself made a 
 difference. Besides, the Phantom had twice slipped 
 out of his hands and he had achieved nothing 
 whereof he could boast. His pride and his con- 
 
160 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 science, each a powerful factor, would be very likely 
 to seal his lips. 
 
 Suddenly he smiled. To make doubly sure, he 
 would provide Pinto with a third motive for main- 
 taining silence. Without doubt the policeman 
 shared the average man's fear of ridicule, and the 
 Phantom could work on that. 
 
 The sneezings had ceased. The victim, looking 
 as though every ounce of strength had been drained 
 from him, peered vacantly at the Phantom while 
 the latter removed the second link from the dead 
 woman's hand. Exhausted by the sneezing fits and 
 deprived of his weapon, he was as helpless as a 
 snake stripped of its poisonous glands. 
 
 "Put your hands behind you," directed the Phan- 
 tom. 
 
 The little man made as if inclined to resist, but 
 thought better of it and obediently put his hands 
 at his back. He uttered a feeble yawp as one of the 
 links was clasped about his wrist. With the other 
 in his hand, the Phantom led him from the room 
 and turned toward the stairs. A dark, inert heap 
 lay at the head of the stairway, with legs sprawling 
 over the steps. It was Pinto. 
 
 "Sit down," ordered the Phantom. 
 
 The puny man looked about him dazedly, then 
 sat down on the top step, uttering a weak protest 
 as he found himself handcuffed to the unconscious 
 man. 
 
 The Phantom examined Pinto's head. A large 
 swelling at the back told that the little man had put 
 far more force behind the blow than one would have 
 thought it possible for such a dwarfish creature to 
 exert. The pulse was weak and fluttering, and the 
 eyes had a rigid and glassy look. The Phantom 
 
THE DUKE'S MESSENGER 
 
 161 
 
 had known of similar cases in which the victims had 
 remained unconscious for days, and many things 
 might happen before Pinto's mind and tongue were 
 [functioning again. Upon awakening and being told 
 that he had been found handcuffed to a rat of the 
 underworld, the policeman, already troubled by an 
 £vil conscience and wounded self-respect, would 
 hardly invite the taunts and jeers of his fellow of- 
 ficers by going into exact details. At any rate, the 
 Phantom felt he was playing his best card. 
 
 "Say, Granger," whined the little man, "ain't go- 
 ing to leave me like this, are you? Not after I got 
 you out of the fix you were in?" 
 
 "It is a bit rough on you, I admit, but you will 
 have to make the best of it. Your reasons for get- 
 ting me out of the scrape weren't entirely unselfish. 
 I believe it was your intention to put me on the 
 carpet before the big chief." 
 
 The other jerked his head in the direction of the; 
 storeroom. "They'll say I croaked that woman in 
 there," he muttered. 
 
 "Not a chance. Examination of the body will 
 show that the murder was committed more than 
 twenty-four hours ago. What they probably will 
 think is that Pinto caught you in the act of robbery 
 and that you assaulted him after he had handcuffed 
 you to him. One guess will be about as good as 
 another, though, and you will have to lie yourself 
 out of the mess somehow. I wish you luck." 
 
 He started down the stairs, but in the middle he 
 stopped and looked back. What if Pinto should 
 never recover consciousness? If he should die be- 
 fore the two murder mysteries were fully cleared 
 up, the Phantom's efforts to exculpate himself would 
 encounter a serious hindrance. But nothing was to 
 
162 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 be gained by worrying over what might happen, he 
 told himself, and just now he had something far 
 more serious to think about. His fears concerning 
 Helen overshadowed all other things. 
 
 He went out onto the street. The morning was 
 far advanced and the sun was struggling through a 
 curtain of scattering clouds. The glaring headlines 
 of the morning papers spread out on the news stands 
 at the corner told how the Phantom, after having 
 been seen at an elevated railway station the night 
 before, had once more slipped through the dragnet. 
 After a brief glance at the introductory paragraphs, 
 he crossed the street and entered the telephone booth 
 in the rear of a drug store. There he consulted the 
 directory and called the number of the Hardwick 
 residence. 
 
 A woman, evidently a servant, answered. The 
 Phantom announced that he was a reporter on the 
 Sphere and wished to speak with the master of the 
 house. After a few T moments' wait a masculine voice 
 came over the wire. It trembled a little, as if its 
 owner was trying to control an intense excitement. 
 Mr. Hardwick was at first unwilling to discuss the 
 matter, but after repeated urgings admitted that he 
 had requested the police to search for his daughter, 
 who had been missing for two days. She had left 
 home without explanations of any kind, and nothing 
 had been heard from her since. As it was entirely 
 unlike her to go away for any length of time with- 
 out notifying her father, Mr. Hardwick feared 
 something had happened to her. 
 
 The Phantom's face had a blank look as he 
 'emerged from the booth. He remembered Miss 
 Hardwick' s sudden and mysterious disappearance 
 from Doctor Bimble's laboratory. Something must 
 
THE DUKE'S MESSENGER 163 
 
 have befallen her after leaving the scientist's house, 
 and the fact that she had not communicated with her 
 father was disquieting. 
 
 He went out on the sidewalk and turned toward 
 the corner. Of a sudden he was all caution and 
 alertness. Someone was watching him. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE STARTING POINT 
 
 THE Phantom feigned utter unconcern as he 
 continued toward the corner. His acute senses 
 had instantly registered the fact that he was 
 an object of scrutiny. It vexed him not a little, for 
 he was anxious to get on Helen Hardwick's trail, 
 and he had no relish for another adventure with the 
 police. He looked about him out of the tail of an) 
 eye as he advanced with a leisurely swing. 
 
 It took him but a few moments to pick out the 
 watcher from among the sprinkling of loungers and 
 pedestrians on the sidewalk. The mans dull face; 
 and stolid expression did not deceive the Phantom 
 for a moment. He stood with his back against a 
 shop window, and part of his face was hidden by a 
 newspaper he pretended to be reading. The Phan- 
 tom walked up beside him. 
 
 "You're a detective, aren't you?" 
 The man lowered the newspaper and gazed at the 
 questioner out of deceptively sluggish eyes. 
 "What makes you think so?" 
 The Phantom chuckled, though he knew he was 
 treading on dangerous ground. It was just pos- 
 sible that Granger, although he had not been long 
 in the city and therefore could not have an extensive 
 police acquaintance, had met this particular de- 
 tective. A careful study of the man's face reas- 
 sured him, however. 
 
 164 
 
THE STARTING POINT 165 
 
 "OK, I spotted you easily enough," was Kis an- 
 swer. "I suppose you Kave Keard of me. I am 
 TKomas Granger, of the Sphere." 
 
 The other gave a slight nod. A faint grin creased 
 his face. "I've heard of you, all right. On the day 
 you were pinched, they tell me, you had the beauti- 
 fulest jag on that's been seen in this town in many 
 a day. Why don't you put a fellow wise to your 
 source of supply?" 
 
 "I may," with a knowing wink, "if you promise 
 not to jug me again." 
 
 "Well, you needn't rub it in, Granger. You look 
 a lot like the Gray Phantom. If you didn't have 
 those glad rags on, I wouldn't be able to tell the 
 difference. I never met the Phantom face to face, 
 but judging from his picture I should say you're as 
 much alike as two peas. By the w T ay, my name is 
 Culligore — Lieutenant Culligore." 
 
 The Phantom repressed a start. He had seen the 
 name in the earlier newspaper accounts of the 
 murder and remembered that Culligore had been 
 one of the detectives assigned to the case. He won- 
 dered whether it were possible that he and Granger 
 had not met while the reporter was getting the facts 
 of the tragedy for his paper. The detective's face 
 showed no sign of suspicion, but the Phantom noticed 
 that he had an odd habit of rubbing his upper lip 
 against the tip of his nose, and the little mannerism 
 impressed him as significant of deep and devious 
 mental processes. 
 
 "That reminds me!" he exclaimed suddenly, as if 
 just recalling something. "There's been a brand- 
 new murder committed over at the Gage house." 
 
 The detective lifted his brows. 
 
 "I was snooping around, hoping to find some new 
 twist to the case," explained the Phantom. "In a 
 
166 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 storeroom on the second floor I found the body of 
 the housekeeper. She looked as though she ha'di 
 been dead a good many hours. Pinto is lying on the 
 stairs with a bump on the back of his head, and he's 
 handcuffed to a little shrimp that looks like a dope 
 fiend." 
 
 Lieutenant Culligore stared as he heard the 
 strange report. "Been drinking again?" 
 "Go and see for yourself." 
 
 Culligore at last showed signs of activity. "Better 
 come along," he suggested. "If you've been telling 
 me the truth, there ought to be a good story in it 
 for you." 
 
 "I've seen enough. Going back to the office to 
 write it up." 
 
 The two parted. As Culligore started to cross 
 the street, he made a curious motion with his hand, 
 and the Phantom fancied he was signaling someone 
 on the other side. He walked briskly toward the 
 elevated station. Evidently Culligore had put a col- 
 league on his trail, thereby showing that he was not 
 so unsuspecting as the Phantom had thought. He 
 ascended the stairs and walked out onto the plat- 
 form without a single backward glance, but his ears, 
 trained to catch and classify the slightest sounds, 
 told him a pursuer was behind him. 
 
 The train, a southbound one, was crowded with 
 passengers. The Phantom selected a strap near the 
 rear end of one of the cars. The many curious 
 glances leveled in his direction told him he was being 
 recognized as the newspaper reporter who had won 
 fame by being mistaken for the Gray Phantom and 
 whose photograph had appeared side by side with 
 that of the notorious rogue. While ostensibly ab- 
 sorbed in an advertisement, he cast a sidelong glance 
 at the platform of the car just ahead. The brief 
 
THE STARTING POINT 167 
 
 glimpse sufficed to Identify his pursuer as a broad- 
 shouldered individual in a brown suit, whose rather 
 commonplace features were shaded by the brim of 
 a derby. 
 
 The Phantom was in a quandary. He could ac- 
 complish nothing with a "shadow" at his heels, and 
 there was something maddening in the thought that 
 he was losing time while Helen Hardwick might be 
 in danger. He could probably elude his pursuer 
 without much difficulty, but that would be a confes- 
 sion that he had something to hide, and might pos- 
 sibly result in his being picked up on a general alarm. 
 He was safe behind the personality of Thomas 
 Granger only so long as he did not engage in sus- 
 picious conduct. 
 
 An idea flashed in his mind as he caught a glimpse 
 of the skyscrapers of City Hall Park. He would 
 take the bull by the horns, he decided. The safest 
 and surest way of averting suspicion from himself 
 was to play his borrowed role boldly and thoroughly. 
 He would proceed at once to the offices of the Sphere. 
 and make a judiciously colored report of the latest 
 affair at the Gage house. It was a dangerous ex- 
 periment, but the Phantom believed he could carry 
 it out. A bold play, a bit of clever acting, and the 
 usual accompaniment of good luck were all that was 
 necessary. 
 
 He was still conscious of pursuit as he alighted 
 and turned in, the direction of the Sphere Building. 
 A glance at the bulletin board in the rotunda showed 
 him the location of the editorial rooms, and he as- 
 cended in the elevator. The mirrors lining the walls 
 of the cage threw back at him a reflection showing 
 signs of suspense, worry, and want of sleep. His 
 'face was drawn and furrowed, and the usual luster 
 of his eyes was a trifle dimmed, but these symptoms 
 
168 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 might also be indications of heavy drinking, and they; 
 enhanced his resemblance to Granger. 
 
 The building throbbed with the pulsations of, 
 presses. From above, like a continuous rattle of 
 shrapnel, came the din and clatter of the linotypes. 
 Faint odors of ink and whiffs from the sterotyping 
 and photo-engraving plants hung in the air. 
 
 The Phantom stepped out with a jaunty appear- 
 ance, though inwardly he was quailing a trifle. A 
 sign on frosted glass told him which door to enter, 
 and a red-haired youth presiding at a desk in art 
 anteroom grinned broadly as he passed through. 
 A dozen typewriters jabbered noisily in the room 
 beyond. As the Phantom walked in, a spectacled, 
 shirt-sleeved man seated at a desk near the entrance 
 looked up and regarded him with twinkling eyes. 
 
 " 'Lo, Granger," was his good-humored greeting. 
 "Understand 'Old War Horse' tied a can to you 
 last night." 
 
 "Did he?" asked the Phantom, guessing that the 
 individual referred to was the autocrat who had 
 ordered Granger bounced. "It was a large night, 
 and I don't remember the minor details." He 
 looked uncertainly about the room, as if his vision 
 was a trifle clouded. "Where is the old fire-eater?, 
 Don't see him around." 
 
 "Of course, you don't." The spectacled man! 
 laughed. "Old War Horse is in bed, where he be- 
 longs. I guess you haven't quite recovered your 
 bearings yet, or you'd know that Slossdick is on the 
 'day shift. I see him looking this way, as if he had 
 designs on you." 
 
 The Phantom trailed the spectacled man's glance 
 to a glass-partioned cubby-hole at the other end of 
 the room, where a bald and sharp-nosed man sat at 
 a desk. He advanced airily, grinning in response to 
 
THE STARTING POINT 169 
 
 the knowing winks and well-meant banter that fol- 
 lowed him, and boldly approached the scowling per- 
 sonage at the desk. 
 
 "Don't you know you're fired?" demanded Sloss- 
 dick, jabbing at a page of "copy" with his pencil. 
 
 "Am I?" inquired the Phantom innocently. He 
 spoke with a little catch, as if he had a slight cold, 
 and he avoided the sunlight streaming in through 
 the window. "It hadn't occurred to me." 
 
 "No ? Old War Horse had you kicked out, didn't 
 he? You'd been insulting him again, I understand." 
 Slossdick's devastating pencil ripped an entire para- 
 graph out of the copy before him. "What's biting 
 you this morning?" 
 
 "Nothing," said the Phantom blandly. "Just 
 thought you might like to know that there's been 
 another murder at the Gage house." 
 
 The slashings of Slossdick's pencil ceased abruptly. 
 He swept the Phantom's face with a quick, searching 
 glance. Briefly the impostor told as much as he 
 thought prudent, describing the scene in the store- 
 room and at the head of the stairs, without telling 
 of his own part in the night's events or of Pinto's 
 mysterious conduct. He was not yet ready to accuse 
 the policeman openly, and for the present it suited 
 his purpose to leave the affair vague and mysterious. 
 
 There was a flicker of interest in Slossdick's eyes. 
 "Housekeeper murdered and policeman lying at the 
 head of the stairs handcuffed to a dope. Rattling 
 good yarn, Granger. But" — and a look of doubt 
 crept into his face — "we've had nothing from the 
 police on this." 
 
 "Good reason. The police didn't know of it till 
 a few minutes ago. If you hurry, you will beat the 
 other papers to it." 
 
 Slossdick snatched up the telephone and called a 
 
170 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 department. u First page make-over," he snapped 
 when the connection had been established. Then, 
 turning to the Phantom: "Think you can see the 
 typewriter keys this morning?" 
 
 The Phantom quavered inwardly. Typewriting 
 was not among his accomplishments, and the entire 
 proceeding was strange to him. He hesitated, no- 
 ticing that the rumble of the presses had already 
 ceased. 
 
 "Well, never mind," grumbled Slossdick, his 
 pencil already at work on an eight-column caption. 
 "Give the dope to Fessenden and let him write it. 
 Then go home and get some sleep. You look as if 
 you needed it. And, for the love of Mike, steer 
 clear of the booze ! Fessenden!" 
 
 In response to the explosive shout, a lanky and 
 dyspeptic-looking man appeared at the door to the 
 cubby-hole. After receiving a few terse directions 
 from Slossdick, he led the Phantom to his desk and 
 sat down before his typewriter. He inserted a sheet 
 of paper in the machine while listening, and his fin- 
 gers were racing over the keys even before the Phan- 
 tom had finished his recital. 
 
 "Bully yarn you've turned up," came his appre- 
 ciative comment over the clatter of the keys. "A 
 peach!" 
 
 The Phantom walked away. The; story would, 
 of course, rouse another storm of indignation against 
 himself, but there was no help for that. On the 
 whole, he had bettered his chances and enhanced his 
 temporary safety by giving the Sphere a start of 
 twenty minutes or half an hour in its race against 
 competing newspapers. 
 
 His shadow was nowhere in sight as he emerged 
 from the building. Either the man's suspicions had 
 been disarmed by the Phantom's move, or else he had 
 
THE STARTING POINT 171 
 
 grown tired of waiting and 'dropped into a near-by 
 restaurant for a bite of food. Standing at the curb, 
 the Phantom glanced stealthily to right and left. 
 There was no sign of espionage in either direction. 
 At last he was free to begin his search for Helen 
 Hardwick, but the trail seemed to have neither be- 
 ginning nor end. In vain he searched his mind for 
 a starting point. 
 
 His hands were in his pockets, and presently his 
 absently groping fingers touched a piece of paper. 
 He drew it out, starting as his eyes fell on the ducal* 
 coronet. 
 
 "Guess Til see Granger," he reflected. "I have a 
 strong hunch he is my starting point." 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE BIG STORY 
 
 "TjOW is your guest, Peng Yuen?" was the 
 I I Phantom's first question after entering the 
 
 shop on Pell Street. 
 The Chinaman's eyes widened. u The guest? 
 Ah, yes, I remember. I think the gentleman is well." 
 
 "Has he telephoned anyone, or sent out any mes- 
 sages?" 
 
 "No; he has remained in his room all the time. 
 He asked me this morning for something to read, 
 and I gave him a translation of 'Chin-Kong-Ching.' " 
 
 "Good. I have come to have a talk with him." 
 
 "Very well." The slight figure, arrayed in loose- 
 fitting, straw-colored garments, stepped to the wall 
 with the softly gliding gait characteristic of his race. 
 He pressed a button, and the Phantom passed 
 through an opening which instantly closed behind 
 him. 
 
 Granger, lying on a couch, looked up drowsily. 
 The little room had neither windows nor visible door. 
 Air was wafted in through a mysterious recess in a 
 corner of the ceiling, and a shaded lamp shed a 
 greenish light over the scene. The walls were cov- 
 ered with yellow satin embroidered with quotations 
 from Chinese philosophers. On a table standing 
 near the couch were the remnants of a breakfast. 
 
 "Fairly comfortable, I see." The Phantom sat 
 r down. His glance, though seemingly casual, was 
 
 172 
 
THE BIG STORY 
 
 ITS 
 
 taking in every detail of the reporter s appearance. 
 
 "How are you feeling?" 
 
 "Rotten!" Granger rubbed his eyes and scowled 
 disgustedly. "I asked the chink for something to 
 drink, and he brought me a mess that tasted like 
 vinegar and molasses. Then I dropped a hint that I 
 would like some reading matter, and he handed me 
 a book that put me to sleep before I had turned the 
 first page. Say, how much longer are you going to 
 sport my clothes and wear my name?" 
 
 "No longer than I have to. Your name suits 
 me well enough, but our tastes in clothes differ." 
 
 Granger grinned. He was comfortably stretched 
 out on his back and his eyes were lazily studying the 
 arabesques in the ceiling. 
 
 "Anyhow, my clothes are harmless. That's more 
 than can be said for my name. On the square, I am 
 surprised to see you this morning." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 There was a twinkle in the reporter's eyes as he 
 turned them on the Phantom. "Because you went 
 in for a lot of trouble when you annexed my identity. 
 I was pickled last night, and you took my breath 
 away when you yanked off the mustache. Till then 
 I hadn't had the faintest idea that my abductor was 
 the Gray Phantom. If I hadn't been so flabber- 
 gasted I might have given you a friendly tip." 
 
 "A tip?" 
 
 "To the effect that Tommie Granger was a 
 marked man. I'll tell you something interesting if 
 you promise not to fall out of the chair. I am a 
 member of the Duke's gang." 
 
 The Phantom's brows went up. For several 
 hours he had been aware of Granger's membership 
 in the criminal organization, but the glib admission 
 surprised him. He had intended to pull the Duke's 
 
174 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 communication out of his pocket with a dramatic 
 gesture and startle a confession out of the reporter; 
 and he was wholly unprepared for the latter's frank 
 and voluntary avowal. 
 
 "Surprised you, didn't it?" Granger chuckled as 
 if mildly amused. "I can hardly get used to the idea 
 myself. Membership in that gang of cutthroats and 
 grafters is nothing to be proud of, exactly. I've al- 
 ways had a sneaking admiration for the Gray Phan- 
 tom, but the Duke's different. He's smooth and 
 artful enough, but he's made of coarser stuff." 
 
 "Yet you are a member of his organization ?" 
 
 "Sounds contradictory, doesn't it? Well, since I 
 have told you the beginning, I'll have to tell you the 
 rest. The cause of it all dates back to my birth. I 
 came into the world with the face I'm wearing to- 
 day, though it's undergone a process of beautifica- 
 tion in the intervening years. You see, my face is 
 the mainspring that has determined most of my 
 actions in recent years — some of the more impor- 
 tant ones, anyhow. I wouldn't be a newspaper man 
 to-day if I had been born with a different face." 
 
 "I don't see the connection." 
 
 "Let me tell you how it came about. On seven 
 different occasions, and in as many different places, 
 il have been mistaken for the Gray Phantom and put 
 in durance vile. The clippings in my scrapbook tell 
 all about it. I was in Cheyenne, Wyoming, the first 
 time it happened, and after I had satisfied the police 
 dunderheads as to my identity, the editor of one of 
 the local papers asked me to write up my impressions 
 while in jail and tell how it felt to be mistaken for 
 a celebrity like the Gray Phantom. I did, and that 
 gave me a taste for newspaper work. The editor 
 gave me a job on the spot and I've " 
 
 "But what has all this to do with your member- 
 
THE BIG STORY 
 
 175 
 
 ship in the Duke's gang?" interrupted the Phantom 
 impatiently. 
 
 "Everything. I've been plugging away at the 
 newspaper game ever since I got my start in Chey- 
 enne. I never stayed long in a place, for I have 
 something of a roving disposition and like change 
 of scenery now and then. My face got me in bad 
 almost wherever I went. I had no sooner struck a 
 new town than some ambitious dick thought he saw 
 a chance to get famous by pinching the Gray Phan- 
 tom. Of course, that always meant a stretch in thej 
 lock-up — anything from two days to a week. I used 
 to lie awake nights imagining that I was in reality 
 the Gray Phantom and dreaming of great criminal 
 exploits. That got me interested in crime and crim- 
 inals, and I began making a study of the subject. 
 
 "Finally, I drifted into New York and landed on 
 the Sphere. One night while prowling about the 
 Chatham Square section I dropped into a Turkish 
 coffee house. It was a low joint, a hangout for thugs 
 and thieves. While sipping my coffee I made a study 
 of the different types around me. One fellow inter- 
 ested me in particular. He was an evil-looking cuss, 
 but there was something about him that fascinated 
 me. He looked something like a Stevensonian pi- 
 rate, and he had a great scar over his left eye. Pres- 
 ently I began to notice that he was looking my way 
 now and then, and finally I motioned to him to come 
 and sit beside me. We talked in whispers, like every- 
 body else in the joint, and by and by he asked me if 
 I was not the Gray Phantom. 
 
 "He seemed disappointed when I told him I was 
 only the Phantom's double. We talked on for a 
 while, and the next night we met again in the same 
 place. The fellow piqued my curiosity, and I tried 
 to draw him out whenever I had a chance. I knew 
 
176 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 he would shut up like a clam if I told him my pro- 
 fession, so I let him think I was a crook, though I 
 didn't go into details. We met night after night, and 
 each time we were more confidential. I could tell 
 he had something on his mind that he didn't know 
 just how to put into words, and of course, I did my 
 best to lead him on. He approached the subject by 
 slow and easy stages, dropping a cautious hint now 
 and then. Finally, when he had convinced himself 
 that I was to be trusted, he told me he belonged to 
 a big criminal band and asked me if I would like to 
 join." 
 
 u So that's how you happened to become a mem- 
 ber of the Duke's organization?" observed the. 
 Phantom. 
 
 "To cut a long story short, that was the way it 
 happened. I thought I could work the salamander 
 stunt — play with fire without getting burned. The 
 idea of getting on the inside of a big gang of crooks 
 and studying its members at close quarters appealed 
 to me. Aside from that, I saw a chance to turn up 
 a big story for my paper, for it was my intention 
 to get the goods on the gang and, eventually, hand it 
 over to the police. But" — and a rueful smile 
 wrinkled Granger's face — "I soon discovered that 
 one can't play with fire without getting scorched." 
 
 "That explains," mumbled the Phantom thought- 
 fully, at the same time extending the communication 
 handed him by the Duke's messenger. "There's a 
 message worked into the design which is readable 
 only under the lens. It's a pleasant reminder of 
 what happens to traitors." 
 
 "Yes. I know. I received several such reminders 
 before you came along and borrowed my clothes and 
 name. I wasn't really a traitor, though. I merely 
 refused to obey certain orders they gave me." 
 
THE BIG STORY 
 
 177 
 
 "You might have known that you would be ex- 
 pected to take part in the gang's activities. You 
 'didn't expect to be a member only in name?" 
 
 "Well, I thought I could stall for a while, till I 
 got the dope I wanted. You see, I was hoping they 
 wouldn't ask me to do any of the rough stuff till I 
 had been a member for a while. I soon discovered 
 my mistake." 
 
 "And so the big story will never materialize?" 
 
 "I'm afraid it won't. My obituary is the only 
 kind of story that's likely to grow out of this adven- 
 ture of mine. The Duke's crew doesn't stand for 
 any nonsense. I've been told that members who 
 don't obey orders usually disappear under mysterious 
 circumstances. I never got next to the inner circle 
 of the gang. I suppose they didn't trust me because 
 I took a drink too many now and then. Anyhow, I 
 didn't get the stuff I was after. I was a sort of pro- 
 bationer, reporting to one of the big chief's lieuten- 
 ants, and I didn't get as much as a glimpse of the 
 inner sanctum." 
 
 "Too bad, Granger." The disappointment writ- 
 ten on the reporter's face seemed so ludicrous that 
 the Phantom could not repress a smile. "Maybe it 
 isn't too late yet. By the way," starting suddenly 
 from his chair, "have you any idea where Helen 
 Hardwick is?" 
 
 For a moment or two the reporter lay rigid on 
 his back; then he jumped up and stared in dum- 
 founded amazement at the Phantom. 
 
 "Why do you ask?" he inquired hoarsely, after 
 a pause during which each man looked the other 
 straight in the eye. 
 
 "Answer my question and I'll tell you my reason 
 for asking it." 
 
178 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 Granger swallowed hard. "Has anything hap- 
 pened to Miss Hardwick?" 
 
 "She has disappeared. Left her home two days 
 ago and hasn't been heard from since. Her father 
 has asked the police to search for her." 
 
 "Good Lord!" Granger groaned. "This is 
 awful!" 
 
 The Phantom gripped his arm. "Tell me what 
 you know," he commanded. "Your looks show that 
 you are not entirely ignorant of the matter." 
 
 The reporter's face twitched. "I can guess what's 
 happened to her," he declared, speaking in thick ac- 
 cents, "but I haven't the least idea where she is." 
 
 "Well, what do you think has happened to her?" 
 
 "She's been kid — kidnaped." As if to steady his 
 nerves, Granger picked up a cigarette and lighted it. 
 
 "How do you know that?" 
 
 "Because I" — Granger drew in a whiff of smoke 
 — "because I know the Duke's crowd wanted her 
 abducted. They asked me to do it, and I balked. I 
 couldn't — well, it simply went against the grain to 
 do a thing like that. It was my refusal to do as they 
 told me that got me in bad with the gang." 
 
 The Phantom's blood was slowly receding from 
 his face. For a moment he sat rigid, lips tightly com- 
 pressed, as if stunned. "Why did the Duke's crowd 
 want Miss Hardwick kidnaped?" 
 
 "That I can't tell you. The leaders simply issue 
 orders; they never explain their motives. I haven't 
 the faintest idea what their reason for abducting 
 Miss Hardwick could be." 
 
 Silence fell between them. The Phantom's steely 
 gaze continued to search the other's face. Though 
 ;evidently shocked by the news of Miss Hardwick's 
 Sdisappea ranee, the reporter did not once lower His! 
 Seyes. 
 
THE BIG STORY 
 
 179 
 
 "They must have got somebody else to r do it after 
 I refused," he muttered, slowly getting a grip ort 
 himself. "Wish I had a drink." 
 
 The Phantom was hardly listening. His knitted 
 brows told that his mind was struggling with a 
 problem. 
 
 "Know an officer named Pinto?" he asked ab- 
 ruptly. 
 
 "I think I've heard of him." 
 
 The Phantom gave a brief summary of his adven- 
 tures since arriving in the city. Granger listened 
 attentively, his eyes expressing a mingling of aston- 
 ishment and admiration. They opened wide as the 
 narrator described the scene in the storeroom and 
 Pinto's peculiar behavior, and he chuckled appre- 
 ciatively at the account of the impostor's visit to the 
 Sphere office. 
 
 "That's the Phantom all over!" he remarked 
 when the story was finished. "It's the nerviest thing 
 I ever heard of. But what you have told me only 
 puts a few extra kinks in the mystery." 
 
 The Phantom nodded thoughtfully. "How well 
 r do you know Miss Hardwick?" 
 
 "Scarcely at all. I have never met her. She 
 called me up at the Sphere office the day after the 
 murder and asked me a lot of questions. I referred 
 her to Doctor Bimble." 
 
 "So she told me." 
 
 "Bimble is a nut, but he has done several brilliant 
 things along lines of criminology. I was busy the 
 day Miss Hardwick called me up, and I got a little 
 jolt when she told me her name. The thing was 
 natural enough, of course, but it seemed a bit weird 
 to be talking to the person I had been asked to kid- 
 nap. Well, I thought the easiest way to dispose o£ 
 her was to suggest that she see Bimble." 
 
180 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 The Phantom looke'd puzzled. "You never saw 
 Miss Hardwick, and you have talked with her only 
 over the telephone," he murmured. "That being 
 the case, I wonder why Pinto asked me, while we 
 were in the storeroom this morning, if I knew what 
 had become of Miss Hardwick." 
 
 "Rumor has it that a romantic attachment exists 
 between Miss Hardwick and the Gray Phantom. 
 Pinto must have heard something about it." 
 
 "But at the time he put the question he had not 
 the faintest idea that I was the Gray Phantom. He 
 still thought I was Thomas Granger. It was my 
 way of responding to the question that aroused his 
 suspicions. Now, he must have had some reason 
 for supposing that Thomas Granger knew something 
 of what had happened to Miss Hardwick." 
 
 Granger considered. "Miss Hardwick may have 
 told him about consulting me. But I think it just as 
 likely that Pinto was playing a bit of clever strategy 
 — that he had already suspected your identity and 
 sprung that question about Miss Hardwick in the 
 hope that you would betray yourself." 
 
 "Perhaps." The reporter's theory seemed so 
 natural that the Phantom wondered why it had not 
 occurred to him before. "If that was his purpose, 
 the trick worked beautifully. Tell me, was it before 
 or after the murder of Gage that the Duke's men 
 came to you with the kidnaping proposition?" 
 
 Granger stared hard for an instant; then a glint 
 of admiration appeared in his eyes. "Gray Phan- 
 tom, you ought to have been a detective. That's as 
 neat a piece of mental acrobatics as I've seen in 
 many a day. The proposal came to me a few days 
 before Gage was murdered." 
 
 "But the two plots might have been hatched simul- 
 taneously?" 
 
THE BIG STORY 
 
 181 
 
 "They might. I see what you are driving at. 
 You think the two plots were related to a single; 
 object. Perhaps you are right." 
 
 "Granger, you don't think I murdered Gage?" 
 
 "No," after a long pause; "but neither can I tell 
 you who did. You, of course, are going on the pre- 
 sumption that Pinto is the culprit." 
 
 The Phantom looked a trifle bewildered. The' 
 reporter had read his mind. 
 
 Granger chuckled. "I can see in which direction 
 your mind is working. You think the bolted door 
 and other circumstances prove that no one but Pinto 
 could have committed the murder. You believe that 
 after killing Gage he murdered the housekeeper in: 
 order to silence her. Pinto's queer conduct, espe- 
 cially the stunt he pulled off in the storeroom this 
 morning, is sufficient proof, to your way of thinking, 
 and you base your entire case on the guess that Pinto 
 is a member of the Duke's gang." 
 
 "Don't you agree with me? I read between the: 
 lines of your stories in the Sphere that you did not 
 share the generally accepted opinion." 
 
 Granger looked up quickly. "The devil you did* 
 I didn't mean to air my private opinions. It must 
 have been a subconscious process. To be perfectly; 
 frank, I don't know whether I agree with you or 
 not. I have an idea of my own on the subject, but 
 it's vague as yet. Maybe I'll tell you later." 
 
 The Phantom shrugged his shoulders. "The mys- 
 tery of the murders doesn't interest me particularly 
 just at present. Granger, if you were in my position, 
 how would you go about finding Miss Hardwick?" 
 
 The reporter considered for a long time. "My 
 first step would be to get in touch with the Duke's 
 gang and try to ascertain where Miss Hardwick is 
 being concealed. That's a large order, and you will 
 
182 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 find it fairly exciting. The Duke, I've been told, 
 hates you as he never hated anyone before, and he's 
 almost as dangerous behind prison bars as outside. 
 He froths at the mouth whenever he mentions your 
 name to the other prisoners. Your borrowed per- 
 sonality won't give you a great deal of protection, 
 'for there are a lot of sharp-eyed men in the Duke's 
 crowd, and, besides, you're in almost as great danger 
 whether you appear as the Gray Phantom or as 
 Tommie Granger." 
 
 The Phantom waved his hand deprecatingly. "I 
 have considered all that. The question is, how am 
 I to get in contact with the gang." He peered re- 
 flectively at the man on the couch; then an idea 
 came to him. "How did the heads of the organiza- 
 tion communicate with you? To whom did you re- 
 port and from whom did you receive your orders?" 
 
 "From my acquaintance of the Turkish coffee 
 house." 
 
 "The piratical-looking fellow?"' 
 Granger nodded. 
 "How can I find him?" 
 
 "The coffee joint is in Catharine Street, not far 
 from East Broadway. You can easily locate it, and 
 you will probably find your man there about ten or 
 'eleven at night. But hadn't you better take me 
 along?" 
 
 The Phantom shook his head emphatically. 
 "You have just told me to what extremes you are 
 willing to go in order to get a good story for your 
 paper. The capture of the Gray Phantom would 
 make an even bigger story than the one you were 
 after. I can't quite trust you, Granger. You love 
 your liquor not wisely but too well, and you're likely 
 to give the show away. Besides, it wouldn't do for 
 us two to be seen together." 
 
THE BIG STORY 
 
 183 
 
 "That's so," said Granger resignedly. "Well, 
 anyhow, you might send me something for a bracer." 
 
 The Phantom promised to try. He got up and 
 rapped on the wall, eyeing Granger steadily as he 
 stepped through the opening that appeared as if by 
 magic. But the reporter, evidently realizing that 
 any attempt to escape would be useless, made no 
 move. 
 
 An opium lamp was sizzling in a corner of the 
 room. At a table sat Peng Yuen, his face as im- 
 passive as granite. If he had overheard any part of 
 the conversation he showed no sign of it. 
 
 "You need food and sleep," he remarked tone- 
 lessly, pointing to the table, on which a meal was 
 spread out. 
 
 The Phantom thanked him and sat down. He was 
 famished and fagged out, and he could accomplish 
 nothing until night came, so he gladly accepted the 
 Chinaman's hospitality. As he ate, Peng Yuen re- 
 garded him stolidly while he smoked his acrid pipe 
 of li-un. He did not speak until the Phantom had 
 finished his meal. 
 
 44 'The Book of the Unknown Philosopher,' " he 
 remarked, without looking directly at his guest, "says 
 that the overwise sometimes go far afield in search 
 of truths that may be found at home." 
 
 The Phantom looked up, bewildered. "I suppose 
 there is a priceless gem of wisdom hidden some- 
 where in that sentence, but I don't see how it can 
 apply to me." 
 
 The Chinaman gave a queer laugh, half chuckle 
 and half grunt, and deep in the almond-shaped eyes 
 lurked a faint, shrewd twinkle. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE MISSING SKELETONS 
 
 DUSK was falling as the Phantom, refreshed by 
 Peng Yuen's excellent cooking and several 
 hours of sound sleep, left the shop in Pell 
 Street and cautiously picked his way through the reek 
 and noise of the Chinese quarter. He still felt a 
 twinge of apprehension whenever he thought of 
 Helen Hardwick, but his nerves were steady once 
 more, and he had the springy step and the clear, 
 alert eye of the man who feels sure of his ability 
 to meet any emergency. 
 
 His fears were allayed somewhat by the comfort- 
 ing thought that Helen was as capable and keen- 
 witted as she was reckless and audacious. She was 
 what the Phantom termed a thoroughbred. She had 
 nerve, spirit, and subtlety, and on several occasions 
 she had evinced an amazing capacity for handling a 
 difficult situation. Besides, she had a robust vitality, 
 and an athletic physique that in no wise marred her 
 womanly charms. 
 
 The Phantom walked slowly, turning the complex 
 situation over in his mind, for it was still t6o early 
 to go to the coffee house in Catharine Street. At a 
 corner news stand he bought an evening paper, glanc- 
 ing at the headlines as he walked along. The murder 
 of the housekeeper was given glaring prominence 
 because of the general belief that it had been per- 
 petrated by the Gray Phantom. The motives as- 
 
 184 
 
THE MISSING SKELETONS 185 
 
 "cribecl to him were somewhat sketchy, but the police 
 seemed convinced that he was bent on a campaign 
 of terror, and there was anxious speculation as to 
 where his bloodstained hand would appear next. lit 
 the meantime, the search was being continued at 
 fever heat, and the detective bureau expected to 
 make an important announcement within a few 
 hours. 
 
 The Phantom smiled as he read. He had ex- 
 pected that the death of the housekeeper would be 
 charged to him, and he had drawn fortitude from 
 the firm belief that in a short time he would prove 
 his innocence. 
 
 The odd predicament in which Pinto had been 
 found was described facetiously and at great length. 
 The paper treated it as a mystery that might not be 
 solved until the officer, who had been taken to a 
 hospital suffering from a severe concussion of the 
 brain, recovered consciousness. His partner in the 
 droll situation had stubbornly refused to render any 
 explanation, and was being held for investigation 
 pending Pinto's recovery. He had an unsavory 
 record, according to the police, and was known in 
 the underworld as "Dan the Dope." 
 
 The Phantom was satisfied. From Dan the Dope 
 he had nothing to fear, and Pinto, even if he were 
 inclined to tell what he knew, would not be able to 
 speak for some time. He was passably safe as far 
 as the police were concerned, and a little extra cau- 
 tion and vigilance would checkmate the designs of 
 the Duke's henchman. As far as he was able to tell, 
 neither side suspected that the Gray Phantom was 
 masquerading as Thomas Granger. 
 
 He had still more than an hour to while away, 
 and a hazy thought in the back of his mind guided 
 his steps in the direction of Doctor Bimble's house. 
 
186 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 Everything seemed to indicate that Helen had disap- 
 peared shordy after leaving the anthropologist's 
 laboratory, and he might be able to pick up some 
 clew in the neighborhood that would help him to 
 trace her movements. He looked about him cau- 
 tiously as he walked along, surmising that the vicinity 
 was being watched by spies of the Duke. 
 
 At the corner nearest the Bimble residence he 
 turned into a cigar store and purchased a package 
 of cigarettes. He loitered near the door while smok- 
 ing one, amusing himself by studying the faces of 
 the passers-by, and presently a tall, angular figure 
 approached from the other end of the block. At a 
 glimpse the Phantom had recognized the inscrutable 
 features of Jerome, the anthropologist's servant. 
 The man walked hurriedly, looking straight ahead, 
 and in a few moments he was out of sight. 
 
 A vagrant impulse told the Phantom to start in 
 pursuit of him and see whither he was bound, but he 
 realized that he had no reason for doing so. He 
 had sensed something mysterious about Bimble and 
 his servant, but his interest in them was little more 
 than an idle curiosity. If he had any suspicions at 
 all, they were of the intangible and intuitive sort and 
 afforded him no basis for action. 
 
 After a few minutes another figure appeared down 
 the block, and the Phantom pressed close to the wall 
 at his back. Even at a distance he recognized the 
 enormous head, the jutting stomach, and the ab- 
 surdly thin legs of Doctor Bimble. With a beatific 
 smile on his face, and looking neither to right nor 
 left, the anthropologist walked past him, evidently 
 bound in the same direction as his servant. 
 
 Again the Phantom felt an instinctive urge to 
 follow. It struck him as rather queer that master 
 and servant had not come out together, but then he 
 
THE MISSING SKELETONS 187 
 
 told himself that the circumstance was probably 
 meaningless and that his imagination was magnify- 
 ing trifles. He crossed to the opposite side of the 
 street and turned east, scanning the dark front of 
 the Bimble house as he strolled along. 
 
 Coming directly opposite the residence, he paused 
 in the doorway of a delicatessen store and looked 
 across the street, scrutinizing the gloomy and unpre- 
 possessing dwelling with an interest for which he 
 could not account. It seemed strange that Doctor 
 Bimble should have chosen such an unattractive 
 location, but he remembered that the scientist had 
 said something about wishing to live in an out-of-the- 
 way place where he would be safe against intrusions 
 on his privacy and where he could conduct his re- 
 searches in peace and quiet. 
 
 The house, flanked by a lodging house on one side 
 and on the other by a three-story structure of resi- 
 dential appearance, whose boarded-up windows and 
 doors hinted that it had stood vacant for some time, 
 was dark from attic to basement. Presumably 
 Doctor Bimble and his man were out for the evening. 
 The house and its neighbors on each side held the 
 Phantom's gaze with a persistence that he could not 
 understand. He sensed an incongruity of some kind, 
 and for a while he tried in vain to analyze it. Fi- 
 nally, as he centered his attention on the building 
 to the west, the one with the boarded windows and 
 'doors, it came to him. It seemed strange that a 
 structure of that kind should be standing vacant in 
 the midst of a housing famine, when even the least 
 'desirable dwellings commanded extravagant prices. 
 
 The Phantom laughed, a little disgusted with him- 
 self for allowing another meaningless trifle to per- 
 plex him. As likely as not the house was vacant for 
 the simple and sufficient reason that it had been con- 
 
188 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 demned by the building commissioner. His gaze 
 wandered to the door of the Bimble residence, and a 
 disturbing thought caused the chuckle to die in his 
 throat. 
 
 Only the other day Helen Hardwick had walked 
 out of that door, he remembered, and from that 
 moment on her movements were veiled behind a 
 curtain of mystery. Which way had she turned, 
 what had happened to her, and where was she now? 
 Had she been forcibly abducted as she stepped from 
 the house, or had someone lured her into a trap? 
 
 There had been nothing about her disappearance 
 in the newspaper the Phantom had just read, and he 
 surmised that Mr. Hardwick had used what influ- 
 ence he had to keep the matter out of the press. The 
 door across the street still held his gaze; and of a 
 sudden, out of the jumble of his fears and perplexi- 
 ties, came another harassing thought. 
 
 What if Helen had never walked out of the door 
 across the way? What if she should still be inside 
 the house? 
 
 The Phantom's eyes narrowed as the suspicion 
 came to him. It was groundless, so far as he could 
 see, and there was no reasoning behind it. It had 
 come out of nowhere, like a stray figment of the 
 imagination, yet it tormented him with an insistence 
 that he could not shake off. 
 
 He walked to the end of the block, then crossed 
 the street and moved up the side on which the Bimble 
 house stood. There were a few pedestrians in the 
 street, and to attempt to force the main door might 
 prove unsafe. The basement entrance was dark, and 
 in a moment, concealed by the shadows, he was at 
 work on the lock. It yielded so easily to his deft 
 manipulation that he could understand how the 
 
THE MISSING SKELETONS 189 
 
 prowlers of whom Bimble had complained had 
 managed to enter the house. 
 
 Pulling the door shut, he took out his electric 
 flash, determined to settle his suspicions by making 
 a systematic search of the house. He proceeded 
 swiftly but with care, searching every nook and 
 cranny and occasionally tapping the walls and floors 
 to make sure there were no hollow spaces. He ex- 
 plored cellar and basement without finding anything 
 of suggestive nature, then walked up the same stair- 
 way he had ascended after his first trip through the 
 tunnel. 
 
 He was now in the laboratory, sweeping floor 
 and walls with the electric torch. At ffrst glance it 
 looked exactly as it had when Helen met him at the 
 head of the stairs with a leveled pistol, yet he sensed 
 a difference almost at once. His eyes flitted over 
 the long workbench with its collection of chemical 
 apparatus, over the black-framed photographs and 
 X-ray prints, and then he glanced at the tall cages 
 along the wall, in which the skeletons stood, erect and 
 grim as ghostly sentinels. 
 
 It was then his mind grasped the difference. On 
 his first visit there had been at least a dozen skeletons 
 in the room; now he counted only seven. The fa- 
 mous Raschenell, to whom Bimble had pointed with 
 so much pride, was among the missing ones. He 
 paused only for a moment to wonder what had be- 
 come of the others, for Bimble and the servant might 
 return at any time and interrupt his search, and he 
 wished to be at the Turkish coffee house not later 
 than half past ten. 
 
 He inspected room after room, but without result, 
 Anally mounting to the attic and making the same 
 thorough investigation there. He had found noth- 
 
190 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 ing whatever to reward him for his efforts. He 
 came to the conclusion that his suspicions had been 
 entirely unfounded, for if they had had any basis 
 in fact his investigation would have uncovered some 
 clew or hint pointing in that direction. One thing 
 had been accomplished, however, was his reflection 
 as he walked down the stairs. He had eliminated 
 Doctor Bimble from the range of his suspicions and 
 would waste no more time and effort trying to ex- 
 plain the eccentricities of a scientist. 
 
 Deciding to leave the way he had entered, he 
 crossed the laboratory and moved toward the stairs. 
 With his hand on the doorknob, he looked back and 
 once more let his electric torch play over the floor 
 and walls. Again, without exactly knowing why, 
 he counted the cages, vaguely feeling that there was 
 a hidden significance in the depletion of the grisly 
 company. 
 
 Finally, he extinguished his flash and resolutely 
 turned away. Again he was berating himself for 
 bothering his mind over trivial things. Doubtless 
 Doctor Bimble had a sound and simple reason for 
 removing a number of the skeletons. As he walked 
 down the basement stairs he resolved to banish the. 
 anthropologist and his collection from his thoughts. 
 
 An odd sense of apprehension took hold of him 
 as he reached the bottom step. He looked about 
 him sharply; the darkness was so thick that he could 
 see nothing. He pricked up his ears and listened, but 
 he could detect no sound except those coming from 
 the street. Yet he had a feeling that he was not 
 alone, that another being was lurking somewhere in 
 the darkness. It was a familiar sensation and he 
 had learned to heed its warning, for he had experi- 
 enced it before in moments of danger. 
 
 He stepped down on the floor, at the same instant 
 
THE MISSING SKELETONS 191 
 
 reaching for the pistol he had taken from Dan the 
 Dope. Before he could draw the weapon a voice 
 spoke sharply: 
 
 "Stay right where you are, friend!" 
 
 Then a click sounded, followed by a blaze of light. 
 He turned quickly in the direction whence the voice 
 had come. He saw the glint of a pistol barrel 
 pointed toward him with a steady hand, and behind 
 the pistol stood Lieutenant Culligore. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 FINGER PRINTS 
 
 THE 'detective's face was as dull and unimpas- 
 sioned as a caricature carved out of wood. 
 He stood pointing the pistol with a listless air, 
 and his eyes were heavy and sluggish, as if he were 
 not fully awake. He lowered the weapon almost 
 as soon as he saw the Phantom's face, but did not 
 put it out of sight. 
 
 "Oh, it's you, Granger." He spoke in a drawl, 
 and there might have been the faintest trace of dis- 
 appointment in his tones. "I thought it might be 
 someone else." 
 
 "The Gray Phantom, for instance?" 
 "Well, maybe. There's no reason, though, why 
 the Phantom should be prowling around here, is 
 there?" 
 
 "Apparently not." The Phantom advanced leis- 
 urely and looked sharply at the speaker's stolid face. 
 The question had been spoken in a tone faintly sug- 
 gestive of an underlying meaning. "It seems both 
 of us are taking advantage of the absence of Doctor 
 Bimble and Jerome to do a little investigating on 
 the quiet." 
 
 Culligore yawned ostentatiously. "The doc ought 
 to have new locks put on his doors. It's too easy for 
 people to get in." 
 
 "He is a simple and unsuspecting soul. But tell 
 
 192 
 
FINGER PRINTS 
 
 193 
 
 me, lieutenant, how it happens that the Phantom's 
 trail leads into Doctor Bimble's basement." 
 "Does it?" 
 
 "Well, I don't suppose you would be here unless 
 it did. Your object in coming here wasn't to inter- 
 view the skeletons upstairs, was it?" 
 
 Culligore laughed softly. "I might put the same 
 question to you." 
 
 "Then we're on an even footing. And, since we 
 don't seem to get anywhere, we might as well drop 
 the subject of our mutual presence here. Each of 
 us can take it for granted that the other has a tip 
 which he wants to keep to himself. Seen anything 
 of the Gray Phantom lately?" 
 
 "Not exactly." 
 
 "What's the idea of the 'exactly'? You either 
 have seen him or you haven't seen him. Which is 
 it?' ' 
 
 "Neither the one nor the other," said Culligore 
 mysteriously. "With a man like the Phantom you 
 can never be sure. Even when you think you see 
 him, he isn't always there. Say that was a queer 
 case you tipped me off on this morning." 
 
 "It was. Simple enough, though, as far as the: 
 murder of the housekeeper is concerned. Appar- 
 ently there's not the slightest [doubt that the Phan- 
 tom did it." 
 
 "Think so?" 
 
 The two words, spoken in low and casual tones, 
 caused the Phantom to raise his brows. "Don't 
 you?" 
 
 Culligore tilted his head to one side and squinte'd 
 vacantly into space. "Things aren't always what 
 they seem," he drawlingly observed. "I've been see- 
 sawing up and down ever since I was turned loose 
 
194 THE GRAY PHANTOMS RETURN 
 
 on this case. One hour I feel dead sure the Phan- 
 tom did it; the next I don't know what to think." 
 
 "All the facts seem to point to the Phantom's 
 guilt." 
 
 "That's just the trouble." Culligore scowled a 
 little. "There's such a thing as having too many 
 facts. If the evidence wasn't so perfect I'd be more 
 sure of my ground. As it is, I wouldn't bet more 
 than a pair of Bowery spats on the Phantom's guilt. 
 I'm not sure he killed either Gage or the house- 
 keeper." 
 
 The Phantom eyed him intently, trying to read his 
 mind. 
 
 "I see," he murmured. "You don't want to be- 
 lieve the Phantom has fallen so low as to " 
 
 "You're talking rot!" snorted the lieutenant, as 
 if touched on a sensitive spot. "What I want to 
 believe makes no difference. If I could lay my; 
 hands on the Phantom this minute, I'd put the links 
 on him so quick it would take his breath away. Even 
 if he didn't kill Gage and Mrs. Trippe, there are 
 one or two other things we can send him up for." 
 
 "I suppose so," said the Phantom thoughtfully. 
 "Much as you would hate to pinch him, you can't let 
 sentiment interfere with duty." 
 
 "Sentiment be damned!" grumbled the lieutenant, 
 reddening a trifle as he saw the knowing grin on the 
 Phantom's face. "I never was long on that kind of 
 stuff. By the way, what's your opinion of the case, 
 Granger?" 
 
 "I haven't any." The Phantom wondered what 
 was going on in the back of Culligore's mind. He 
 knew the dull features were a mask and that the 
 lieutenant, practicing a trick cultivated by members 
 of his profession, was studying his face every mo- 
 
FINGER PRINTS 
 
 195 
 
 ment without appearing to 'do so. "You seem to be 
 holding something back/' he added. 
 
 "Think so?" Culligore uttered a flat, toneless 
 chuckle. "Aren't you holding something back your- 
 self? What's the use trying to hog it all for your 
 paper?" 
 
 "Didn't I tip you off on the doings in the Gage 
 house this morning?" 
 
 "You did," said Culligore dryly, "and I'm still 
 wondering how you knew about them. Did you just 
 walk in on a hunch and discover a dead woman, and 
 a cop chained to an opium-eating runt, or did some- 
 one put you wise beforehand?" 
 
 The Phantom felt he was on dangerous ground. 
 "It was only a hunch. We newspaper men have 
 them, you know, and once in a while they pan out 
 But what do you make of it, Culligore? How do 
 you explain the cop being handcuffed rp Dan the; 
 Dope?" 
 
 "I don't explain it. I suppose Pinto will tell us 
 how it happened when he comes to." 
 
 "Think there's any connection between the hand- 
 cuffed pair and the murder of the housekeeper?" 
 
 "How could there be? The medical examiner 
 said the housekeeper must have been dead from 
 twenty to thirty hours when the body was found. 
 Besides, where do you find any connection between 
 a murder on the one hand and a cop chained to a 
 'dope fiend on the other? To my way of thinking, 
 the two cases are separate. The one of Pinto and 
 Dan the Dope is all a riddle, and the only clear 
 thing about it is that the Phantom had a hand in it." 
 
 "The Phantom?" 
 
 "Yep. The Phantom was in on it. Surprised, 
 eh? Well, there are some things we don't tell the 
 newspapers, and this was one of them. Just how the 
 
196 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 Phantom figured in the thing I can't tell, but he was 
 in the Gage house last night or early in the morn- 
 ing. Beats the dickens how that fellow can walk 
 past our noses without getting caught." 
 
 The Phantom stared. He did not think he had 
 left any traces of his connection with the affair at 
 the Gage house, and Culligore's statement starded 
 him for a moment. 
 
 u How do you know?" he asked, getting a grip on 
 himself. 
 
 "Finger prints," said the lieutenant. u This is on 
 the q. t. I examined the handcuffs, and there were 
 three sets of prints on them, showing that three dif- 
 ferent persons had handled them. There were only 
 two or three marks of each set, but enough to iden- 
 tify them. One set was Dan the Dope's, the other 
 must have been Pinto's, and the third was the Gray 
 Phantom's." 
 
 The Phantom bit his lip, chiding himself for hav- 
 ing been caught off his guard. He might have 
 known that the smooth and shiny surface of the 
 handcuffs would register finger prints, but he had 
 been bodily and mentally exhausted at the time, and 
 his habitual sense of caution had failed to assert 
 itself. 
 
 "Wonder what the Phantom w r as up to," he mur- 
 mured, feeling a trifle uncomfortable beneath Culli- 
 gore's covert and incessant scrutiny. 
 
 "Hard telling. Lots of queer things happen in 
 this world." Culligore grinned while absently toy- 
 ing with the pistol. "For instance, this morning 
 after I left you on the corner " 
 
 "You had me shadowed," interrupted the Phan- 
 tom. "What was the idea, Culligore?" 
 
 "Just a hunch. My man trailed you to the Sphere, 
 office. Then, thinking you wouldn't be out for a 
 
FINGER PRINTS 
 
 197 
 
 while, he went into a beanery for a bite and a cup 
 of coffee. After coming out he hung around the 
 entrance to the Sphere Building for a while longer, 
 but you didn't show up. Finally, he went inside and 
 inquired for you. They told him you had left." 
 
 Culligore paused for a moment. He was turning 
 the pistol in his hand with a playful air. The Phan- 
 tom felt a curious tension taking hold of his body. 
 
 "They told my man," continued the lieutenant, 
 speaking very softly, "that you didn't write the story 
 yourself, but told the facts to a reporter named Fes- 
 senden. As I understand it, they gave Fessenden a 
 new desk not long ago. It's a nice-looking piece of 
 furniture, with a smooth, glossy finish. Maybe you 
 noticed it?" 
 
 "No, not particularly," said the Phantom, finding 
 it a little hard to keep his voice steady. The role 
 he was playing had claimed all his thoughts while 
 he was in the Sphere office, and he had not noticed 
 details. 
 
 "Too bad you didn't." Culligore was still speak- 
 ing in low, purring accents. Gradually and without 
 apparent intent, he turned the muzzle of the pistol 
 until it pointed to the Phantom's chest. "Well, I 
 understand Fessenden was sitting at that nice, new 
 desk while you told him the story, and you were 
 sitting right beside him, with one of the corners of 
 the desk toward you. Some people have a habit 
 when nervous of drumming with their fingers on 
 whatever object is before them. It's a bad habit, 
 Granger." i 
 t The Phantom nodded. A thin smile played about 
 his lips and his eyes glittered like tiny points of 
 steel between half-closed lids. 
 
 "Very bad habit, Granger. Well, my man saw 
 finger prints on the smooth and shiny surface of the 
 
198 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 desk, right where you had been sitting. He touched 
 them up by sprinkling a little gray powder over 
 them, after which they were photographed. It 
 didn't take very long to identify them. Steady now ! 
 This little toy of mine can be real ugly when it gets 
 mad. What I want you to explain is how Tommie 
 Granger's fingers happened to leave the Gray Phan- 
 tom's finger prints on Fessenden's desk." 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE PHANTOM TURNS A SOMERSAULT 
 
 THERE was a humorous glint in Lieutenant 
 Culligore's lazy, mouse-colored eyes as he 
 noted the look of consternation that was 
 slowly creeping into the Gray Phantom's face. He 
 drew a step nearer, and now the menacing muzzle 
 was less than six feet from its target. There was 
 a touch of carelessness in his manner of handling 
 the weapon, but his aim was sure and a slight pres- 
 sure on the trigger would have meant death. 
 
 But the Phantom's look of dismay was not due 
 to fear. Many a time he had laughed in the face 
 of dangers far more serious than the present one. 
 The thing that appalled him was the realization that 
 twice within a few Hours he had committed a stupid 
 blunder. The Gray Phantom, once the astutest and* 
 craftiest of rogues, had bungled like an amateur. 
 
 The thought was galling. Was it that his hand 
 had lost its old-time finesse and his mind its keen' 
 edge, or had his mental stress and fagged nerves 
 been the cause of his bungling? Again, perhaps he 
 had been distracted by the haunting vision of a pair 
 of troubled brown eyes. 
 
 He looked hard at Culligore. Some faces were 
 like an open book to him, and this was one of them. 
 The lieutenant was no man's fool. Behind the mask 
 of dullness and stolidity were shrewdness and quick- 
 ness of wit, an'd he knew that the man before him 
 
 199 
 
200 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 would not permit private inclinations to swerve him 
 from his duty. Culligore was as dangerous an ad- 
 versary as he had ever faced. But there was still 
 another quality behind the mask, and it was this 
 that gave the Phantom his cue. 
 
 Quickly he looked about him. The way to the 
 basement door was barred by the lieutenant, but the 
 stairway leading to the laboratory was unobstructed. 
 With an appearance of utmost unconcern the Phan- 
 tom turned away and started to ascend the steps. 
 
 "Stop !" commanded Culligore, following the re- 
 treating man's movements with his pistol. "I'll pop 
 you if you take another step." 
 
 The Phantom stopped, turned, and grinned. u Oh, 
 no, you won't/' he drawled. 
 
 "Can't you see that I've got you covered?" 
 "But you won't shoot. It takes a particular kind 
 of nerve to kill a defenseless man in cold blood, and 
 you haven't got it. Good-by." 
 
 He took another step, but a short and peremptory 
 "Halt!" brought him to a stop. There was some- 
 thing in the lieutenant's tone that gave him pause. 
 He turned and looked down. 
 
 "You've sized me up just about right," admitted 
 Culligore. "I can't kill a man who hasn't got a 
 chance for his life. But if you move another step, 
 you'll get a slug of lead in your leg. If you think 
 I'm bluffing, just try." 
 
 The Phantom hesitated. The words and the tone 
 left no room for doubt as to the speaker's earnest- 
 ness, and even a slight flesh wound w r ould hamper the: 
 Phantom's movements and frustrate his plans. He 
 came down the few steps he had covered and stood 
 on the basement floor. 
 
 "All right, Culligore. You win this time, but 
 r don't think for a moment that I'll let you carry this 
 
THE PHANTOM TURNS A SOMERSAULT 201 
 
 joke much further. I have very strenuous objections 
 to being arrested at this particular time. Mind if I 
 smoke a cigarette?" 
 
 "I do," the lieutenant said dryly. "I have heard 
 about your cute little ways, and I'm not taking any 
 chances. You don't play any of your tricks on me, 
 Mr. Phantom." 
 
 "You surely (don't think that I'll permit you to 
 drag me off to a cell?" 
 
 "How are you going to help yourself?" 
 
 "Why, man, it can't be done! It's been tried 
 before, you know. And just now I am a very busy 
 man and can't afford to waste time. Besides, what 
 charge do you propose to arrest me on? Not the 
 murder of Gage and Mrs. Trippe?" 
 
 "There are other charges waiting for you in court. 
 You've been having a gay time for a good many 
 years, but this is the end of it. You've done some 
 very fancy wriggling in the past, but you can't 
 wriggle out of this." 
 
 "Perhaps not." A great gloom seemed suddenly 
 to fall over the Phantom. "It looks as though you 
 had me, Culligore. A man can't fight the whole 
 New York police force single-handed. All you have 
 to do is to blow your whistle and " 
 
 "Whistle be hanged! I'm not going to give you 
 the satisfaction of saying that it took a regiment to 
 get you. I mean to arrest you alone, just to prove 
 that you're not as smart as some people think." 
 
 The Phantom glowed inwardly. His adroit and 
 subtle appeal to the lieutenant's pride had produced 
 the desired effect. Culligore felt so sure of his ad- 
 vantage that he would not summon help, and this 
 was an important point in the Phantom's favor. Yet 
 he knew the situation was critical enough. On 
 former occasions he had gambled recklessly with 
 
202 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 'death, often winning through sheer fearlessness and 
 audacity, but much more than his life was at stake 
 now. He looked in vain for a loophole in the situ- 
 ation. All he could do for the present was to spar 
 for time. 
 
 "I see," he murmured. u The achievement of tak- 
 ing the Phantom single-handed would put a gorgeous 
 •feather in your cap. But look here, Culligore. 
 Fame is a fine thing, but you can't eat it, and it won't 
 buy clothes. Isn't it just as important to find the 
 murderer of Mrs. Trippe and Gage?" 
 
 "I'll attend to that, too." The lieutenant inserted 
 a hand in his pocket and drew out a pair of hand- 
 cuffs. "Out with your hands, Phantom." 
 
 The Phantom promptly put his hands in the 
 pockets of his trousers. "Why be in such a rush, 
 Culligore? You know I can't get away from you 
 so long as you keep me covered. Let's discuss things 
 a bit. You don't think I committed those mur- 
 ders?" 
 
 "Not exacdy," said the detective thoughtfully, the 
 steel links dangling from his hand. "Whatever else 
 you may be, I don't think you're a murderer." 
 
 "And that shows that you have more gray matter 
 than some of your colleagues." 
 
 "Thanks," dryly; "but you'd better save the com- 
 pliments. I haven't quite made up my mind about 
 the murders yet. If you didn't commit them, there 
 are a lot of things that will have to be explained. 
 The threatening letter, for instance." 
 
 "Forged." 
 
 "And Gage's dying statement." 
 
 "Pinto lied, or else Gage was mistaken." 
 
 "Think so?" The lieutenant's upper lip brushed 
 the tip of his nose. "It's a queer thing that nothing 
 but the Maltese cross was taken." 
 
THE PHANTOM TURNS A SOMERSAULT 203 
 
 "That was only a detail of the frame-up. Listen, 
 Culligore. Isn't it your idea that the two murders 
 were committed by one and the same person?" 
 
 "It looks that way, but " 
 
 "Well, then, I happen to know who killed Mrs. 
 Trippe, because I was there when it happened." 
 
 Culligore stared; and the Phantom knew he had 
 gained another point. 
 
 "There when it happened? You saw the murder 
 committed?" The lieutenant seemed at once 
 amazed and incredulous. "Just where were you? 
 In the storeroom?" 
 
 "No; the murder was committed in Gage's bed- 
 room, and the body was afterward removed to the 
 storeroom by the murderer." 
 
 For a moment Culligore's astonishment was so 
 great that he almost forgot to maintain his aim. He 
 gathered himself quickly, but his face bore a look 
 of bewilderment. 
 
 "He moved the body, eh? I wonder why. If the 
 job was done by a certain person I have in mind, 
 I don't see what object he could have in carrying the 
 corpse from Gage's bedroom to the storeroom. The 
 natural thing would have been to leave the body on 
 the spot. You're not kidding me?" 
 
 "Absolutely not." The Phantom grinned at Cul- 
 ligore's perplexity. Evidently the lieutenant's 
 theories and calculations had been completely upset 
 by what he had just heard. "Who is the certain 
 person you had in mind, Culligore?" 
 
 "Never mind that. Let me get this straight. You 
 were in Gage's bedroom when Mrs. Trippe was 
 murdered?" 
 
 "Not in the bedroom, but — " The Phantom 
 checked himself on the point of explaining that he 
 had witnessed the murder from his place of conceal- 
 
204 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 ment in the narrow opening back of the window 
 frame. In a flash it 'dawned upon him that he had 
 another advantage over the detective. He had found 
 the loophole in the situation for which his mind had 
 been searching for the past ten minutes. Culligore, 
 of course, was not aware of the existence of the 
 tunnel. The stairs leading to the cellar were at the 
 Phantom's back. If he could elude the detective 
 long enough to slip down the steps and crawl into the 
 mouth of the tunnel, he w T ould be temporarily safe. 
 It was a slender chance, but he had no other. 
 
 " Where were you, then?" demanded Culligore. 
 
 "My secret." The Phantom assumed a myste- 
 rious expression, meanwhile edging ever so slightly 
 toward the stairs at his back. "I saw Mrs. Trippe 
 and she saw me. She was in a terribly frightened 
 condition, and she called out that someone was kill- 
 ing her. Then, of a sudden, a hand appeared, hold- 
 ing a knife. Before I could utter a word or move 
 a muscle, the knife had done its work." 
 
 Culligore muttered something under his breath. 
 He scanned the Phantom's face keenly, but what he 
 saw evidently convinced him of the narrator's truth- 
 fulness. A noise, scarcely louder than the falling 
 of a pin, sounded at the head of the stairs. The 
 Phantom's sensitive ears detected it, but the lieu- 
 tenant appeared to have heard nothing. 
 
 "Well, what happened after that?" 
 
 The Phantom waited for a moment before he 
 answered. A draft faint as a breath told him that 
 the door at the top of the stairs had been opened. 
 He had a vague impression that somebody was look- 
 ing down on them, and he wondered whether Doc- 
 tor Bimble or Jerome had returned. Not the slight- 
 est flicker in his face showed that he had noticed 
 anything. 
 
THE PHANTOM TURNS A SOMERSAULT 205 
 
 "I didn't see any more. The — the curtain fell a 
 moment or two after the blow was struck." 
 
 Culligore regarded him narrowly. Another faint 
 sound came from the head of the stairs, and in the 
 same instant the draft ceased, indicating that the 
 door had closed. The lieutenant, his every faculty 
 bent to the task of ferreting out the thoughts in the 
 Phantom's mind, had heard nothing. He seemed in- 
 clined to doubt and scoff, but a stronger instinct com- 
 pelled him to give credence to the story he had just 
 heard. 
 
 "And all you saw of the murderer was a hand 
 and a knife?" 
 "That was all." 
 
 "Do you remember the woman's exact words?" 
 
 The Phantom searched his memory for a moment. 
 "She said: 'He's killing me! He's afraid I'll tell! 
 
 He locked me in ' She never finished the last 
 
 sentence, but she had said enough. Evidently, the 
 murderer of Gage knew that the housekeeper was 
 aware of his guilt, and imprisoned her in the bed- 
 room so that she would not reveal what she knew. 
 Later he returned with a knife in his hand, having 
 decided it would be safer to kill her. The house- 
 keeper must have had some warning of his arrival; 
 perhaps she saw or heard him coming." 
 
 Culligore looked as though he had a baffling prob- 
 lem on his mind. "Who do you suppose was the 
 'he' she referred to?" 
 
 "I think that's fairly plain. She had previously 
 made it known that she suspected Pinto of having 
 murdered her employer." 
 
 The lieutenant arched his brows and seemed to 
 be revolving a new idea in his mind. "Just the same, 
 we can't be sure she meant Pinto, as long as she 
 •didn't mention him by name. The fact that she 
 
206 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 suspected him once 'doesn't really prove anything. 
 Something may have happened in the meantime that 
 caused her to change her opinion. The 4 he' might 
 have been an entirely different person — maybe some- 
 body she'd never seen before and whose name she 
 didn't know." 
 
 "Possible," admitted the Phantom thoughtfully. 
 Culligore had turned his thoughts into a new 
 channel. 
 
 "Besides," added Culligore quickly, "even if Pinto 
 was the 'he' she had in mind, she might have been 
 mistaken, just as you claim Gage was mistaken." 
 
 The Phantom made another slight movement 
 toward the cellar stairs. "I'm not at all sure Gage 
 made the statement Pinto claims he made. My 
 private opinion is that Pinto is a liar as well as a 
 murderer. What the housekeeper said isn't the only 
 evidence I have against him. I hadn't meant to tell 
 what happened in the storeroom this morning; but 
 since I was careless enough to leave my finger prints 
 on the handcuffs, I might as well come out with it." 
 
 Culligore's mouth opened wider and wider as the 
 Phantom related what had occurred in the storeroom 
 during the early morning hours. When the story 
 was finished, he seemed stunned, and the dazed look 
 in his eyes told the Phantom his chance had come. 
 
 For an instant he flexed his muscles for action, 
 then executed a swift and nimble somersault that 
 landed him on his feet in the middle of the stairs. 
 A spiteful crack told that Culligore had fired his 
 pistol, but the Phantom was already at the bottom 
 of the stairway. Then he dashed across the floor 
 toward the point where the mouth of the tunnel was. 
 He ran his fingers over the wall in search of the 
 hidden door, the ingenious arrangement of which he; 
 had previously noticed. 
 
THE PHANTOM TURNS A SOMERSAULT 207 
 
 Culligore, momentarily taken aback by the Phan- 
 tom's quick and unexpected move, was losing no time. 
 Already he was scampering down the stairs in pursuit 
 of the fugitive. The cellar was dark, save for the 
 narrow shaft of light slanting down from the base- 
 ment, and the Phantom heard him muttering to him- 
 self as he picked his way through the gloom. 
 
 After a few moments' search the Phantom's fin- 
 gers found the tiny rift in the brick surface that 
 marked the location of the door. Culligore, evi- 
 dently hesitating to use his electric flash for fear of 
 becoming a target for the Phantom's pistol, was 
 scudding hither and thither at the opposite end of 
 the cellar. The Phantom crawled into the opening, 
 feet foremost, and softly pulled the door to, then lay 
 on his back, chuckling gently to himself as he pic- 
 tured the lieutenant's discomfiture. 
 
 He had no fear that Culligore would find his hid- 
 ing place. The door was so carefully conceale3 
 that only a careful search would reveal its location, 
 and the detective did not even suspect its existence. 
 Yet the Phantom knew that he would not be safe 
 for long. He could not remain in the tunnel indefi- 
 nitely, and escape through the other end was impos- 
 sible, for he had previously ascertained that the 
 mechanism of the revolving window frame could not 
 be manipulated from that side. All he had gained 
 was time. He could only hope that his lucky star, 
 which so far had never deserted him, would once 
 more turn the situation in his favor. 
 
 His mind was working quickly while he listened 
 to Culligore's movements in the cellar. Doubtless 
 the detective would soon summon assistance and 
 have the building surrounded, and then, unless some 
 chance and unforeseen development came to his 
 rescue, the Phantom's position would be critical in* 
 
208 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 deed. Even if the searchers should not find his hid- 
 ing place, he would eventually die from lack of air. 
 
 Suddenly his figure stiffened. He lay rigid, trying 
 to account for the curious sensation that had just 
 come to him. In a moment he knew what it was; 
 a faint current of air was stirring in the tunnel. At 
 first he could not understand, for he was certain that 
 both exits were closed, and the tube itself was air- 
 tight. He worked deeper into the tunnel, trying to 
 trace the mysterious current to its origin, and pres- 
 ently it came to him that, through some unaccount- 
 able circumstance, the other end must be open. 
 
 It was mystifying, but the stirring of air could be 
 [explained in no other way than that in some manner 
 the revolving window frame had come open. He 
 moved forward as rapidly as he could, hoping to 
 gain the exit and get out of the zone of danger 
 before the block was surrounded. By this time Cul- 
 ligore must have discovered that his quarry had irf 
 some inexplicable way escaped from the basement. 
 Perhaps he was even now cursing himself for his 
 vain-glorious boast that he would take the Gray 
 Phantom single-handed and unaided. 
 
 The movement of air became more noticeable as 
 the Phantom drew near the end of the passage. He 
 proceeded more slowly now, moving forward by 
 cautious twists and wrigglings, a few inches at a 
 time, carefully calculating each motion so as to make 
 no noise. There was something at once puzzling and 
 ominous about the open exit, and he could not know 
 what awaited him in the bedroom at the end of the 
 tunnel. 
 
 His progress became more difficult as he reached 
 the acclivity in which the passage terminated, for he 
 had been moving crab fashion, having entered the 
 tunnel feet first in order to be able to close the door 
 
THE PHANTOM TURNS A SOMERSAULT 209 
 
 behind him, and the width of the tube 'did not permit 
 him to turn. Silent as a mole, he twisted his body 
 upward, all his senses on the alert against the slight- 
 est hint of danger. Now his feet were almost at the 
 window frame. As he had surmised, the opening 
 was clear, and a few more twists would land him 
 on the floor of the bedroom. 
 
 Cautiously he thrust a foot through the opening, 
 but in a moment he drew it back. Then he lay rigid, 
 listening, for something warned him of danger. The 
 bedchamber was dark and there was not the faintest 
 sound; yet he knew someone was lying in wait for 
 him on the other side. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE WATCHERS AT THE WINDOW 
 
 THE Phantom strained his ears. Faint sounds 
 of breathing came to him; then a board 
 creaked ever so slightly under someone's 
 weight. A watcher — or were there two? — was 
 standing just inside the window, guarding the exit. 
 The discovery nettled him, for it meant the loss of 
 precious seconds, but he thanked the warning instinct 
 that had prompted him to muffle his movements. It 
 had probably saved him from an unexpected attack 
 in the dark. 
 
 Warily he reached for the pistol in his hip pocket. 
 He was still listening, and now he was almost cer- 
 tain that two watchers were standing close to the 
 window sill. Doubtless they were armed and ready 
 to spring upon him the moment he betrayed himself, 
 and his awkward position would make it extremely 
 difficult for him to defend himself. 
 
 He turned the situation over in his mind while he 
 waited. It had been a trap, of course. He remem- 
 bered the slight sound that had told him of the open- 
 ing of the door to the laboratory while he was fenc- 
 ing for time with Culligore. Someone had looked 
 down on them from the head of the stairs, remain- 
 ing there long enough to take in the situation and 
 decide on a course of action. Doubtless he had 
 suspected that the Phantom would make an attempt 
 to reach the tunnel, his only avenue of escape, and 
 
 210 
 
THE WATCHERS AT THE WINDOW 211 
 
 the plan had been to attack him as he came out of 
 the passage. 
 
 Again a board gave forth a slight creak, signify- 
 ing that one of the sentinels was growing impatient. 
 The Phantom was in a cramped position and, with 
 his feet above his head, he would be at a decided 
 disadvantage in a fight. He could still use his pistol, 
 but to do so would be dangerous, to say nothing of 
 the difficulty 7 of taking aim in the dark. He was still 
 looking for a way out of the difficulty when one of 
 the watchers at the window spoke in a whisper. 
 
 " 'Slim!' " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Hear anything of him yet?" 
 
 "Not a sound. Suppose he shouldn't come out 
 at all, Toots'?" 
 
 "What's in has got to come out. He'll come 
 acrawlin' this way by V by. Don't you worry." 
 
 The whispering voices were unrecognizable, and 
 the names were not illuminating, but the Phantom 
 did not think that the speakers were officers. More 
 likely they were members of the Duke's band and 
 had gained entrance to the house during the absence 
 of Doctor Bimble and Jerome. It was even possible 
 that they had trailed the Phantom to the anthropol- 
 ogist's residence. 
 
 Again the man named Toots spoke. "I don't like 
 this job a little bit. The Phantom's a bad customer 
 — a reg'lar devil." 
 
 "But we've got him this time. He'll come this 
 way as soon as he notices the draft. He won't be 
 suspectin' a thing, and all we've got to do is grab 
 him. It'll be as easy as picking a banana out of the 
 peeling." 
 
 Toots was silent for a time. Evidently he stood 
 
212 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 in great awe of the Phantom. "What about the 
 idick?" 
 
 "Oh, he's taken care of. The boss is handlin' 
 him. No danger of him buttin' in on us." 
 
 The Phantom listened intently, but was barely 
 able to distinguish the faint whispers. Slim's last 
 remark was interesting. If Culligore had been at- 
 tacked and overpowered while searching the cellar, 
 then the Phantom was in no danger from the police 
 just at present. His only immediate problem was 
 how to deal with the two watchers. 
 
 " What's the lay, Slim?" Toots was asking. 
 "Why is the big chief so all-fired anxious to get his 
 mitts on the Phantom?" 
 
 "Orders from the Duke. There's a big job on, 
 but only two or three are in the know of it. All you 
 and me got to do, Toots, is to keep our mouths shut, 
 ask no questions, and collect our little bit when the 
 time comes. The boss will do the thinkin' part." 
 
 Again a silence fell between the watchers; then 
 Toots asked: "Why don't one of us go to the other 
 end and smoke him out? I'm gettin' tired of 
 waitin'." 
 
 "What's eating you? Time's cheap, ain't it?, 
 The Phantom will come out when he gets ready." 
 
 Another pause ensued; then the inquisitive Toots 
 asked another question. "What I don't get atall is 
 how the 4 skirt' figgers in the deal. Where does she 
 come in, Slim?" 
 
 The Phantom held his breath to catch the answer. 
 
 "Search me. All I know is that the Phantom has 
 a crush on her. I s'pose the boss thinks the Phantom 
 will be easier to handle if he's got a grip on the: 
 moll." 
 
 "Where's the boss keepin' her?" 
 
THE WATCHERS AT THE WINDOW 213 
 
 "Say, ask me somethin' easy. The boss don't tell 
 me his secrets." 
 
 The Phantom felt a twinge of disappointment. 
 Toots' question had given him hope of learning 
 something about Helen's whereabouts, but Slim's 
 answer had quickly dashed it. 
 
 "I'm dying for a smoke," he heard Toots whisper. 
 
 "Well, get back in the corner and have one. But 
 'don't make any noise, and be careful when you strike 
 the match." 
 
 The Phantom heard Toots tiptoeing away from 
 the window. Then came a faintly scratching sound 
 as of a match being struck. A daring idea entered 
 the Phantom's mind. For the time being the 
 enemy's force was divided, and there was only one 
 watcher at the window. He saw a chance — a 
 slender and dubious one, but perhaps the only chance 
 he would have — to get the upper hand of the sen- 
 tinels. 
 
 Bracing his shoulders against the wall of the pas- 
 sage, he drew his electric flash from his pocket. His 
 right hand was already gripping the pistol. Hold- 
 ing both in readiness for instant action, he pricked 
 up his ears and listened. Sounds of breathing told 
 him that Slim was standing a few inches from his 
 feet, perhaps looking directly at him through the 
 Idarkness. He had already decided that Slim was 
 the more resourceful man of the two. If Slim could 
 be put out of action, his difficulty would be more than 
 half solved. 
 
 His finger touched the little button, and a shaft 
 of light pierced the darkness. In the same instant 
 a head was thrust into the opening. A pair of star- 
 tled eyes stared at him for a moment — and in that 
 brief space of time the Phantom acted. His foot 
 
214 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 shot out, delivering a sharp blow in the region of 
 the nose and eyes. With a cry of pain the man 
 tottered back, blood streaming from his face. 
 
 The Phantom extinguished his flash and flung it 
 through the opening. Toots, evidently wondering 
 what had happened, was jabbering excitedly, but 
 Slim gave no sound. With a swift and agile move- 
 ment, the Phantom jerked himself forward, drop- 
 ping his legs over the sill, and in another moment 
 he was standing inside the room. He stooped, ran 
 his fingers over the floor, and recovered the electric 
 torch, then darted noiselessly to one side. A pistol 
 shot sounded, followed by a sharp thud as the bullet 
 hit the wall a few feet from where he stood. 
 
 He leaped silently across the floor. The brief 
 flash emitted by the pistol had given him a glimpse 
 of Slim at the opposite wall. Before the man could 
 move, the butt of the Phantom's pistol had crashed 
 'down on his head. Uttering a feeble grunt, he sank 
 limply to the floor, and in the same instant came 
 another crack and flash, and a bullet whistled past 
 the Phantom's head. 
 
 "You almost winged me that time, Toots," he re- 
 marked coolly, at the same moment dropping to his 
 knees and noiselessly crawling toward where Toots 
 stood with his back to the door. Another shot, fired 
 at random, lighted up the room for a brief instant, 
 giving him another glimpse of his adversary. 
 Swiftly and svithout making the slightest sound, he 
 advanced toward the door. Now he reached out a 
 hand, fumbling for a moment in the darkness until 
 he lightly touched one of Toots' shoes. With a 
 swift and powerful motion he jerked the man's feet 
 from under him. 
 
 The Phantom sprang to his feet and rushed out 
 of the room, turning the key in the lock on the other 
 
THE WATCHERS AT THE WINDOW 215 
 
 side. He paused for breath while he brushed some 
 of the dirt from his clothes. He had vanquished 
 his adversaries, but possibly the shots had been 
 heard, and haste was necessary. He ran to the front 
 of the store. The street outside was quiet and dimly 
 lighted. Cautiously he opened the door and stepped 
 out, casting a quick glance up and down the street. 
 
 He made a few rapid calculations as he walked 
 to the corner. If Culligore had fallen into the 
 clutches of the Duke's gang, as seemed likely from 
 the remark dropped by Slim, then he was still rea- 
 sonably safe so far as the police were concerned. 
 Yet, for the first time in many years, the Phantom 
 was haunted by misgivings. Each thought of Helen 
 Hardwick burned itself into his mind, leaving a scar. 
 The realization that the Duke's minions had her in 
 their power was maddening. He felt an urge to find 
 her at once and snatch her away from her jailers. 
 
 Yet, at almost every step, he was hampered by 
 the designs of his enemies. There were traps and 
 snares everywhere. He had just escaped from one 
 of them, but another time he might not escape so 
 easily, and what would become of Helen then? 
 
 He shuddered at the thought. His mind was 
 as keen and his muscles as pliant as ever, but he was 
 playing against overwhelming odds, and the mere 
 thought of defeat was unbearable. To ask help of 
 the police was out of the question. His old organ- 
 ization was scattered to the four corners of the 
 earth. Wade, his former chief lieutenant and now 
 his trusted friend, had grown too fat to be of much 
 use, and to reach him would be difficult. 
 
 Suddenly he thought of Thomas Granger. The; 
 reporter's journalistic instincts, coupled with his 
 fondness of strong drink, had given the Phantom the 
 feeling that he was not to be trusted. Those two; 
 
216 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 qualities aside, he had rather liked the fellow. 
 Granger had traits that appealed to him strongly. 
 He reconsidered the question as he stood on the 
 corner, glancing furtively in all directions to see: 
 whether he was being spied upon. 
 
 In a few moments his mind was made up. For 
 Helen's sake he must seek assistance somewhere, 
 and he was in no position to be squeamish about his 
 choice. A glance at his watch told him that it was 
 half past eleven. Pell Street was only a dozen short 
 blocks away, and a brisk walk brought him to Peng 
 Yuen s door. 
 
 The wooden-featured Chinaman scanned his face 
 as he held the door open and bade him enter. 
 
 "There is fire in your eyes," he observed as he 
 conducted his guest into the den. u Is it the little 
 Lotus Bud who is troubling the Gray Phantom? 
 The 'Book of the Unknown Philosopher 7 says " 
 
 The Phantom interrupted him with a short laugh. 
 "Peng Yuen, for a man who doesn't read the news- 
 papers, you are surprisingly well informed. I have 
 come to have a talk with my double." 
 
 The Chinaman regarded him stonily. Two in- 
 cense sticks, burning before a hideous joss idol, filled 
 the air with acrid fumes. Peng Yuen, sucking a 
 bamboo pipe with gorgeous tassels, seemed to be: 
 turning over a question in his mind. 
 
 "I think your friend is sleeping," he said at 
 length. 
 
 u Then wake him," directed the Phantom impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 The Chinaman shrugged his shoulders anH 
 touched a button on the wall, then motioned the 
 Phantom to enter. Granger was in bed, but he 
 looked up gloomily and stretched himself. There 
 was a litter of cigarette ends on the table, and torn 1 
 
THE WATCHERS AT THE WINDOW 217 
 
 and crumpled newspapers were scattered over the 
 floor. 
 
 "Hope you've brought me a 'drink," said Granger. 
 
 The Phantom shook his head. Then he sat down 
 on the edge of the bed and fixed the reporter's face 
 with a keen and minutely searching gaze, as if ex- 
 ploring the depths of his soul. 
 
 "What's the idea?" asked the reporter. "You 
 look at me as if I were some kind of curiosity." 
 
 There was a faint hint of doubt in the Phantom's 
 face, but it vanished soon. 
 
 "I think you will do," he declared. "There's just 
 one quality in your face, Granger, that I can't quite 
 analyze. It's a weakness of some kind — your crav- 
 ing for alcohol, perhaps. Anyway, I am willing to 
 take a chance on it. You are going with me." 
 
 The reporter sat up, his face all eagerness. 
 
 "Wait," commanded the Phantom; "I want to be 
 sure that we understand each other. I am making 
 the biggest play of my career. I am going after the 
 Duke's crowd. My primary object is to get Miss 
 Hardwick out of their clutches. My secondary one 
 is to put the whole gang of sneaks and cowards be- 
 hind the bars, where they belong. If I succeed, it 
 will be as great a sensation as the Sphere ever sprang. 
 You are welcome to it, provided you accept the con- 
 ditions." 
 
 'What are they?" 
 
 "I am very likely to get into trouble before the 
 job is done. I may walk into the arms of the police, 
 or into one of the traps set by the Duke. I may get 
 shot, put in a dungeon, murdered, perhaps. You 
 are to follow me at a safe distance wherever I go, 
 never letting me out of your sight. If anything hap- 
 pens to me I want you to take up the search where 
 
218 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 I left off. Above all else you are to get Miss Hard- 
 wick away from those ruffians. Do you agree?" 
 
 Impulsively, without a moment's hesitation, 
 Granger put out his hand. The Phantom gripped 
 it. As he held it for a moment, another look of 
 doubt flickered across his face, but it was soon gone. 
 
 "Then get into your clothes," he directed; "or 
 mine, rather. We might as well keep up the mas- 
 querade a while longer. I am just a shade safer 
 when I am hiding behind your personality." 
 
 "But what about me?" inquired Granger, making 
 a wry face. 
 
 "Give the dicks and bulls as wide a swath as you 
 can. At worst, they can only pick you up again and 
 take another impression of your finger prints, and 
 you will have to explain why you have shed your 
 gaudy feathers. If we have a bit of luck we'Jl pull 
 off a stunt that the police won't forget in many a 
 day. They'll be so busy explaining their own mis- 
 takes and blunders that they won't ask many ques- 
 tions." 
 
 He had found a whisk broom and was removing 
 from his clothing some of the grime and dust he had 
 gathered in the tunnel. He glanced impatiently at 
 his watch, while Granger dressed with time-consum- 
 ing care. 
 
 "Which way?" inquired the reporter. 
 
 "Do you suppose it's too late to find the coffee- 
 house pirate?" 
 
 "Doubtful, but you might try. Sometimes he 
 hangs around the Catharine Street joint till late." 
 
 "What's his name?" 
 
 "You might call him Matt Lunn. He has several 
 names, and he isn't particular which one you use." 
 
 The Phantom considered. "Is he close to the 
 inner circle of the gang? Does he share its secrets?" 
 
THE WATCHERS AT THE WINDOW 219 
 
 "I think he does, but I wouldn't swear to it. 
 Anyhow, he is a lot closer to the big chief than I 
 ever got." 
 
 The Phantom scowled while Granger adjusted his 
 tie. The reporter seemed almost as keen on sartorial 
 polish as on journalistic attainments. 
 
 "By the way," inquired the Phantom, "who is the 
 illustrious personage that's referred to as 'the big 
 chief?" 
 
 "He is the Duke's chief agent. I don't know his 
 name, and I've never seen him. Through under- 
 ground channels the Duke sends him orders from 
 his cell in Sing Sing. The Duke is the brain that 
 plans, and the big chief is the hand that executes. 
 Say, I'm being consumed with curiosity. Aren't you 
 going to tell me something of your plans?" 
 
 "I haven't anything definite. I shall go to the 
 Catharine Street coffee house and try to cultivate the 
 acquaintance of Mr. Matt Lunn. I mean to obtain 
 certain items of information from him. Just how I 
 shall go about obtaining them depends upon what 
 sort of man I find him to be. We'll be on our way 
 whenever you are through primping." 
 
 At last the reporter was ready. Peng Yuen was 
 stolidly smoking his pipe as they passed out. The 
 almond-shaped eyes narrowed a trifle as the Phantom 
 shook his hand, and for an instant he seemed about 
 to say something. In another moment he had 
 changed his mind, however, and with a queer little 
 grunt in his throat he went back to his green-tasseled 
 
 P*P e - . 
 
 With a final admonition to exercise care and dis- 
 cretion, the Phantom left Granger outside the shop 
 and walked rapidly toward Catharine Street. He 
 had no reason for doubting the reporter's sincerity. 
 Granger's moral stamina might not be all that could 
 
no THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 be desired; but, on the whole, the Phantom was well 
 pleased with the arrangement. It had already re- 
 lieved him of much worry and enabled him to center 
 his thoughts and efforts on the task before him. 
 
 He had no difficulty in finding the coffee house, a 
 crumbling and evil-looking hovel squeezed between 
 a sooty factory building and a squalid tenement. 
 Lights shone dimly through several windows in the 
 block, which had a gloomy and somewhat sinister 
 appearance, and he was looked at sharply by several 
 wretched creatures who passed him on the sidewalk. 
 The window and glass door of the coffee house were 
 covered with green paper blinds, but there was a 
 narrow opening through which the Phantom could 
 get a glimpse of the interior. 
 
 Some twelve or fifteen men were seated at long 
 tables, drinking coffee and smoking pipes or ciga- 
 rettes. The air was so heavy with tobacco fumes 
 that the Phantom could not distinguish their features 
 clearly, but he got the impression that they were a 
 disreputable lot. He looked in vain for anyone an- 
 swering the description Granger had given of Matt 
 Lunn. He walked away from the window and stood 
 at the curb, scanning the street in either direction. 
 At a corner a block away, he saw a shadowy figure 
 leaning against a stack of boxes outside a grocery. 
 
 "Granger is on the job," he mumbled. 
 
 Then he turned quickly just as a huge, raw-boned 
 man appeared from the opposite direction and 
 walked into the coffee house. The Phantom caught 
 a glimpse of his face as he opened the door and 
 passed through, and that glimpse revealed a great, 
 livid scar over the left eye. 
 
 In an instant he knew that the man was Matt 
 Lunn. A thin, audacious smile hovered about the 
 Phantom's lips as recognition flashed through his 
 
THE WATCHERS AT THE WINDOW 221 
 
 mind. For a moment he hesitated, casting a swift 
 glance to the corner where Granger stood; then he 
 crossed the sidewalk and resolutely pushed the door 
 open. 
 
 A minute or two later, in a cheap, all-night lunch- 
 room a block down the street, someone was impa- 
 tiently jigging the hook of a telephone. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE FACE IN THE LIMOUSINE 
 
 TWELVE or more pairs of eyes looked up as 
 the Phantom walked into the coffee house. 
 They gave the newcomer a long, stony stare, 
 followed his brisk progress across the floor to a 
 table in the rear, then looked down again into coffee 
 cups and pipe bowls, as if the new arrival had been 
 completely forgotten. 
 
 With a view to obtaining an unobstructed view of 
 Matt Lunn's face, the Phantom had chosen his po- 
 sition carefully. He wished to study the man before; 
 he approached him. A glance told him that Gran- 
 ger's description had been apt but incomplete. He. 
 was a wicked-looking creature, with coffee-brown 
 complexion, eyes that were as hard and emotionless 
 as bits of colored porcelain, and thick, coarse lips 
 that were fixed in a perpetual sneer and gave him a 
 look of sullen ferocity that was set off strikingly by 
 the scar over his eye. 
 
 The Phantom noted these details and made his 
 'deductions while he gave his order to a gaunt, hunch- 
 backed waiter. So far Lunn, who sat alone across 
 an aisle between the tables, had not even looked in 
 his direction and seemed totally unaware of his pres- 
 ence. The others, too, appeared to be ignoring him, 
 but furtive glances and an occasional whisper warned 
 the Phantom that he was under surveillance. 
 
 222 
 
THE FACE IN THE LIMOUSINE 223 
 
 He sipped a little of the coffee that was brought 
 him, shoved the cup aside and strolled across the 
 aisle, seating himself opposite the man with the scar. 
 
 "Hello, Lunn," he said easily, imitating Granger's 
 manner of speech. It was a convenient opening, 
 ;even if he should not be able to deceive the man in 
 regard to his identity. 
 
 Slowly the other lifted his flinty eyes, fixing a 
 vacuous stare on the Phantom's face, and pulled 
 hard at his pipe. "Hullo, yourself," was his gruff 
 response. 
 
 "A bit grouchy to-night, Lunn?" bantered the 
 Phantom, resuming his study of the man at closer 
 range and confirming his previous suspicion that 
 Matt Lunn was a bully with a coward's heart. A 
 cranning of necks and lowering glances signified that 
 the rest of the men in the room were following the 
 conversation. 
 
 "You called me by a different name last time you 
 saw me," grumbled Lunn suspiciously. 
 
 The Phantom masked his momentary confusion 
 behind a grin. After all, he had scarcely hoped to 
 fool Lunn, for the latter and Granger had been inti- 
 mately acquainted for some time, and this was put- 
 ting the ruse to the acid test. 
 
 "You've got so many monickers, Lunn, that I 
 can't remember them all. Which particular one 
 would you like to have me use to-night?" 
 
 "The same one you always used before, if you 
 know which one that is." 
 
 Of a sudden the Phantom wished that Granger 
 had given him more explicit information regarding 
 Lunn. The man with the scar was plainly suspi- 
 cious, and the Phantom was not yet quite ready for 
 action. 
 
 "Tell me where I can connect with a drink," was 
 
224 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 his jocular evasion, "or I'll call you a name you 
 never heard before." 
 
 The other sneered. "There are some things that 
 hurt a lot worse than names do. One of them is 
 a knife in the side, and I've been told a fellow whose 
 name is Tommie Granger is going to get just that 
 unless he explains certain things to the big chief." 
 
 The Phantom's face sobered. "I'm ready to ex- 
 plain. That's why I looked you up to-night. But 
 we can't talk in here. Suppose we take a walk 
 around the block?" 
 
 Lunn laughed derisively. "I was referrin' to a 
 guy named Tommie Granger. He looks a lot like 
 you and he hands out pretty much the same kind of 
 spiel, and yet I could tell the difference almost as 
 soon as I put my lamps on you. Just the same, I'd 
 as soon walk around the block with the Gray Phan- 
 tom as with anybody else." 
 
 He spoke the last sentence in a whisper, accom- 
 panying the words with a grin that rendered his face 
 all the more repellent. The Phantom cast a quick 
 glance at the evil-looking faces at the other tables, 
 wondering whether Lunn had any confederates in 
 the room. They were the scum of the lower levels 
 of the underworld, and their blotched and hardened 
 features bespoke lives steeped in loathsome iniqui- 
 ties, but, unless there were members of the Duke's 
 organization among them, the Phantom saw no 
 reason why they should side against him. 
 
 He paid the hunchback and walked behind Lunn' 
 toward the door. Sullen and covert glances followed 
 him, but none of the men rose, and he was permitted 
 to reach the door without interference. He glanced 
 back as he stepped out on the sidewalk and made; 
 sure that Lunn and himself were not being followed. 
 
THE FACE IN THE LIMOUSINE 225 
 
 The man with the scar took a few steps down the 
 street, then stopped and whirled round. 
 
 "What's the idea?" he demanded brusquely. 
 •Why did you walk in there and try to pass yourself 
 off as Tommie Granger?" 
 
 "Not so loud, Lunn." The Phantom glanced 
 about him quickly. For the moment the block hap- 
 pened to be deserted. Lunn was standing with his 
 back to the dark doorway of the factory building 
 which adjoined the coffee house. There was a men- 
 acing scowl in his face and his right hand was hov- 
 ;ering over one of his pockets. 
 
 Again the Phantom darted a quick glance up and 
 5iown the street. The only person in sight was the 
 lonely figure leaning against the stack of grocery 
 boxes on the farther corner. Evidently Granger had 
 not moved a single step from his post. 
 
 "I'm listening," said Lunn. "What's the an- 
 swer?" 
 
 "This is your answer." With one hand the Phan- 
 tom pinioned Lunn's arm; with the other he jerked 
 his pistol from his pocket and pushed it against the 
 other's waist, shoving him into the shelter of the 
 doorway. Lunn, startled by the swift maneuver, 
 gave a throaty squeal. 
 
 "Be quiet!" commande'd the Phantom. "I have 
 a few things to say to you, and I don't want any 
 interruptions. I happen to know that you're a mem- 
 ber of the Duke's gang. Your crowd is after me 
 tooth and nail, and the reason you were so willing 
 to take a walk with me was that you hoped to catch 
 me off my guard and hand me over to your chief. 
 You're a fool, Lunn. Cleverer men than you have 
 tried that and failed. Feel that?" 
 
 He jabbed the pistol harder against the other's 
 
226 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 waist, and a yawp of terror proved that he had reaH 
 Lunn's character accurately. The big man, who 
 would have been a dangerous adversary if he had 
 gained the upper hand, was cowering. 
 
 "Now, Lunn," said the Phantom sharply, "a few 
 quick answers may prolong your life by a good 
 many years. Did you ever hear of a young lady 
 named Miss Hardwick?" 
 
 "The name sounds kind of familiar." 
 
 "Don't stall! Miss Hardwick was kidnaped by 
 members of the Duke's gang." 
 
 "Ye-es." Lunn gulped. "I — I think she was." 
 
 "You know she was. Don't you?" The question 
 was emphasized with a little extra pressure on the 
 pistol. 
 
 "I've been told the lady was kidnaped, but that's 
 all I know. I didn't have anything to do with that 
 job." 
 
 The Phantom regarded him sharply, but his face 
 was indistinct in the gloom. "Who did?" 
 "I don't know; I never heard." 
 "Where was she taken?" 
 
 "I can't tell you that, either. Say, there's no use 
 poking a hole through me with that gat. I can't tell 
 what I don't know." 
 
 The Phantom was inclined to believe him. Evi- 
 dently Granger had overestimated Lunn's store of 
 inside information regarding the gang's activities. 
 
 "There's one thing you can tell me, and you had 
 better speak quickly. Where does this precious gang 
 hang out? Where is its headquarters?" 
 
 Lunn did not answer. He was breathing stertor- 
 ously, and he uttered a groan or grunt whenever the 
 pressure on the pistol was increased. 
 
 "Out with it!" The Phantom cast an uneasy 
 glance behind him as he spoke, but no one was in 
 
THE FACE IN THE LIMOUSINE 227 
 
 sight. "You'll never get out of here alive unless you 
 tell." 
 
 The big fellow trembled. "I've sworn to keep my 
 mouth shut." 
 
 "Well, I guess it wouldn't be the first time you 
 have violated an oath. Where is the place?" 
 
 "Will you let me go if I tell you?" 
 
 An affirmative answer was on the Phantom's 
 tongue, but he held it back. "No, Lunn, you are 
 not going to get off quite so easily. You might give 
 me a fictitious address, and I would have no way of 
 verifying it until too late. You will have to take me 
 there, and I sha'n't let you go until I have satisfied 
 myself that it is the right place." 
 
 Lunn groaned; and the Phantom looked dubiously 
 along the street. The words were no sooner out of 
 his mouth than a sense of diffidence assailed him. 
 To march an unwilling and treacherous guide 
 through the streets would be a hard and perilous 
 task even at that late hour. Then an idea came to 
 him. He would signal Granger and instruct him to 
 find a taxicab. 
 
 He turned slightly and looked out of the door- 
 way, waving his hand at the solitary figure on the 
 corner. In the next moment a short exclamation of 
 surprise fell from his lips. A big black car was 
 gliding down the street, slackening its pace as it drew 
 nearer. The Phantom, still pressing the pistol firmly 
 against Lunn's body, saw that it was a limousine, and 
 he was at a loss to understand what a car of that 
 type was doing in such a squalid neighborhood. 
 Now it was crawling along very slowly, swerving 
 close to the curb as it came within a few feet of the 
 entrance to the coffee house. The driver was leaning 
 from his seat, as if looking for someone. 
 
 Of a sudden a hoarse cry rose in the Phantom's 
 
228 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 throat. Forgetting Lunn, he sprang from the 'door- 
 way. A face had appeared at the window of the 
 car — a white, rigid face with staring eyes and the 
 look of death spread over its features. 
 The face was Helen Hardwick's. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 IN A CIRCLE OF LIGHT 
 
 SHE looked as though her whole being had frozen 
 into rigidity, and the glacial stare of her eyes 
 sent a chill through the Phantom's veins. In a 
 moment he was on the running board, wrenching the 
 door open. He did not notice that the car gathered 
 speed just as he tumbled in. 
 
 "Helen!" he cried, throwing himself into the seat 
 beside her. "What's the matter? What has hap- 
 pened? Can't you speak?" 
 
 Her body swayed slightly with the motions of the 
 car, but otherwise she did not stir. She sat erect and 
 immobile, w T ith her face turned stonily to the win- 
 dow, as if neither hearing nor seeing. He took one 
 of her hands. It was cold, clammy, and limp. A 
 groan broke from his lips. 
 
 Then, from a corner of the car, two shadows 
 leaped upon him with a suddenness that dazed him. 
 The pistol was still in his hand, but a stinging blow 
 over the knuckles made him drop it to the floor. 
 Helen Hardwick's face, terribly still, held him under 
 a spell while his arms were twisted behind him and 
 his wrists secured with a stout cord that bit into his 
 flesh. Not until his legs had also been manacled did 
 a glimmering of the truth force itself through his 
 numbed senses; but even then he could think of noth- 
 ing but the woman at his side. 
 
 229 
 
230 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 "Is she — dead?" he asked. 
 
 Someone laughed. "Oh, nol She will come out 
 of it presendy. We needed a decoy, and she refused 
 to accommodate us, so we gave her a hypodermic 
 injection. It worked fine." 
 
 He braced his muscles as a vivid realization of 
 what had happened flashed upon him, but the cords 
 about his wrists and ankles held his limbs. Again 
 he had walked into a trap, but for once he did not 
 blame himself for his lack of caution. With eyes 
 open he would have rushed into a thousand traps if 
 Helen Hardwick was the bait. He glanced out of 
 the window, noticing that the car was gliding swifdy 
 through dark and deserted streets. 
 
 A hand reached out and pulled down the blind, 
 cutting off the view. The car was making numerous 
 turns, and he soon lost all sense of direction. The 
 man's explanation of Helen Hardwick's condition 
 had removed a crushing weight of horror from his 
 mind, and once more his head was functioning 
 clearly. 
 
 "Another of the Duke's tricks, 1 suppose?" he 
 remarked. 
 
 "You suppose correctly," was the answer. "You 
 have slipped out of our hands often enough, but this 
 time we have you. You haven't a chance in the 
 world." 
 
 The Phantom was silent for a time, realizing that 
 his captors had turned the trick neatly and with dis- 
 patch. Evidendy they were men of much finer 
 mental caliber than Matt Lunn and Dan the Dope. 
 It had been a clever ruse, and they had set the trag 
 very deftly. 
 
 "What's the programme?" he inquired. 
 
 "You will see soon enough." 
 
IN A CIRCLE OF LIGHT 231 
 
 The Phantom asked no more questions. Suddenly 
 he remembered Granger, and he wondered whether 
 the reporter had been able to follow the speeding 
 car. It was doubtful, he thought, unless Granger 
 had been lucky enough to find a taxicab in a hurry. 
 Yet the fellow was resourceful and keen-witted, and 
 it was possible 
 
 His thoughts were rudely interrupted. The car 
 slowed down, and almost in the same instant a hand 
 gripped him around the throat and shoved him back 
 against the cushion. Another hand put a cloth over 
 his mouth, and he became conscious of a cloying, 
 sickeningly sweetish odor. Gradually his sensations 
 drifted into chaos as his head grew heavier and 
 heavier. He heard voices, but they sounded as if 
 coming from a great distance, and he had an odd 
 feeling that the car was sliding down a bottomless 
 abyss. Then a great void seemed to swallow him 
 up, and he knew nothing more. 
 
 Finally, after what seemed a lapse of hours, his 
 mind drifted out of the stupor. There was a burn- 
 ing sensation in his throat and he felt sick and weak. 
 He tried to move, but something restrained him, and 
 he had a dull impression that he was roped to a chair 
 and that the chair itself was clamped to the floor. 
 His eyelids fluttered weakly, and he closed them in- 
 stinctively as a door opened behind him. 
 
 Two men were entering the room, and one of 
 them was chuckling gleefully, as if he had just heard 
 a good joke. Though his thoughts were wandering 
 in a haze, it occurred to him that it might be well to 
 feign unconsciousness. He closed his eyes tightly 
 and sat motionless in the chair. The two men ad- 
 vanced until they stood in front of him. The Phan- 
 tom felt their eyes on his face. 
 
232 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 "Capital!" exclaimed one of them, and he thought 
 there was something familiar about the voice. "Too 
 bad the Duke can't be here and see this ! It would 
 <do his soul good to see his old enemy strapped to a 
 chair. Well, Somers, I guess this will be the end 
 of the Gray Phantom." 
 
 The words stung the listener's senses like a whip- 
 lash. He tried to identify the voice, but he was 
 unable to recall where he had heard it before. 
 
 "We've got him just where we want him," re- 
 marked the man addressed as Somers, "and I don't 
 think he'll get away from us this time. It will be a 
 miracle if he does." 
 
 "Not even a miracle can save him. The Phantom 
 is done for. You did a good job, Somers." 
 
 "Oh, it was easy enough. All we had to do was 
 to shoot some Hope into the moll, pose her in the win- 
 dow of the car, and drive past the place where we 
 had been tipped off we would find the Phantom. I 
 was just wondering how to get him out of the joint, 
 when he walks out of a doorway, catches a glimpse 
 of the skirt, and rushes blindly into the trap. It 
 w r orked like greased lightning. Looks as though 
 he'd be dead to the world for quite a while yet." 
 
 The Phantom repressed a smile. His superb con- 
 stitution was already shaking off the effects of the; 
 chloroform. 
 
 "How is the little doll?" inquired the first speaker, 
 who seemed to be a man of authority in the Duke's 
 organization. 
 
 "Chipper as a wild cat. She came to shortly after 
 we got here. That kid had spunk, and she's all 
 there on looks. I don't blame the Gray Phantom for 
 falling for her. I would myself." 
 
 "Sentiment and business make a bad mixture," was 
 the other's dry comment. "Don't let a pretty face 
 
IN A CIRCLE OF LIGHT 233 
 
 bedevil you, Somers. The young laHy is here to 
 serve our purpose. After that " 
 
 He stopped, and the ensuing pause somehow im- 
 pressed the Phantom as ominous. 
 
 "Well, then what?" asked Somers, and there was 
 a slight catch to his voice. 
 
 "She is a shrewd young thing and she knows too 
 much for our good. Our safety demands that — but 
 we'll cross that bridge when we get to it." He 
 laughed again, as if to rid his mind of unpleasant 
 thoughts. "I can scarcely realize that the Gray 
 Phantom is in our power at last. It's almost too 
 good to be true." 
 
 "It is true, though. Say, won't he get a jolt when 
 he comes out of the daze and finds himself strapped 
 to a chair?" 
 
 "That isn't the only jolt that's in store for him. 
 We'll give him a glimpse of the big show, just for 
 the moral effect it will have on him. Just a little eye 
 teaser, you know, Somers. Is everything ready?" 
 
 "Ready to a dot. Want to have a look?" 
 
 The other answered affirmatively, and the two 
 men left the room. The last part of the conversa- 
 tion had been unintelligible to the Phantom, and he 
 did not try to puzzle it out. The unfinished sentence 
 and its train of vaguely disturbing thoughts haunted 
 him. Helen Hardwick was to serve some mysterious 
 purpose. After that — he wondered why he felt a 
 chill as he tried to imagine the rest. The words left 
 unspoken suggested terrifying possibilities. 
 
 He opened his eyes. Evidently the two men had 
 extinguished the lights upon leaving, for the room 
 was dark. With the fragmentary sentence still echo- 
 ing in his ears, he tore at the ropes, but the attempt 
 only bruised his wrists. 
 
 Suddenly he sat still, his eyes fixed on a tiny light 
 
234 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 that had appeared in the back of the room. The 
 point of luminance grew larger and larger, swelling 
 into a circle of pale radiance, and in its center he 
 saw something that caused him to wonder whether 
 he was dreaming a madman's dream. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE PHANTOM HEARS A SCREAM 
 
 RIGID in every fiber, the Phantom stared at the 
 circle of light, which seemed to have appeared 
 out of nowhere. At first small as the head of 
 a pin, it gradually unfolded and expanded, at the 
 same time changing from white into a pale greenish 
 hue that dissolved the surrounding darkness into 
 translucent mist. 
 
 As it grew larger, the light wrapped itself around 
 an object of strange appearance. It was gray as 
 ashes and its shape gave forth a weird suggestion 
 that it had once been a living thing. The pale, 
 ghostly light that surrounded it like a nimbus gave 
 it a monstrous character. 
 
 "A skull !" mumbled the Phantom. Under ordi- 
 nary circumstances he could have looked upon it 
 calmly, but the stillness and darkness, broken only 
 by the pallid glow in the distance, gave the object 
 a mystical touch that cast a spell over his senses. 
 
 His nerves had withstood physical fear in its most 
 severe fonns, but they quavered a little before this 
 subtle and bewildering manifestation. His weakness 
 nettled him and he closed his eyes and sought to 
 banish the thing from his mind, but the vision as it 
 lingered in his imagination was even more disturbing 
 than the reality. Again he opened his eyes and 
 looked fixedly to one side, determined not to let an 
 inanimate thing of bone upset his nerves. A slight 
 
 235 
 
236 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 shiver ran through him as, among the shadows at 
 the wall, he discerned a dim shape. He could barely 
 distinguish its outlines, but again he received an im- 
 pression of something that had once pulsed with life 
 and was now hollow and dead. He peered sharply 
 at the blurred shape standing grimly erect a few feet 
 from his chair, and presently he saw what it was. 
 
 Then he laughed, but the laugh sounded a trifle 
 forced. He had seen a similar object before, in one 
 of the glass cages in Doctor Bimble's laboratory, but 
 he had regarded it with no stronger feeling than mild 
 curiosity. Now, in the stillness and gloom, the sight 
 made him feel as if a dead hand had touched him. 
 He turned his head toward the opposite wall, and 
 there, etched dimly in the shadows, was another 
 figure. A few feet away he glimpsed a third, and in 
 the distance were a fourth and a fifth. 
 
 In the air there was a creeping chill, like a breath 
 from a tomb. He felt no fear, but he experienced 
 the acute depression that seizes even the strongest 
 when standing in the presence of death, and his phys- 
 ical and mental distress was aggravated by his in- 
 ability to move even an arm. The stifling air made 
 him feel as though he were in a black and silent 
 mausoleum, with dead things on all sides. 
 
 An unaccountable fascination caused him to look 
 once more at the luminous circle. The greenish light 
 seemed to have grown a trifle dimmer, but the wan- 
 ing of the glow only lent an added touch of hideous- 
 ness to the object in the center of the nimbus. It 
 fired his imagination, and he fancied that something 
 loathsome was staring out at him through the black 
 hollows where the eyes had been. 
 
 As the circular light faded, he thought it was/ 
 drawing closer to where he sat. As if gently pro- 
 pelled by an invisible hand, the paling circle of light 
 
THE PHANTOM HEARS A SCREAM 237 
 
 was creeping slowly nearer, moving steadily toward 
 his chair. 
 
 He pulled at the ropes. Now the fringe of light 
 was so faint that the skull was only a shapeless blur, 
 but its dimness rendered its creeping approach all 
 the more uncanny. In a little while, if it continued 
 in its present course, it would touch his face. He. 
 wondered why his senses shrank from the encounter, 
 for he knew that the contact could not harm him. 
 
 Finally the light died, leaving an intense, oppres- 
 sive darkness. Though he could neither hear nor 
 see, he was aware that the object was still creeping 
 toward him and that in a few moments he would 
 feel its chilling touch. There was something subtly 
 [enervating about its silent and stealthy advance, 
 something that inspired him with a feeling he had 
 never experienced when standing face to face with 
 a foe of flesh and blood. 
 
 Then, without apparent cause, he sensed a change 
 in the atmosphere. The oppression suddenly left 
 him, and he knew instinctively that something had' 
 halted the advance of the dreaded thing. He drew 
 a long, deep breath as he tried to account for the 
 relief that had come so suddenly to him. 
 
 His thoughts were interrupted by the opening of 
 a door at his back and the entrance of two men. He 
 could not see them, but their footfalls told him that 
 they were groping toward the point where he sat. 
 Silently they fell to work and released him from the 
 chair, but his arms and legs were still tied and he 
 was as helpless as before. He wondered, as he was 
 being carried from the room, what fresh ordeal 
 awaited him. 
 
 The two men carried him across the hall and into 
 another room, where he was placed in a chair. He 
 was surprised to see the sunlight streaming in 
 
238 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 through the window, for the darkness from which he 
 had just emerged had left an impression of impene- 
 trable night on his mind. 
 
 "The big chief will be in directly," announced one 
 of the men as they were leaving. 
 
 The Phantom felt a thrill of expectancy at the 
 thought that at last he was to come face to face 
 with the Duke's chief agent. Then he began to look 
 about him. From where he sat, all that was to be 
 seen through the window was the murky wall of a 
 factory building. The room was small, and the only 
 furniture was a table and three chairs. In vain he 
 looked for something that might suggest a way of 
 •escape. 
 
 He turned quickly as a step sounded outside the 
 <ioor. It came open, and for several moments he. 
 stared at the man who entered. Then he laughed, 
 a short, unnatural laugh that sounded hollow even to 
 himself. The man who stood before him was Doctor 
 [Tyson Bimble. 
 
 He would never have guessed that the anthropol- 
 ogist was the man through whom the Duke directed 
 his criminal enterprises from his cell in prison, but 
 on second thought the discovery was not so surpris- 
 ing. Since their first meeting he had suspected that 
 anthropology was not Bimble's sole interest in life. 
 He had felt that it w T as merely a cloak for other 
 activities, though it had not occurred to him what 
 these might be. 
 
 "You are pale," observed Bimble, looking at him 
 through his thick lenses; u but I sha'n't trouble to 
 feel your pulse this morning. I have no doubt it's 
 jiormal." 
 
 The doctor, with his stiltlike legs and top-heavy; 
 head, seemed as ludicrous as ever, and his face wore 
 the same beatific smile that had greeted the Phantom' 
 
THE PHANTOM HEARS A SCREAM 239 
 
 when they first met, but his eyes were a trifle stern, 
 and there was an unfamiliar briskness about his 
 movements. 
 
 The Phantom swallowed his emotions and braced 
 his mind for a duel of wits with the doctor. Many 
 a time in the past he had outmaneuvered men as 
 crafty as his present adversary. For the present he 
 tried not to think of Helen, for he would need a 
 clear mind and steady nerves if he was to help her. 
 
 "Have you made any new scientific discoveries 
 since I saw you last, doctor?" he inquired chattily. 
 
 Bimble's eyes twinkled. u No; but I dare say you 
 have. n 
 
 "I have discovered a new use for skeletons." 
 
 "New? You are mistaken, my excellent friend. 
 The efficacy of skeletons and like objects as means 
 of moral suasion has been understood for a long 
 time. I believe the wicked old doges of Venice usecj 
 similar methods when they wished to put their ene- 
 mies into a receptive frame of mind and did not 
 care to resort to physical torture. It is strange how 
 all of U9 — even a strong man like yourself — stand 
 in awe of objects associated with death and decay." 
 
 "It is," agreed the Phantom dryly. "But I don't 
 quite get the idea. I admit the ghostly vaudeville 
 you staged for my benefit was a bit creepy. I would 
 rather face a regiment of smooth rascals like you 
 than a grinning skeleton. But if you expected me 
 to come out of that spook chamber a broken man you 
 are doomed to disappointment." 
 
 "I didn't, as a matter of fact." The doctor smiled 
 amusedly. "I am well aware that it takes something 
 more than that to break a man like the Gray Phan- 
 tom." 
 
 "Then what was the object?" 
 
 "You shall see presently. My friend, you have; 
 
240 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 given me no end of trouble. Since the clay you made 
 your first unexpected appearance in my laboratory, 
 I have done my best to save you from the police, 
 but you seemed determined to rush blindly into their 
 arms. I did not realize how stubborn and foolhardy 
 you were till the morning when I entered your bed- 
 room and found it empty. You knew the police were; 
 combing the town for you, and I had hoped that 
 would keep you in." 
 
 "It was a shameless abuse of hospitality," con- 
 Jessed the Phantom. "But I take it you were not 
 altogether unselfish in your desire to save me from 
 arrest." 
 
 Bimble smiled as he ran his eyes up and down the 
 Phantom's figure. "Borrowed feathers are not be- 
 coming to you," he observed critically. "These togs 
 are atrocious. But the idea itself was excellent. I 
 'did not even guess that the Gray Phantom was mas- 
 querading as a newspaper reporter until the trick 
 you played on Pinto and Dan the Dope gave me an 
 inkling of the truth. Then, last evening, upon my 
 return from a visit in the neighborhood, I found you 
 and Liuetenant Culligore in the basement of my 
 house. The few words I overheard were sufficient 
 to verify my suspicions. I saw that Culligore had 
 you cornered, and I guessed you would try to reach 
 the tunnel. Then — But I think you know the 
 rest." 
 
 "All except what happened to Culligore." 
 
 The doctor beamed. "Poor Culligore! He's 
 really a much cleverer man than you would think — 
 cleverer than yourself, in certain w T ays. An auto- 
 matic equipped with a flash light and a silencer put 
 a bullet into his leg while he was looking for you in 
 the cellar. A most regrettable accident!" Bimble 
 laughed softly. "The poor man is now under my 
 
THE PHANTOM HEARS A SCREAM 241 
 
 professional care, and I fear he will not be out for 
 some time." 
 
 "I can guess the nature of the professional atten- 
 tions you are giving him. But why were you so 
 anxious that I should not fall into the hands of the 
 police?" 
 
 "Because I had certain plans in which you were 
 concerned, and your premature arrest would have 
 seriously interfered with them. Can't you guess 
 what they were?" 
 
 "The Duke has a goose to pick with me, I believe. 
 At any rate, I understand he is not very benevolently 
 disposed toward me." 
 
 "You have been correctly advised. The Duke is 
 a very thoroughgoing hater, as you will discover 
 before we are through with you. Not only that, but 
 he is an adept in the gentle art of mixing business 
 and pleasure. He also knows how to bring down a 
 flock of birds with a single stone. Take, for in- 
 stance, the case of old Sylvanus Gage." 
 
 "Yes," murmured the Phantom, fixing the doctor 
 with a keen gaze, "the Duke showed his genius there. 
 He planned the murder very shrewdly so that the 
 guilt would be fastened on me. It was an admirable] 
 way of getting revenge." 
 
 The doctor smiled. "True, but it wasn't so simple 
 as all that. You are not giving the Duke half the 
 credit he deserves. I told you that he always mixes 
 business and pleasure. These walls are deaf, so 
 there is no reason why I should not enlighten you. 
 Gage had been for years a member of the Duke's 
 organization. It was through him the band disposed 
 of the proceeds from its activities. It was a risky 
 business and he lived in constant danger. Hence the: 
 tunnel, which gave him a convenient avenue of escape: 
 in emergencies. The housekeeper, an estimable soul, 
 
242 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 knew that her employer was conducting some sort of 
 illegitimate business, and she assisted him in it to a 
 certain extent, which explains any symptoms of bad 
 conscience she may have shown. I don't think, how- 
 fever, that she was aware of Gage's membership in 
 the Duke's organization. Gage was a valuable man, 
 but his insatiate greed led him astray. He double- 
 crossed the band in financial transactions, and when 
 called to task for his crooked work he threatened to 
 cause trouble. To put it briefly, it was decided that 
 he must be put out of the way." 
 
 "I see." The Phantom smiled, but his eyes were 
 hard. "The Duke avenged himself on two persons 
 with one stroke. He not only removed Gage, but 
 arranged matters so that suspicion for the crime 
 would fall on me." 
 
 i 'Exactly. You are now beginning to appreciate 
 the Duke's many-sided talents. Of course, his main 
 object was to repay you for the merciless joke you 
 played on him when you put him and most of his 
 gang behind bars. Where to find you was a poser. 
 It was known that you had taken your treasures and 
 gone into hiding somewhere, but no one seemed to 
 have the faintest inkling of your whereabouts. 
 Knowing your sensitiveness about such matters, the 
 Duke guessed that the murder of Gage, with the cir- 
 cumstances pointing to you as its perpetrator, would 
 smoke you out." 
 
 "It was a good guess. I had to come out and 
 clear myself, and that gave the Duke his chance. 
 Now that you have me where you want me, what do 
 you propose to do with me? Am I to be handed 
 over to the police, or have you engaged passage for 
 me on the Stygian ferry?" 
 
 The question seemed to amuse the doctor. "If we 
 meant to hand you over to the police we would 
 
THE PHANTOM HEARS A SCREAM 243 
 
 scarcely have gone to such great lengths to save you 
 from arrest. What is to be done with you eventually 
 hasn't been decided as yet. The Duke's orders are 
 to dispose of you in whichever way will hurt you 
 the most and give him the ultimate degree of revenge. 
 There is a question involved in that. You are not 
 the kind of man that fears death." 
 "Thanks." 
 
 Bimble's deceptively mild eyes regarded him care- 
 fully. "I think there are certain other things that 
 w T ould hurt you far more. For instance — But we 
 will drop that phase of the subject for the present 
 and get down to the more practical side. As I told 
 you, the Duke always mixes business and pleasure, 
 which in this case means a judicious blend of revenge 
 and profit." 
 
 The Phantom's brows went up. A tinge of greed 
 and craftiness had dimmed the habitual look of 
 serenity in the doctor's eyes. He was looking down 
 at his scrupulously polished shoes while playing with 
 his watch chain. 
 
 "How?" asked the Phantom. The uncertainty 
 as to his own fate did not trouble him in the least, 
 but all his will power was needed to maintain a sem- 
 blance of coolness whenever he thought of Helen. 
 
 "You put in many very busy years at the pleasant 
 occupation of annexing other people's property," 
 murmured the doctor. "The magnitude of your en- 
 terprises has been the talk of the whole continent. 
 There must be a good many millions stored away in' 
 that retreat of yours." 
 
 The Phantom smiled. Imaginative newspaper 
 writers had pictured the Gray Phantom living like 
 an East Indian potentate in some snug retreat, sur- 
 rounded by countless treasures and a splendor that 
 would have offered a gorgeous Arabian Nights' set- 
 
244 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 ting. The fable, eagerly swallowed by the public, 
 seemed wildly grotesque in comparison with the 
 truth. 
 
 ■"You're forgetting something, doctor. I never 
 had the Duke's keen eye for business. I was not a 
 crook for the sake of the loot, but for the excitement 
 1 found in the game, and I usually gave the stuff 
 away after I had had the fun of taking it. I haven't 
 much that would interest the Duke." 
 
 The doctor's lips curled in a way that indicated 
 strong skepticism. u You will let me be the judge 
 as to that, my friend. All I ask of you is that you 
 tell me explicitly and veraciously where this collec- 
 tion of yours may be found." 
 
 The Phantom drew himself up as far as the ropes 
 permitted. The smile was still on his lips, but in the 
 depths of his eyes lurked a hard glitter. "What if 
 I refuse?" 
 
 "Why, man, you can't refuse! You are in no 
 position to do anything but surrender to my wishes." 
 
 "Wrong, doctor." He gave, a low, metallic laugh. 
 "You ought to know that the Gray Phantom never 
 surrenders. Threats and bullying can't move me arf 
 inch. That's absolutely final." 
 
 The doctor seemed not at all disconcerted. "I 
 expected you to say that. You are stubborn as a 
 mule, but fortunately I have means of persuasion at 
 my disposal. If I can't bend you, I will break you."' 
 
 He rose abruptly and left the room. There had 
 been something in his tones that lingered in the 
 'Phantom's ears after he had gone. He was back 
 in a few moments, and once more his face was 
 wreathed in smiles. Without a word he sat down, 
 crossed his thin legs, and lighted a cigarette, then 
 smoked in silence while the Phantom scanned his face; 
 
THE PHANTOM HEARS A SCREAM 245 
 
 for a clew to the mysterious erranH that haH taken 
 him out of the room. 
 
 Minutes passed, and still the 'doctor smiled and 
 smoked. From time to time he raised his tranquil 
 jeyes and glanced at the door as if expecting some- 
 body, and all the while there was an air of pleasur- 
 able anticipation about him. 
 
 Suddenly the Phantom stiffened. For a moment 
 he sat rigid, listening, then jerked forward in the 
 chair, straining fiercely at the ropes. 
 
 Somewhere in the building a woman had screamed. 
 The shriek, sharp and explosive, as if inspired by a 
 terror long restrained, dinned with hideous signifi- 
 cance against the Phantom's ears. His heart stood 
 still for a moment. 
 
 The voice that had uttered that mad, unforget- 
 table cry was Helen Hardwick's. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE PHANTOM'S RUSE 
 
 THE doctor placidly finished his cigarette. The 
 sleek, genial smile had not left his face for 
 an instant, and his eye still held the same 
 twinkle of languid amusement. 
 
 "Miss Hardwick is a very plucky young woman,"' 
 he murmured, "but evidently the spook chamber, as 
 you so aptly termed it a little while ago, has proved 
 too much for her nerves. The cry we just heard 
 seemed to indicate that she was in great distress. 
 Being alone in a dark room with nothing but skele- 
 tons for company is not a very pleasant experience 
 for a woman." 
 
 The Phantom's face turned a shade whiter. For 
 a moment he was dazed by the realization that 
 Helen was undergoing the same excruciating ordeal 
 to which he himself had been subjected. The ghostly 
 spectacle had caused even his strong nerves to writhe; 
 and he shuddered at thought of the effect it must 
 have on her more delicate organism. 
 
 "I gave you a little taste of it just to enable you 
 to appreciate Miss Hardwick's predicament," con- 
 tinued the doctor in matter-of-fact tones. "The 
 arrangement is simplicity itself. My excellent 
 Jerome fixed it up. The scenic effects are so simple 
 that a child could have handled them. Yet you will 
 admit, I think, that they serve their purpose. I once 
 
 246 
 
THE PHANTOM'S RUSE 247 
 
 knew a person — not a weakling, either — who went 
 
 mad under similar pressure. It is strange how " 
 
 Another shriek, not so loud as the first, but long- 
 drawn and hoarse, interrupted him. He paused for a 
 moment, eyeing the Phantom with a level glance 
 while the scream lasted, then fell to polishing his 
 lenses. 
 
 "As I was about to remark," he went on, "it is 
 strange how darkness and a touch of the grewsome 
 affect one's mind. The soul seems to shrink from 
 such things. The reason, I think, must be atavistic. 
 The poor wretch I was telling you about, the one 
 who lost his mind " 
 
 "Stop it!" cried the Phantom. His voice was 
 husky. "Get her out of that room before she goes 
 mad!" 
 
 Doctor Bimble seemed suddenly interested. "Do 
 I understand that you are willing to listen to reason? 
 Are you ready to reconsider the suggestion I made a 
 while ago and which you so grandiloquently re- 
 jected? In other words, are you willing to tell me 
 where your treasures are hidden?" 
 
 "Yes — anything! I'll do whatever you ask. Only 
 stop that infernal hocus-pocus at once!" 
 
 "Oh, very well." There was a smile of keen 
 gratification on Bimble's lips as he got up and left 
 the room. 
 
 The Phantom, every limb shaking, stared at the 
 door through which he had passed. Suddenly his 
 blood-streaked eyes grew wide. He remembered 
 something that was almost as terrifying as the shrieks 
 he had just heard. His thoughts went back to the 
 moment when he had awakened in the dark room, 
 and he recalled the snatches of conversation he had 
 overheard. 
 
 One of the two speakers, he was now almost cer- 
 
248 THE GEAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 tain, had been Doctor Bimble. The voice had 
 sounded familiar, and he would probably have recog- 
 nized it but for the dazed condition he was in. One 
 of the doctor's sentences had burned itself into the 
 Phantom's brain: 
 
 "The young lady is here to serve our purpose. 
 After that- *\ 
 
 He saw it all in a blinding flash that scorched like 
 fire. With their usual cunning the Duke's men had 
 perceived that neither by torture nor by threats of 
 'death could the Gray Phantom be forced to comply 
 with their desires. They had known that he held 
 his life lightly and could suffer personal punishment 
 like an Indian. And so their diabolically crafty 
 minds had conceived the idea of letting Helen Hard- 
 wick's agonized cries pierce his armor of pride and 
 obduracy, thus accomplishing what could never have 
 been accomplished by other means. 
 
 They had judged him accurately, was his grim 
 reflection. Rather than see a hair of Helen's head 
 harmed he would gladly make any sacrifice. But 
 the sinister significance of the doctor's words had 
 been plain. The Phantom would not insure Helen' 
 safety by accepting Bimble's terms. Evidently, Miss 
 Hardwick had come into possession of information 
 which the gang feared she might divulge if set free 
 and consequently she was to be silenced forever as 
 soon as Bimble's purpose had been attained. 
 
 While he awaited the doctor's return the Phantom 
 (thought quickly. By accepting Bimble's terms he 
 would only be hastening Helen's doom, for the gang 
 having no further use for her after they had gaine 
 their ends, would probably put her to death quickly 
 On the other hand, by rejecting the conditions, h 
 would at least gain time. In the meanwhile Bimbl 
 might inflict cruel suffering upon her, but his selfis 
 
THE PHANTOM'S RUSE 249 
 
 interests would restrain him from taking Her life, 
 for, once he had done so, his sole hold upon the 
 Phantom would be gone. ^ 
 
 The reasoning was plain, but he found it hard to 
 reach a decision. Perhaps death would be merciful 
 in comparison with the tortures that Bimble might 
 subject her to. He was caught between the jaws 
 of a fearful dilemma, and the only sane course he 
 could see was to play for time. 
 
 Doctor Bimble returned. "Why do women never 
 swoon until the worst is over?" he questioned in 
 whimsical tones. "Miss Hardwick is a surprising 
 young lady, but she is not free from the foibles of 
 her sex. She had no sooner been taken out of the 
 dark room than she promptly collapsed." 
 
 The Phantom held back the biting words on his 
 tongue, but he could not forego a look of withering 
 contempt. 
 
 "Do you know," the doctor went on, "I am almost 
 certain that Miss Hardwick knows where your re- 
 treat is located? In fact, she let slip something that 
 convinces me she does. But do you suppose the 
 stubborn little beauty would tell? Not she ! I don't 
 believe the fear of eternal fires could force her to 
 speak." 
 
 He had guessed correctly, but the Phantom care- 
 fully refrained from signifying by a look or a word 
 that it was so. Miss Hardwick knew about Sea- 
 Glimpse, and it was with mingled feelings the Phan- 
 tom heard of her refusal to reveal the secret. Had 
 she become aware, through some process of divina- 
 tion, that her life would be forfeited the moment the 
 information was in the doctor's possession, or had 
 she been guided by other reasons? 
 
 "So you see," continued Bimble in smooth tones, 
 "that you will save the little lady from all sorts of 
 
250 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 unpleasantness by acceding to my very reasonable 
 terms. It would be a shame if such a charming 
 woman should become a gibbering maniac as a result 
 of obstinacy on your part. Where did you say this 
 place of yours is situated?" 
 
 "I haven't said yet." The Phantom forced a 
 laugh. "Before I do, you and I must have a definite 
 understanding. Do you agree to set Miss Hardwick 
 free the moment I have given you the information?" 
 
 "What an unreasonable question, my dear Phan- 
 tom! I agree to do nothing of the kind. I shall 
 keep Miss Hardwick here until I have satisfied my- 
 self that you have been dealing with me on the square 
 and that the directions you have given me are accu- 
 rate." 
 
 "Fair enough. But after you have satisfied your- 
 self in regard to my good faith, what then?" 
 
 "Then," said the doctor, and there was not a trace 
 of guile in his face, "Miss Hardwick shall be im- 
 mediately released." 
 
 "On your word of honor?" 
 
 "On my word of honor." 
 
 "Snake!" the Phantom was tempted to say, but 
 he pretended to be satisfied. Already his mind was 
 inventing a ruse. He would gain several hours of 
 valuable time by inveigling the doctor into a search 
 for a place that had existence only in the Phantom's 
 imagination. In the meantime several things were 
 likely to happen. It was just possible that Granger 
 had been able to trace the movements of the limou- 
 sine and would come to the rescue. At any rate, the 
 Phantom believed that if he could but stave off the 
 crisis for a while his customary luck would once 
 more reassert itself. 
 
 His mind worked fast. Doubtless the doctor 
 knew that he had arrived in New York less than 
 
THE PHANTOM'S RUSE 
 
 251 
 
 twenty-four hours after the Gage murder. Allow- 
 ing for slow and infrequent trains and the time re- 
 quired for news to reach out-of-the-way places, he 
 would have to choose a point that was not more than 
 ten or twelve hours removed from New York. With 
 a mental picture of the map before his eyes, he out- 
 I lined a highly imaginative route to the doctor. 
 
 Bimble made a few notes. Then he looked up, 
 and for once there was an ominous glint in the 
 usually placid eyes. 
 
 "My men will start at once," he announced. 
 "They will be instructed to wire me as soon as they 
 have reached their destination. I hope, for Miss 
 Hardwick's sake, that you have not tried to deceive 
 me." 
 
 With that he was gone; but the softly spoken 
 words, edged with just the faintest trace of a sinister 
 note, lingered for a long time in the Phantom's 
 memory. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 PINTO'S CONFESSION 
 
 THE Phantom awoke with a start, vaguely con- 
 scious that he had been sleeping for several 
 hours. Shortly after his interview with Doc- 
 tor Bimble, he had been removed to a small dark 
 room with a single shuttered window, through which 
 no sunlight or air entered. The ropes around his 
 wrists and ankles had been removed, but his move- 
 ments were restricted by a chain only a few feet long, 
 one end of which was padlocked to his right leg while 
 the other was clamped to the wall. 
 
 Jerome, more tight-lipped than ever, had brought 
 him a meal, and he had eaten with relish, after 
 which he had lain down on the cot and gone to sleep. 
 A lessening of his mental tension had come with the 
 conviction that Helen was in no immediate danger 
 and would be safe until the doctor heard from his 
 messengers, which he probably would not do until 
 after midnight. 
 
 He had slept soundly, and now he was refreshed 
 in body and mind. He inspected his surroundings 
 with a keen eye. The little room was admirably 
 adapted to the purposes of a cell. Even if he were 
 inclined to shout for help, the shutters doubtless 
 would render such an effort useless. The room was 
 sparsely lighted by an electric bulb in the ceiling, and 
 he noteH that the door, walls, and floor had a sub- 
 
PINTO'S CONFESSION 
 
 253 
 
 stantial appearance. The only objects within his 
 reach were the cot and a table. 
 
 His face fell as he took an inventory of his 
 pockets, noticing that all that remained of his belong- 
 ings was a watch and a handkerchief. His wallet, 
 with Dan the Dope's pistol, was gone, and so was 
 the little metal box that on so many occasions had 
 enabled him to squeeze out of tight corners. The 
 chain was not heavy, but strong enough to resist all 
 the force he could muster, and each end was fastened 
 in a way that left him no hope of escape. 
 
 "The worthy doctor is taking no chances," he 
 muttered. "He has left me as helpless as a newborn 
 babe. Wonder where I am." 
 
 He had no idea where the black limousine had 
 taken him, for it had traveled a devious course, and 
 he had been chloroformed before it reached its des- 
 tination. He was certain he was not in Doctor 
 Bimble's house, for he had searched that dwelling 
 from cellar to attic and there had been no room in 
 it that resembled this one. Probably he was in some 
 other house controlled by Doctor Bimble or one of 
 his associates. 
 
 After all, where he was did not matter, greatly. 
 The one thing that concerned him was his helpless- 
 ness, for evidently the doctor had taken every con- 
 ceivable precaution against his prisoner's escape. 
 Everything considered, it was as hopeless a situation 
 as the Phantom had ever faced. 
 
 A glance at his watch told him it was nearly four 
 o'clock. He had eight hours in which to accomplish 
 the seemingly impossible before the doctor should 
 learn from his agents that they had been sent out on 
 a wild-goose chase. He shuddered as he contem- 
 plated what would be the consequences if he failed. 
 Yet, he told himself, the course he had taken was 
 
254 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 the only one possible under the circumstances. If 
 he had directed the doctors agents to Sea-Glimpse, 
 Helen's usefulness to the organization would have 
 been ended, and then 
 
 He turned quickly as the door opened, admitting 
 Doctor Bimble, with a newspaper in his hand. 
 
 4 'Thought you would be interested in the news 
 about Pinto," began the doctor, advancing some- 
 what cautiously and taking care not to step within 
 the narrow half circle that bounded his prisoner's 
 movements. The Phantom regarded him languidly, 
 for his mind was on other things. 
 
 "Has Pinto recovered consciousness?" he asked 
 indifferently. 
 
 Bimble nodded. "Much sooner than the doctors 
 expected, and he has celebrated his return to con- 
 sciousness by making a rather interesting statement.' , 
 
 "Not a confession?" The Phantom was still 
 speaking in dull tones. In the last few days he had 
 almost lost sight of the purpose that had called him 
 to New York. The danger threatening Helen 
 Hardwick had seemed far more important than the 
 mystery of the two murders. 
 
 "Well, you might call it that, though it probably 
 isn't the kind of confession you have in mind. Pinto 
 has made a clean breast of everything, but he still 
 insists that you murdered Gage." 
 
 "That's a contradiction," mumbled the Phantom. 
 "He is not making a clean breast of things so long 
 as he denies his guilt." 
 
 "His statement sounds fairly convincing, neverthe- 
 less. He admits practically everything except that 
 he committed the murder. For instance, he frankly 
 admits that he concealed the body of the housekeeper 
 and 
 
 "That in itself is evidence of his guilt." 
 
PINTO'S CONFESSION 
 
 255 
 
 "But Pinto has what looks like a satisfactory ex- 
 planation. He seems to be an honest, hard-working, 
 unimaginative fellow, not overintelligent, and deeply 
 devoted to his wife and baby. You probably know 
 the type. He says that for months before Gage was 
 murdered he had a queer premonition that something 
 of that kind was to happen, and he never passed the 
 house without an uneasy feeling. I suppose what he 
 really means is that he had noticed signs of strange 
 doings about the place, and that without analyzing 
 his impressions he found it getting on his nerves. 
 
 "Pinto reiterates his previous assertion that Gage 
 made a dying statement accusing you of the crime. 
 He admits, however, that he felt nervous about the 
 whole affair. The poor fellow was in a very trying 
 position. After forcing the door, which was bolted 
 on the inside, and listening to Gage's dying words, 
 he made a careful examination of the room, paying 
 particular attention to the little window which was 
 so narrow that no grown person could possibly have 
 crawled through it. He did not understand how 
 tven an accomplished person like the Phantom could 
 have committed the murder and escaped from the 
 room. 
 
 "Then, all of a sudden, Pinto got panicky. Even 
 his crude intellect perceived that it looked as though 
 nobody but himself could have committed the mur- 
 der. He thought of his wife and his baby, and he 
 did not relish the idea of being tried for murder. 
 As he saw it, he might easily be convicted and sent 
 to the chair. However, his fears proved unfounded, 
 "for nobody accused him of the crime, and Pinto 
 could breathe freely once more." 
 
 "But what about the housekeeper?" inquired the 
 Phantom, gradually becoming more interested. 
 
 "I am coming to that. After the murder of Gage, 
 
£56 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 Pinto got into the habit o£ visiting the house between; 
 rounds. He was still hoping to discover a way 
 whereby the Phantom could have escaped from the 
 room. Late one night, according to his statement, 
 he found the housekeeper's body in the same room 
 where Gage had been murdered. He says the body 
 was still warm, so the woman could not have been 
 dead long. At the discovery all his fears returned 
 with trebled force. The supposition, he thought, 
 would be that the murderer of Gage had also killed 
 Mrs. Trippe. The Gray Phantom was supposed to 
 be in jail at the time and therefore could not be 
 accused of having murdered the housekeeper. 
 
 "Pinto was in a terrible quandary. Since, as he 
 thought at the time, the Phantom could not have 
 murdered Mrs. Trippe, it might be questioned 
 whether he had murdered Gage. The whole case 
 might be reopened, in which event he feared the 
 finger of suspicion must inevitably point to him. 
 'Again Pinto thought of his wife and baby, and, the 
 more he thought of them, the more nervous he be- 
 came. He did a foolish thing, as men often do when 
 Ifear conquers reason. He could think of nothing 
 to do but cover up the crime until he could get a 
 chance to think the thing over, and so he carried 
 the body upstairs and concealed it behind some pack- 
 ing cases. Later, after it developed that the Phan- 
 tom had not been in jail and had no alibi, he saw 
 no reason for concealing the body longer. He ex- 
 plains at length what happened when he went to the 
 storeroom to drag it out and was interrupted by 
 you." 
 
 Bimble smiled blandly, but he was studying the 
 Phantom's face out of the corner of an eye. "What 
 'do you think of Pinto's confession?" 
 
 The Phantom considered while he glanced at the 
 
PINTO'S CONFESSION 
 
 257 
 
 papers Bimble handed him. The statement was 
 there, just as summarized by the doctor. Granting 
 a crude intellect and a mind not too analytical, he 
 thought it quite possible that an innocent man might 
 act exactly as described in Pinto's statement. 
 Further, the story had all the earmarks of truth, for 
 a guilty mind would have tried to invent a less gro- 
 tesque tale. Of a sudden the Phantom found that 
 all his calculations and theories in regard to the 
 murder had been upset by Pinto's surprising and un- 
 expected explanation. 
 
 "Why ask me?'* was his reply. "You know the 
 murderer." 
 
 "Perhaps. I was just curious to hear what you 
 would think." 
 
 There was a wrinkle of perplexity on the Phan- 
 tom's brow. Assuming that Pinto was innocent, the 
 difficulties in the way of solving the mystery and 
 .exculpating himself had been vastly complicated. 
 
 "If Pinto didn't do it," persisted the doctor 
 suavely, "who do you suppose did?" 
 
 The Phantom could not tell why, but the question 
 gave him a mental jolt. In the past few hours his 
 concern for Helen had claimed all his thoughts, and 
 before that he had been so firmly convinced of 
 Pinto's guilt that there had been no room in his mind 
 for other suspicions. The possibility that someone 
 other than the policeman might be involved haH not 
 occurred to him. 
 
 He looked up and found the doctor's soft eyes 
 searching his face with an odd intensity. Bimble 
 seemed intent on ascertaining what deductions his 
 prisoner would make from Pinto's statement, and 
 apparently this had been the only reason for his call. 
 
 "My question seems to have stumped you," he 
 observed. 
 
258 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 The Phantom shrugged his shoulders. "With 
 Pinto eliminated, I'm entirely at sea. In view of the 
 bolted door and the size of the window, I don't see 
 how anyone else could have murdered Gage, un- 
 less — " He checked himself abrupdy, and of a 
 sudden he saw a great light. In the next instant a 
 smile masked his agitation. "Unless," he finished 
 with a chuckle, "I did it myself." 
 
 Bimble seemed satisfied. "Excellent logic, my 
 friend," he murmured as he stepped to the door. 
 With his hand on the knob he turned and fixed his 
 gaze on the Phantom's face. "I shall pay you an- 
 other visit as soon as I hear from my men." 
 
 His tone carried a sinister emphasis, but the Phan- 
 tom scarcely noticed it. 
 
 "With Pinto eliminated," he said half aloud when 
 the door had closed, "only one other person could 
 have committed the murders. And I know that 
 person!" 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 THE PHANTOM'S VISITOR 
 
 WITH quick and nervous steps the Phantom 
 walked back and forth within the narrow 
 semicircle allowed him by the chain. The 
 solution of the mystery had come to him in a flash 
 of intuition, but his elation had been brief. It was 
 now half past eleven, and after cudgeling his wits 
 for hours, he found the problem of how to extricate 
 himself and Helen from their predicament as insolv- 
 able as ever. 
 
 Soon Bimble would receive word from his mes- 
 sengers that they had been hoaxed, and then Helen 
 would be subjected to another agonizing ordeal in 
 the dark room. The Phantom shuddered as his 
 imagination pictured her strapped to the chair in that 
 chamber of ghastly things. Again he looked sharply 
 about the room, hoping against hope that something 
 would suggest a way of escape to him. 
 
 He found nothing. The only objects were the cot 
 and the table, and they offered no solution whatever. 
 His pockets contained nothing but a handkerchief 
 and a watch, together with the cigarettes and 
 matches Jerome had brought him with his dinner. 
 At least a score of times during the late afternoon 
 and evening he had given the chain a minute inspec- 
 tion, only to be convinced that it could not be tam- 
 pered with. With the aid of a small nail or a pen- 
 
 259 
 
260 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN, 
 
 knife he might have been able to pick the lock that 
 held it to his ankle, but not even a pin had been left 
 him. 
 
 The Phantom was all but ready to admit defeat. 
 His only fortifying thought was that he had never 
 yet been the loser in a game of wits, and that for 
 Helen's sake he could not fail now. 
 
 He rose quickly from the cot as the door opened 
 and Doctor Bimble strode into the room. His face 
 was dark, and a look of sullen anger had taken the 
 place of his usual smile. 
 
 "You lied I" he declared gruffly. "I half suspected 
 you would, but I hardly thought you would attempt 
 anything so clumsy as this. What have you gained 
 by it?" 
 
 "Time," said the Phantom, pretending a coolness 
 he did not feel. 
 
 The doctor laughed derisively. There was a dull 
 flush in his cheeks and an ugly glitter in his :eyes, but 
 again he took care not to step within the Phantom's 
 reach. 
 
 "Time! Bah! Really, Vanardy, you're simpler 
 than I thought. Just as if a few hours more or less 
 could make any difference! You will either tell me 
 what I want to know, or, Miss Hardwick will go to 
 the madhouse or the grave. She will be as harmless 
 in one place as in the other. I trust you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 "Your meaning is perfectly clear." The Phantom 
 spoke in level tones. "If you would come a step 
 closer, I should take extreme pleasure in beating you 
 within an inch of your life. But you have no incli- 
 nation in that direction, I see. Like most of your 
 kind, you are a coward." 
 
 "Words never hurt." 
 
 "Furthermore," continued the Phantom, "you will 
 
THE PHANTOM'S VISITOR 261 
 
 be in jail before Miss HarHwlck goes to either of 
 the places you have just mentioned." 
 
 "Jail?" The doctor stared as if he thought the 
 statement utterly preposterous. "Jail ! Ha, ha! 
 Good joke coming from a man who can't move six 
 'feet." 
 
 "Enjoy it while you can. As you may remember, 
 I perpetrated the same kind of joke on the Duke, 
 and he doesn't seem to relish that brand of humor." 
 
 The doctor winced as if an unpleasant thought had 
 been suggested to him, then walked stiffly to the door. 
 "Remember," was his parting shot, "if you persist in 
 your obstinacy, it will be either the madhouse or the 
 grave for Miss Hardwick." 
 
 He slammed the door as he went out, and the; 
 Phantom's face sobered the moment he was alone. 
 His threat had not been altogether an idle one, for 
 it had driven a wholesome misgiving into the doc- 
 tor's heart; yet the Phantom was painfully aware 
 that he was in a desperate situation. Throwing 
 himself on the cot, he turned the problem over and 
 over in his mind. Black as the outlook seemed, he 
 could scarcely believe that all was lost. He still had 
 faith in his star, and it was this that had braced him 
 and enabled him to speak with such confidence in 
 Doctor Bimble's presence. 
 
 After a while something drew his gaze to the; 
 i window. He listened intently. A faint scraping 
 sound reached his ears, and it occurred to him that 
 it had been going on for several minutes, though he 
 had been too preoccupied to notice it until now. He 
 got up and stepped as close to the window as the 
 chain permitted. Now he heard it again — a slow, 
 5iull grinding and scraping that remotely suggested 
 that someone was attacking a metallic object with a 
 blunt tool. 
 
262 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 He waited breathlessly. Evidently someone was 
 trying to enter the room, and he wondered whether 
 the intruder was coming as friend or foe. Perhaps 
 the amazing luck that had so often turned a critical 
 situation in his favor was once more coming back to 
 him. 
 
 A click sounded, then the boards in front of the 
 window came apart, and the Phantom gasp r ed as 
 Thomas Granger jumped into the room. 
 
 "You!" he exclaimed. 
 
 "Not so loud!" whispered the reporter. He was 
 still wearing the Phantom's clothing, and the gar- 
 ments were wrinkled and streaked with dirt. "The 
 house is full of members of the Duke's gang. Holy, 
 smoke, you're certainly in a fix!" 
 
 He stared at the cabin, then looked quickly about 
 the room. "Don't ask me how I found you. I had 
 a devil of a time, and it's a longer story than I've 
 got time to tell. Lookouts are stationed in front 
 and in rear, and it was only by sheer luck and some 
 quick fist work that I got through. How am I to 
 get you out of here?" 
 
 The Phantom regarded him thoughtfully. "Didn't 
 you know that Doctor Bimble was the Duke's chief 
 representative?" he asked. 
 
 "Never had the faintest idea." 
 
 "This room is in the rear of the house, I believe." 
 
 "Yes, but " 
 
 "You were lucky to locate my window as easily as 
 you did." 
 
 "That wasn't luck. I tried several before I found 
 yours. Twice I bumped into the Duke's men. I 
 hate to think what that bunch would do to me if they 
 caught me." He made a wry face. "But this isn't 
 getting you out of here. We'll have to get a move 
 on." 
 
THE PHANTOM'S VISITOR 263 
 
 Strangely enough, the Phantom seemed absolutely 
 calm and in no hurry whatever. "I haven't been 
 able to get my bearings," he announced. "Where is 
 this house?" 
 
 "Next door to Doctor Bimble's." 
 
 The Phantom started. "The one with boarded 
 windows and doors?" 
 
 "That's the one. The front is boarded up, and 
 from the street it looks like a vacant house. No- 
 body would suspect that it was the headquarters of 
 the Duke's gang. I supose Bimble owns or controls 
 both houses, and there is probably a connecting pas- 
 sage somewhere." 
 
 The Phantom knitted his brows. He had seen no 
 such passage when he searched the Bimble residence. 
 However, that proved nothing, for it might be so 
 carefully concealed that a hasty search would not 
 reveal it. The arrangement, he thought, was rather 
 ingenious. No one who had seen the anthropol- 
 ogist's home, where everything suggested artlessness 
 and love of simple comforts, would have suspected 
 that the occupant was using the adjacent house for 
 the conduct of criminal enterprises. 
 
 "Miss Hardwick is somewhere in the building," 
 he remarked. "Her safety is the first considera- 
 tion." 
 
 "Worse still. You and I might be able to fight 
 our way through, but with a woman on our hands 
 it's almost certain death. It wouldn't be so bad if 
 there weren't so many against us. I have only one 
 gat. How about you?" 
 
 "A watch, a handkerchief, a package of cigarettes 
 and some matches are my sole possessions just now." 
 
 The reporter scowled. "The Duke's men would 
 be sure to pounce on us before we could get her out 
 
264 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 of the house, and I don't suppose Miss Hardwick is 
 bullet-proof." 
 
 "What would you suggest?" 
 
 Granger reflected. "Have you any friends in 
 town?" 
 
 u As far as I know, Peng Yuen is the only one. 
 There may be others, but I wouldn't know where to 
 find them." 
 
 "Peng Yuen doesn't look much like a scrapper. 
 We can't appeal to the police, for they are after you 
 just as hard as the Duke's men are. I'd give half 
 my life to be able to meet that bunch in a fair and 
 even fight. Too bad you haven't any friends handy. 
 Say" — and Granger looked as though he had sud- 
 denly snatched an inspiration out of the air — "what 
 about the place where you live? Haven't you got 
 some friends there?" 
 
 The Phantom looked thoughtful. Rumor had it 
 that he had taken a few carefully-selected members 
 of his former organization with him to his place of 
 retirement. His lips twitched a little. 
 
 "It would take sometime to get them here," he 
 murmured, "and we must act in a hurry." 
 
 "But it's our only chance. We'll wire them to get 
 a fast car and burn up the roads. I'm rather stuck 
 on the idea of organizing an expedition and rushing 
 to the rescue of a fair lady in distress. Write out 
 your telegram, and I'll sneak out and file it." 
 
 The Phantom, chuckling as though he had caught 
 the contagion of the other's enthusiasm, made as if, 
 searching his pockets for pencil and paper. "All 
 right. I guess, after all, it is the only thing we cart 
 do. A pitched battle in the heart of New York will 
 be something of a novelty. Have you a pencil and 
 a scrap of paper?" 
 
 Granger stepped up to the table and handed out 
 
THE PHANTOM'S VISITOR 265 
 
 the desired articles. With the reporter standing at 
 his elbow, the Phantom placed the paper on the 
 table, poised the pencil over it, and stood as if fram- 
 ing a message in his mind. Suddenly, with a motion 
 as quick as that of a metallic spring, his hand darted 
 out and gripped Granger's. Then, with another 
 surprisingly swift movement, he jerked the reporter 
 down on the cot and shoved a knee against his chest. 
 
 "Tommie Granger," he said in low, measured 
 tones that throbbed with exultation, "I've been wait- 
 ing a long time to lay my hands on the murderer of 
 Gage and Mrs. Trippe." 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 THE ROOM IN THE BASEMENT 
 
 THE reporter's face went white. 
 With lips gaping, he lay rigidly still, staring 
 into the Phantom's hard face. There was a 
 look of great fear in his eyes, and for several mo- 
 ments he seemed incapable of motion. Then he: 
 began to wriggle, twist, and squirm, but his efforts 
 were rendered futile by the knee on his chest and 
 the firm clutch in which his hands were held. 
 
 "When did you guess it?" he muttered, forcing a 
 sneering grin to his face. 
 
 u Just a little while ago. I've acted the simpleton 
 throughout the whole affair. I was so sure of 
 Pinto's guilt that it never occurred to me to suspect 
 anyone else. The moment Pinto was eliminated, I 
 knew you were the murderer. I saw then what I 
 should have seen at once — that Gage was murdered 
 by a man who looked so much like me that, when 
 Gage saw the face of the scoundrel, he was sure it 
 was the Gray Phantom. That's why he told Pinto 
 that I was the murderer." 
 
 Granger drew in his breath and opened his mouth 
 as if to shout for help, but the knee pressing against 
 his chest strangled the cry. 
 
 "It was all very cleverly arranged," the Phantom 
 went on, "I suppose you were selected for the job 
 because you happen to resemble me. The very en- 
 
 266 
 
THE ROOM JN THE BASEMENT 267 
 
 tertaining story you told me at Peng Yuen's was 
 probably a skillful blending of truth and fiction. 
 How you happened to join the Duke's gang and how 
 you carried out its orders under cover of your pro- 
 fession really make no difference. The only thing 
 that matters is that you're going to the chair for 
 those two murders." 
 
 The reporter, gathering his wits, gave a con- 
 temptuous laugh. "The chair, eh? Not just yet, I 
 guess. Several things are likely to happen to you 
 first." 
 
 "That remains to be seen. You are fairly clever, 
 Granger, but your cleverness won't help you now. 
 You hood-winked the police very neatly. They had 
 the murderer once, but they felt so sure I was the 
 man they wanted that they let you go as soon as you. 
 had satisfied them you were not the Gray Phantom. 
 It was a fairly good joke. I perpetrated another 
 good joke myself when I went to you and borrowed 
 your identity, never guessing that you were the mur- 
 derer. You took it all in good part, because you 
 couldn't do anything else, but all the while you were 
 scheming to hand me over to the Duke's crowd." 
 
 "It was rich! You were so easily taken in that 
 I had to laugh whenever you turned your back." 
 
 "I admit it. The reason you took me in so easily 
 was partly because you were a member of an honor- 
 able profession, and partly because of the note 
 handed me by Dan the Dope, which seemed to prove 
 that you were on bad terms with the Duke's crowd. 
 That appeared to confirm your story that you had 
 joined the organization for the sole purpose of ob- 
 taining inside information. The 'details of your 
 relations with the gang are not clear to me yet, but 
 neither are they important. If you don't mind, I'll 
 relieve you of this handy little implement." 
 
*68 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 With a deft motion he reached into Granger's 
 pocket and extracted the reporter's automatic. Then 
 he removed the knee from the man's chest and cov- 
 ered him with the weapon. 
 
 "The cutest trick of them all," he continued with 
 a grim chuckle, "was your crawling in here to-night 
 through the window and pretending to have eluded 
 the Duke's sentinels. Of course, the sole object of 
 your dramatic entrance was to inveigle me into re- 
 vealing the whereabouts of the place where I live. 
 I suppose the worthy doctor had begun to despair 
 of his ability to worm the information out of me by 
 the original plan. It threatened to take too long and 
 entail too many risks, and so he thought he would 
 try a short cut. You led up to the proposition very 
 adroidy, but I saw through the ruse almost at once." 
 
 Granger, having got a precarious grip on his 
 nerves, laughed shakily. "You're a first-class guesser 
 — but guessing won't get you out of this fix. It isn't 
 very likely you'll ever see daylight again. As for 
 the dear girl " 
 
 "Leave her out of it!" commanded the Phantom 
 curtly. He thought it unlikely Miss Hardwick would 
 be molested further until Bimble had learned the; 
 result of Granger's mission. In the meantime, he 
 told himself, he must make the most of the slight ad- 
 vantage he had gained. He studied the reporter 
 keenly, and all at once an inspiration came to him. 
 "Miss Hardwick," he went on in casual tones, "has 
 an amazing knack of taking care of herself. It 
 wouldn't surprise me at all if she had already found 
 a way out of the amiable doctor's clutches." 
 
 "Hardly!" Granger gave another hoarse, sneer- 
 ing laugh. "She's smart, all right, but the big chie£ 
 knows it, and he isn't taking any chances. He has 
 locked her up in the basement, in a room barely large 
 
THE ROOM IN THE BASEMENT 269 
 
 enough to turn around in, with a stout door and no 
 window." 
 
 "The basement, eh?" The Phantom seemed not 
 at all interested. "This room we are in is on the sec- 
 ond floor, isn't it?" 
 
 "Third," said Granger, after puzzling for a mo- 
 ment over the question. 
 
 "Good!" The Phantom smiled. "You have told 
 me exactly what I wanted to know, Granger, and 
 since you couldn't know the object of my questions, I 
 believe that for once you have spoken the truth. 
 Kindly elevate your hands." 
 
 A thrust with the pistol emphasized the command, 
 and Granger sullenly obeyed. With his free hand 
 the Phantom explored the reporter's pockets until he 
 found a small silver-handled knife. 
 
 "My property, I believe," he murmured, examin- 
 ing the tool with a critical eye. "It's one of the things 
 you acquired when we swapped clothes and identi- 
 ties. A very handy article, Granger. I've been wish- 
 ing all night for something of this kind, but the doc- 
 tor thoughtfully emptied my pockets. Sit very still, 
 Granger." 
 
 He spoke with a brisk, cutting emphasis. Moving 
 to the other end of the cot and keeping one eye on 
 Granger, he opened the knife and with the sharp- 
 pointed blade began to pick at the lock that held the 
 chain to his ankle. The pistol lay close at his side, 
 ready to be picked up at a moment's warning. In 
 a short time the lock had yielded to the deft touch 
 of his fingers, and his ankle was free before Granger 
 quite realized what he was doing. A shout rose in 
 the reporter's throat, but in an instant the Phantom's 
 fingers were at his windpipe. 
 
 "Quiet!" he warned. "I don't care to be inter- 
 rupted just yet. Granger, I don't like the togs Fyg 
 
270 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 been wearing the last few days, and you have worn 
 mine just about long enough. We are going to make 
 a quick change. Strip !" 
 
 The reporter glared, but his lips trembled and the 
 shaking of his limbs indicated that he was in need of 
 his favorite stimulant. 
 
 "Hurry!" urged the Phantom, making a little 
 flourish r ith the pistol. "Bimble is likely to walk in 
 on us at any moment to see what is keeping you so 
 long. Will you strip voluntarily, or must I tap you 
 on the head and undress you? I don't like to be 
 rough." 
 
 The reporter seemed impressed by the argument. 
 With surly acquiescence he kicked off his shoes and 
 started removing his suit. The Phantom, a thin smile 
 hovering about his lips, followed the other's example, 
 keeping the pistol within easy reach while the ex- 
 change was in progress. In a little while he was once 
 more garbed in the familiar gray which was his favor- 
 ite color. 
 
 "This is better!" he commented. With an absent- 
 minded air he picked up the chain. For a moment 
 or two his fingers toyed with the lock; then, stooping 
 quickly, he looped the end of the chain around Gran- 
 ger's leg. The reporter growled out a curse as the 
 lock snapped shut. 
 
 "Put your hands behind you!" commanded the 
 Phantom, again making a menacing gesture with the 
 pistol. The reporter, his ashen face twitching, glow- 
 ered savagely as he obeyed, and in a few moments the 
 strings had been removed from his shoes and twisted 
 tightly about his wrists. Finally the Phantom tore a 
 strip from the table-cloth, fashioned it into a gag and 
 thrust it between the reporter's teeth. 
 
 "I'm really very much obliged to you, Granger," 
 he murmured dryly as he put the revolver and the: 
 
THE ROOM IN THE BASEMENT 271 
 
 knife into his pockets. "If you hadn't come to me" 
 with that barefaced hoax, I should still be wearing a 
 chain around my ankle. Too bad I can't offer you 
 a drink. You seem to need one." 
 
 With elastic step he walked to the door. There; 
 he pushed a button, and the room went dark. There 
 was a glow in his cheeks and a tingle in his veins as he 
 stepped out in the hall, closing the door behind him. 
 Looking up and down the silent corridor, he saw a 
 stairway at the farther end, and hastened in that di- 
 rection. At the head of the stairs he all but collided 
 with Doctor Bimble. 
 
 "Well, Granger ?" 
 
 The Phantom thanked his lucky star that the lights 
 in the hall were dim. Under the circumstances, it 
 was the most natural thing in the world for Bimble; 
 to suppose that he was addressing the reporter. He; 
 knew that Granger had been wearing the Phantom's 
 clothes, and the latter was supposed to be chained 
 securely to a wall. 
 
 "No lucky announced the Phantom, simulating 
 Granger's manner of speech. "I gave him exactly the 
 line of talk you suggested, but he spotted the trick 
 right off. He wouldn't listen to me at all." 
 
 Even in the dusk the Phantom saw a spiteful looK 
 creep into the doctor's face. 
 
 "Doesn't he still think you are on his side?" 
 
 "He seems to have his suspicions," answered the 
 Phantom, carefully weighing his words, "but he is 
 keeping them to himself. I tried my darndest to 
 flimflam the information out of him, but it was no 
 use. He's about the smoothest article I ever came- 
 across." 
 
 The doctor nodded curtly as he swung around ancl 
 started to descend the stairs, the Phantom following* 
 "I'll break him yet," muttered Bimble vindictively* 
 
272 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 "In a few moments he'll hear a tune that he won't 
 like. Miss Hardwick is going to make another trip 
 to the spook chamber, as our mulish friend so aptly 
 termed it. I guess he will come across with the in- 
 formation when he discovers that we mean business." 
 
 They reached the floor below. As they passed 
 a light in the hall, the Phantom saw a look of venom- 
 ous determination in the doctor's face, and he knew 
 that a terrible ordeal would be in store for Helen if 
 Bimble was permitted to have his way. The anthro- 
 pologist opened a door, and the Phantom glanced 
 into the room over his shoulder. About a dozen men, 
 the expressions on their faces ranging all the way 
 from low cunning to sullen brutality, sat at a long 
 table playing cards. 
 
 "Jepson !" called the doctor, taking a bunch of keys 
 from his pockets. 
 
 A tall, raw-boned individual with features sugges- 
 tive of a gorilla's rose from the table and approach- 
 ing them, with dragging gait. 
 
 "I want you and Granger to bring Miss Hardwick 
 here immediately," directed Bimble handing Jepson; 
 one of the keys. 
 
 The tall man nodded and slunk away. The Phan- 
 tom, keeping in the shadows as much as possible, fol- 
 lowed him down two flights of stairs. Here and 
 there, at a turn in the halls or stairs, they encountered 
 soft-footed, wary-eyed men who passed them in si- 
 lence. 
 
 "The whole crowd seems to be about to-night,"' 
 observed the Phantom. 
 
 "Sure," said Jepson. "The big chief don't like 
 to take chances. He means to rush a bunch of us to 
 the Phantom's place as soon as he finds out where it 
 is. There may be a scrap when we get there." 
 
 "Quite likely." The Phantom repressed a smile. 
 
THE ROOM IN THE BASEMENT 273 
 
 There was a fever in his veins, and he wished Jepson 
 would walk faster. They descended into the base- 
 ment, sparsely lighted by a small bulb suspended over 
 the stairs, and Jepson picked his way carefully over 
 the floor. Finally he stopped before a door, inserted 
 a key in the lock, and walked in. 
 
 The room was dark, but a quick gasp, resembling 
 a sudden intake of breath, told the Phantom it was 
 occupied. His body tingled with suppressed excite- 
 ment. Jepson was standing in the doorway, and a 
 light scraping sound indicated that he was running his 
 hands over the wall in search of a switch. 
 
 As light flooded the narrow room the Phantom 
 stifled an exclamation. In a chair at the wall sat a 
 slender figure, rigidly still save for the trembling of 
 the hands clasped across the bosom. Long waves of 
 lustrous hair framed a face white as alabaster, and 
 the large brown eyes were staring at Jepson with an 
 [expression of dread. There was a quiver in the dis- 
 tended orbs, as if a frightful recollection were linger- 
 ing in their depths. 
 
 She shrank back against the chair as Jepson lum- 
 bered toward her. For a moment longer she re- 
 mained motionless, then a long-drawn moan sounded 
 in her throat, and with hands thrust out she sprang 
 from the chair. 
 
 "You sha'n't take me back there!" she cried in 
 tones edged with fury and terror. "I won't go back! 
 I won't!" 
 
 "Easy now, lady! No use kicking up a fuss." Jep- 
 son roughly seized her arm, squeezed it until she ut- 
 tered a sharp cry of pain, and started dragging her 
 toward the door. 
 
 Then, of a sudden, the Phantom's fist shot out. 
 Hard as steel, it delivered a stinging, crunching blow 
 between Jepson's eyes, and the big brute dropped to 
 
274 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 the floor like a dead weight. The girl stood im- 
 mobile, staring at the twisted shape at her feet as if 
 unable to understand what had happened. Then, 
 very slowly, she raised her eyes until they met the 
 Phantom's. 
 
 "You?" She spoke lowly, as if not quite recog- 
 nizing him at first. Dazedly she drew her hand 
 across her forehead. "Are you the Gray Phantom 
 or " 
 
 "I am the Gray Phantom. Don't you know me — 
 Helen?" 
 
 She gazed at him long and searchingly. A soft 
 gleam penetrated the film of terror in her eyes. 
 
 "Yes, you are the Gray Phantom." The words 
 sounded hushed and strained. She came a step closer 
 and placed her cold hand in his. There was a faint, 
 tremulous smile on her lips. "Can you forgive me — 
 for doubting you?" 
 
 "One little whisper from your lips makes every- 
 thing right," he murmured softly, gendy drawing her 
 from the room and locking the door. 
 
 "I couldn't help it," she whispered. "Everything 
 seemed to point to your guilt." 
 
 "It did," admitted the Phantom, "and I don't 
 blame you. I suppose Granger lied to me when he 
 told me he got into disgrace with the Duke's gang 
 because of his refusal to abduct you. He's a skillful 
 mixer of truth and fiction. What happened to you? 
 Who kidnaped you?" 
 
 "One of Doctor Bimble's men, I suppose. I slip- 
 ped out of the laboratory while you and the doctor 
 were reading the paper. I was sick at heart. What 
 you had told me while we were in the closet expressed 
 my feelings. It seemed as though an idol had fallen 
 off its pedestal and broken to bits, like ordinary clay. 
 
THE ROOM IN THE BASEMENT 275 
 
 Well, I had almost reached the front door when 
 someone sneaked up behind me, thrust a black cloth 
 down over my head and carried me upstairs. I must 
 have been chloroformed, for shortly afterward I lost 
 consciousness. 
 
 "The next day Granger called on me in the little 
 room where they were keeping me. I think his object 
 was to learn the location of Sea-Glimpse. I was — 
 well, I was stubborn and wouldn't tell him. I re- 
 ceived a shock the moment I saw him and noted his 
 striking resemblance to you. All at once I knew he 
 was the murderer. It came to me in a flash, and of a 
 sudden I understood the meaning of Gage's state- 
 ment." 
 
 "There must be such a thing as feminine intuition, 
 after all," was the Phantom's comment. "Of course 
 you told him to his face that he was the murderer?" 
 
 "I guess I did. The words seemed to tumble out 
 of themselves. I think I told Bimble the same thing 
 that evening. He seemed greatly alarmed." 
 
 The Phantom started. "Intuition is sometimes a 
 very dangerous faculty," he murmured. "It is 
 very likely to — But this is no time for talking. Jep- 
 son will be dead to the world for some little time, 
 but the house is bristling with gangsters. I must get 
 you out of here somehow." 
 
 He looked quickly about the dimly lighted base- 
 ment. There was a window on each side, but both 
 were covered by shutters and iron grilles, and the 
 only exit seemed to be the stairs. 
 
 "What about yourself?" asked the girl. 
 
 "Oh," with a low laugh, "I have a task that yet 
 remains to be finished. But you " 
 
 Suddenly a little gasp slipped from the girl's lips, 
 and she seized his arm convulsively. Her gaze was 
 
£76 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 rigid, anH the Phantom looking in the same 'direction, 
 saw Doctor Bimble standing in the stairs with a lev- 
 eled pistol in his hand. 
 
 "Don't stir !" was the anthropologist's crisply spo- 
 ken warning. "You will please note, my dear Phan- 
 tom, that I'm not aiming at you, but at Miss Hard- 
 wick. She'll be dead the moment you make the slight- 
 est move !" 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 AT BAY 
 
 THE Phantom scarcely breathed. He stood 
 utterly still while the doctor came down the 
 remaining steps and halted at the foot of the 
 stairs. The pistol, pointed at Helen with a steadiness 
 that bespoke a deadly aim, inspired him with a sense 
 of awe a thousand times greater than if it had been 
 leveled at himself. 
 
 The girl's hand was still on his sleeve, and, without 
 looking direcdy at her, he knew that she was facing 
 the menacing pistol without flinching. Her slight 
 touch on his arm gave him a feeling of tenderness 
 and strength. Already his wits were at work. In his 
 hip pocket was the weapon he had taken from Gran- 
 ger, but he could not reach for it without jeopardiz- 
 ing the girl's life. 
 
 "Cruel trick you played on Granger," observed the 
 doctor, standing a dozen feet away. "I don't know 
 how you managed it, but you seem to have a special 
 talent for such performances. Fortunately one of my 
 men happened to enter the room in which you left 
 the poor fellow, and he saw how things were. Well, 
 Phantom, one thing is sure, you have played your 
 last trick." 
 
 The Phantom maintained his attitude of immo- 
 bility, but Bimble's words had given him an inward 
 twinge. As far as he could see, the doctor had ap- 
 praised the situation with accuracy. The windows, 
 
 277 
 
278 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 with their shutters and iron bars, seemed impreg- 
 nable. The murky walls and the low ceiling gave: 
 forth an impression of solidity that accentuated his 
 sense of bafflement. The way to the stairs was 
 barred by Bimble with his pistol, and the rooms and 
 corridors above were swarming with the Duke's men. 
 And meanwhile the Phantom dared not bend a 
 muscle, for fear of causing Helen Hardwick's death. 
 
 "You will admit that you are very neatly cor- 
 nered ?" taunted the doctor. 
 
 "It would seem so," admitted the Phantom dryly, 
 "but I have been cornered many times before. 
 There's nothing very original in the situation." 
 
 "No, nothing except that you wriggled out of the? 
 others, while this one will hold you till I am through 
 with you. Don't you think it would be the part of 
 wisdom to submit and tell me what I want to know?" 
 
 "Never!" declared the Phantom with emphasis. 
 
 "Wouldn't it be better?" whispered Helen. 
 "He'll kill us both unless we do." 
 
 "It's his intention to kill us, anyway," the Phan- 
 tom whispered back. "The only reason he hasn't 
 killed us already is that he hopes to persuade us to 
 give him the information he wants. Afraid?" 
 
 "Not for myself. But you " 
 
 "Then step behind my back as quickly as you can."' 
 
 The girl looked up at him with an expression o£ 
 uncertainty. 
 
 "Hurry!" whispered the Phantom. "It's our only 
 chance." 
 
 She hesitated a moment longer; then, with the swift 
 motion of a startled doe, she darted aside and stood 
 at his back. The blue steel of the pistol barrel flick- 
 iered for an instant as the doctor transferred his aim 
 to the Phantom. Evidently the sudden movement 
 bad disconcerted Bimble. 
 
AT BAY 
 
 279 
 
 "A fairly clever maneuver," he acknowledged, 
 "but you have gained nothing by it." 
 
 "I am satisfied," declared the Phantom, his spirits 
 rising again. "You can't reach Miss Hardwick with 
 a bullet without first perforating me, and you have no 
 intention of killing me until you have learned what 
 you want to know. Eh, Bimble?" 
 
 The doctor's lips twisted into an ugly sneer. "We 
 shall see," he muttered irately. "You are a clever 
 man, Phantom, but your cleverness can't help you 
 now." 
 
 He plucked a small metallic instrument from his 
 vest pocket and brought it to his lips. Three short, 
 shrill whistles pierced the silence. With a gratified 
 grin on his lips the doctor restored the little metal 
 tube to his pocket. The third blast had no sooner 
 sounded than a tumult of discordant noises came 
 from above. Bimble looked gloatingly at the Phan- 
 tom as the sounds drew nearer. A man ran down 
 the stairs, quickly followed by a second and a third. 
 Others kept arriving, in groups of three or more, 
 until the Phantom had counted twenty-four. 
 
 Like a great human fan, the crowd spread out in 
 a triangle along the walls and about the foot of the 
 stairs. As each man took his place in the line, the 
 'Phantom gave him a quick appraising glance. In 
 their faces he read low cunning, brutish instincts, and 
 stolid obedience to orders, but the keener wit and sub- 
 tler intellect which the Phantom had always de- 
 manded of his men were lacking. 
 
 He read each face as if it were an open page, and 
 (finally his gaze rested on Doctor Bimble. The an- 
 thropologist was a craftier man by far than his sub- 
 alterns, but at a glance the Phantom's keen eye 
 picked out the weak spot in his moral fiber. Already 
 a. plan was forming in his mind. All he was waiting 
 
280 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 r for was a favorable combination of circumstances 
 that would enable him to act. 
 
 The pistol in the doctor's hand was still pointing 
 straight at the Phantom's chest. Bimble's expression 
 was a repulsive mixture of cruelty and smug satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 "I trust you are convinced that resistance is useless, 
 my dear Phantom," he declared in drawling tones. 
 "There are more than twenty of us, as you see." 
 
 "Excellent!" remarked the Phantom. "I am glad 
 to see so many of you here." 
 
 "Glad?" The doctor seemed a little dumfounded. 
 "Why, pray?" 
 
 "Because having you all here in this room will 
 make my task much easier." 
 
 "Your task?" 
 
 The Phantom laughed easily. "You must surely 
 know that it is my intention to hand you all over to 
 the police?" 
 
 Bimble stared. Twice he opened his mouth, but 
 no words came. The Phantom's cool audacity 
 seemed to have silenced his tongue. 
 
 "Are you crazy?" he asked at length. 
 
 "Never was saner in my life. It is my firm inten- 
 tion to turn every one of you over to the police. 
 That's why I am glad to see so many of you gathered 
 in one room." 
 
 He smiled as he spoke, but his heart was not in his 
 smile. He was turning an audacious plan over in his 
 mind, but he was not at all sure that he would have 
 a chance to put it into execution. At his back he 
 heard Helen's quick, nervous intakes of breath, and 
 he turned his head slightly. 
 
 "The Gray Phantom's star has never yet set," he 
 whispered. 
 
 A low, quavering laugh was the girl's response. 
 
AT BAY 
 
 281 
 
 Bimble was still staring at him as if doubting his 
 sanity. "You think you are going to turn us over to 
 the police !" he exclaimed. u Ha, ha 1 Still in a jocu- 
 lar mood, I see. It won t last long. For the last time 
 I ask if you will accept my terms." 
 
 The Phantom sent him a contemptuous glance. 
 "One doesn't make terms with sneaking hyenas like 
 you," he declared. 
 
 "Very well." Bimble ran his eye over the triangle 
 of faces, and his gaze fell on a stout, tough-limbed 
 man with a reddish face. 
 
 "Wilkes," he directed, "pull that devoted pair 
 apart and carry the young lady to the room upstairs 
 where the skeletons are. Be careful not to get in 
 front of my pistol." 
 
 The stout man stepped out of the line. A coarse 
 grin wreathed his face as he approached the Phantom 
 and the girl from the side. 
 
 "Get back!" whispered the Phantom to Helen. 
 Slowly, step by step, the two moved backward until 
 Helen stood against the wall. Then the Phantom, 
 looking straight into the muzzle of Bimble's pistol, 
 reached back and wound his arms around the girl's 
 slender waist. 
 
 "Pull us apart if you can," he told Wilkes as he 
 interlocked his fingers behind Helen's back. 
 
 The stout man stopped and scratched his head, as 
 if confronting a problem too complex for his wits to 
 solve. A look of diffidence crossed Bimble's face as 
 he noticed that the Phantom had once more balked 
 him. 
 
 "Knock him down if you can't part them any other 
 way," he commanded wrathfully. "Tap him on the 
 head with something." 
 
 Chuckling, Wilkes drew a long revolver from his 
 pocket, gripping it tightly by the barrel as he cau- 
 
282 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 tiously approached the Phantom from the side. Helen 
 gasped. 
 
 "Keep cool!" whispered the Phantom. "And 
 whatever happens, stay right at my back." 
 
 He watched Bimble' s pistol out of one eye, while 
 with the other he followed Wilkes' movements. For 
 an instant, as Wilkes swung the heavy weapon over 
 his shoulder, he tensed his muscles for action. Then, 
 with a motion so swift that the eyes of the onlookers 
 could scarcely register it, his arm darted out and 
 gripped the other's wrist just as the revolver was 
 about to crash down on the Phantom's head. 
 
 Once more his arm shot out and with a quick and 
 powerful wrench he swung Wilkes directly in front 
 of him, coiling the fingers of one hand around the 
 man's neck and windpipe. In almost the same instant 
 he whipped out his pistol and, using the bulky figure 
 of Wilkes as a shield, took aim and fired. 
 
 Bimble uttered a sharp yell of pain. The pistol 
 'dropped from his fingers, and he looked dazedly at 
 his blood-spattered hand. 
 
 "Fairly good shot!" ejaculated the Phantom with 
 a chuckle. At his back was Helen, trembling with 
 excitement, and in front of him stood Wilkes, splut- 
 tering and gasping for breath as a result of the Phan- 
 tom's clutch at his throat. 
 
 The whole episode had been enacted within the 
 space of a few seconds. The Phantom had acted so 
 swifdy and taken them all so completely by surprise 
 that on one had had time to interfere. Now, before 
 the men huddled against the wall and in front of the 
 stairs could gather their wits, a powerful shove sent 
 Wilkes sprawling headlong to the floor, and in an- 
 other moment the Phantom had seized Helen's hand 
 and made a rush for Bimble. 
 
AT BAY 
 
 283 
 
 He snatched up the pistol the doctor had dropped 
 as the bullet struck his wrist, and handed it to Helen. 
 
 "Shoot the first man who makes a move," he di- 
 rected, "and shoot to kill!" 
 
 Helen looked into his cool, determined eyes, flash- 
 ing with the ecstasy of combat. With a faint auda- 
 cious smile on her lips, she drew herself up and han- 
 dling the weapon with the sure touch of an expert, 
 faced the staring and muttering crowd. For a few 
 moments the men stood immobile, as if the swift suc- 
 cession of events had cast a numbing spell over their 
 bodies and minds; then, with ominous grumblings and 
 curses, a few of the more daring ones started for- 
 ward. 
 
 In the meantime the Phantom had jabbed his pis- 
 tol against Bimble's body with a force that brought a 
 sickly groan from the doctor's lips. He glanced aside 
 out of the corner of an eye as a crack and a gleam of 
 fire issued from Helen's weapon. A bullet in the 
 fleshy part of the hip had checked a furtive movement 
 on the part of one of the gang, and instantly the 
 others, impressed by the girl's exhibition of marks- 
 manship, fell back. 
 
 The Phantom nodded approvingly. His glittering 
 eyes and a smile on his lips gave no hint of what he 
 felt. 
 
 "Let me warn you that Miss Hardwick is an ex- 
 pert," he remarked coolly. "She once got a perfect 
 bull's-eye at six hundred yards." 
 
 The men looked at the girl, then at their ashen- 
 faced and quavering leader. The Phantom pushed 
 the pistol a little harder against the doctor's body. 
 
 "If anyone raises a hand against Miss Hardwick, 
 you die instantly," he declared sharply. "I could kill 
 you with no more compunction than if I were killing 
 a rat." 
 
284 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 The (doctor gulp eel, and for the moment all his 
 cunning seemed to have deserted him. 
 
 "Anyone who cares to fire a bullet at me is wel- 
 come to do so," the Phantom went on, speaking in 
 quick accents that sounded like the clinking of metal. 
 "My index finger, you will notice, is on the trigger. 
 The slightest pressure will send a chunk of lead into 
 your vitals. If I die, the muscular contraction that 
 always accompanies sudden and violent death would 
 be very likely to snap the trigger. You get the idea, 
 I hope?" 
 
 It was evident that Bimble did. His absurdly thin 
 legs wabbled as if he were in the grip of a great terror 
 and the spasmodic twitching of his fingers indicated 
 that this was a situation against which his habitual 
 craftiness was helpless. 
 
 Helen stood at the Phantom's side, sweeping the 
 crowd with cool, alert eyes, and holding the pistol in 
 readiness for instant action. Her slim figure was 
 erect, and there was a proud tilt to her head, as if 
 the contagion of the Phantom's fighting spirit had 
 gripped her. Again there were surly mutterings 
 among the men, but with rare exceptions they were 
 of the type that is impotent without a leader to urge 
 them on. 
 
 Not a word came from Bimble's lips, but there was 
 a look in his eye which told that the tentacles of his 
 mind were reaching for a solution of the difficulty. 
 The Phantom, keeping one eye on the doctor and the 
 other on the crowd, detected a stealthy movement in 
 the rear of the group. Someone had dropped to his 
 knees and was crawling toward a huge box. 
 
 Instantly the Phantom saw the meaning of the 
 stealthy movement. For a moment, as the crawling 
 figure appeared around the edge of the group, he 
 turned his pistol from the doctor, took a quick aim, 
 
AT BAY 
 
 pressed the trigger, an'd again thrust the muzzle of 
 his weapon against Bimble's diaphragm. 
 
 A cry told that the bullet had found its mark. As 
 the smoke drifted toward the ceiling, the man rose 
 to his feet with a look of distress in his face, caressing 
 a portion of his arm as he slunk away toward the 
 rear. A few of the others, w T ho had sought to take; 
 advantage of the Phantom's temporary abstraction, 
 !f ell back to their places. 
 
 The Phantom drew a long breath as he realized 
 how narrowly Helen and himself had escaped disas- 
 ter. They had the advantage for the present, but the 
 slightest faltering might easily reverse the situation 
 and release the pent-up savagery of their foes. 
 
 "Bimble," he remarked, "it would be extremely 
 unfortunate for you if any of your men should get 
 reckless. I see some of them are impatient. If any- 
 thing happens to Miss Hardwick or me, you will be 
 a dead man. Hadn't you better tell your friends to 
 throw down their guns?" 
 
 The doctor glanced uneasily at his men. His looks 
 told plainly that the Phantom had read him accu- 
 rately, that there was nothing he valued quite so 
 highly as he did his life, and that his swagger and 
 bland assurance would wilt the moment he faced a 
 personal danger. There was venon in his eyes, and 
 his pale, distorted features bespoke impotent rage. 
 
 "Drop your guns," he commanded after another 
 despairing look about the basement. 
 
 The men regarded him diffidently and 'did not 
 move. Their faces showed that they were torn 
 between the conflicting impulses of self-preservation 
 and an ingrained habit of obedience. 
 
 "You're first." The Phantom pointed a finger at 
 a tall, barrel-chested man at the end of the line* 
 "Step forward and empty your pockets." 
 
286 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 The Phantom was in a state of high tension. He 
 was exercising a mastery of mind over the situation, 
 but all might yet be lost if the man should refuse to 
 obey and set the others an example of resistance. 
 
 "Miss Hardwick," he said quickly, realizing that 
 each moment of delay might cost them their lives, 
 "you will count five. If our friend at the end of the 
 line has not emptied his pockets when you are 
 through, shoot to kill." 
 
 The girl signified with a slight nod that she under- 
 stood. As she began to count, her pistol was pointing 
 straight at the man the Phantom had indicated. The 
 fellow's sullen obstinacy yielded gradually to an over- 
 powering respect for Helen's marksmanship, of 
 which he had already witnessed an exhibition. Just 
 before she reached "five," he lumbered forward and 
 turned the lining of his pockets inside out. A knife, 
 an automatic, and several other implements clattered 
 to the floor. 
 
 "Now get back in the corner," commanded the 
 Phantom pointing. He thrilled at the thought that 
 the crisis was past and the victory almost won. 
 
 The second man hesitated only for an instant be- 
 fore he followed the example of the first. After 
 that the process of disarming the gang went on swiftly 
 and without interruptions. Man after man stepped 
 out of the line, emptied his pockets, and joined the 
 others in the corner. When the last man had 
 divested himself of his belongings there was a small 
 pile of oddly assorted articles in the middle of the 
 floor. 
 
 The Phantom felt a little dazed, now that the 
 tremendous tension was over. At last he lowered the 
 pistol and turned to the girl. Her face was pale and 
 
AT BAY 
 
 287 
 
 a little haggard but a smile of triumph hovered 
 about her lips. 
 
 "You're the grandest little woman I ever knew," 
 he declared feelingly. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," she confessed a little wearily. 
 "I don't think I could have stood it if you hadn't been 
 so close to me. I felt as though you were holding me 
 under a spell all the time." 
 
 The Phantom laughed. "Bimble, you have seen 
 how one man, with the assistance of a plucky little 
 woman, has vanquished a gang of twenty-five cut- 
 throats and ruffians. The yellow streak in you made 
 it fairly easy. I should like to see the Duke's face 
 when he hears about this." 
 
 The doctor swallowed hard. His putty-hued face 
 reflected the depths of mental agony. 
 
 "What — what are you going to do with us?" he 
 inquired weakly. 
 
 "Precisely what I said I would do — hand you over 
 to the police." 
 
 "Not that !" The doctor looked as though he had 
 received a blow. "Listen! Down below, in the cel- 
 lar, are several million dollars' worth of valuables. 
 You can have it all if you will let us go." 
 
 "You're a rather poor sort, Bimble," said the 
 Phantom contemptuously. "There isn't gold enough 
 in the world to buy your freedom. To see you get 
 your just deserts is worth more to me than all the 
 millions the Duke and his gang ever stole." 
 
 The doctor staggered back against the wall, ut- 
 terly dejected. Of a sudden the Phantom's expres- 
 sion of elation faded out and a worried look took 
 its place. Where was Granger? The reporter had 
 not been among those who had answered the doctor's 
 summons, and the Phantom had seen nothing of him 
 
288 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 since he left him chained to the wall in one of the 
 upper rooms. Without doubt he had been released, 
 Ifor Bimble had said that a member of the gang had 
 [entered the room and found him shortly after the 
 (Phantom had started for the basement. His absence 
 was somewhat disturbing, for the Phantom's task 
 would not be finished until Granger had been caught. 
 
 Admonishing Miss Hardwick to keep an eye on 
 the gang, he walked toward the farther wall. Irt 
 the corner was a door which he had not seen before. 
 It was locked, but he guessed that it led to the cellar 
 in which the doctor kept the gang's treasures, and he 
 noted that it was of hard and solid material and 
 would resist almost any amount of pressure. 
 
 "Doctor," he said, walking back to where Bimble 
 stood, "I'll trouble you for your bunch of keys." 
 
 With an air of a broken and defeated man, Bimble 
 complied, and the Phantom made sure that one of 
 the keys fitted the lock on the door leading to the 
 cellar. Keeping one eye on the gang, he gathered 
 the weapons they had discarded and placed them on 
 the cellar stairs. Then he carefully locked the door 
 and put the keys in his pocket. Motioning Helen 
 to precede him, he backed up the stairs, covering the 
 huddled and dejected group with his pistol till he 
 reached the top. Here was another door, almost as 
 substantial as the one communicating with the cellar. 
 They stepped through, and the Phantom closed it 
 and turned a key in the lock. 
 
 "Our precious friends are trapped," he remarked 
 with a chuckle. "I'll wager they won't get out of 
 that basement till the police 'drag them out. Now 
 we must find Granger." 
 
 Passing swiftly down the hall, they opened one 
 r door after another, glancing quickly into each room 
 
AT BAY 
 
 289 
 
 before proceeding to the next. Finally, on the floor 
 above, they reached a door through which faint 
 sounds came. For an instant the Phantom listened, 
 then jerked the door open and entered. Taking in 
 the scene at a glance, he drew his pistol. 
 "Hands up, Granger I" he commanded. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 THE OUTLAW 
 
 THE reporter's flushed face and the bottle at his 
 elbow showed that he had been drinking. As 
 the Phantom's sharp command rang out, his 
 nervous fingers dropped the revolver which he had 
 been pointing at a lanky, dull-faced figure standing 
 against the wall. 
 
 "Culligore!" exclaimed the Phantom, "How did 
 "you get here?" 
 
 The lieutenant smiled. "Oh, I've been in this 
 house for some little time — ever since that con- 
 founded "doc" shot me in the leg. He put me to bed 
 and tied some ropes around me. How I got loose 
 is a long story. I guess the "doc" would have taken a 
 little more pains with the ropes if he had known that 
 the wound in my leg wasn't so bad as I let on it was. 
 I was strolling around a bit and finally I bumped into 
 our friend Granger here. He's a real hospitable 
 guy. Handed me a drink with one hand and flashed 
 a gat on me with the other." 
 
 Granger, blinking his heavy eyes and staring 
 blankly at the two intruders, leaned back against his 
 chair. Evidently the weapon in the Phantom's hand 
 convinced him that the game was up, for he made 
 no move to recover the pistol he had dropped. 
 
 "He felt so sure I wouldn't get away from him 
 alive that he told me the whole story," Culligore 
 went on. "Of course, I had pieced together most 
 
 290 
 
THE OUTLAW 
 
 291 
 
 of it already from the scraps of fact I had. I've hacl 
 my suspicions about Granger ever since the depart- 
 ment turned him loose. I thought that was a big 
 mistake, but I didn't have any evidence until just the 
 other day. Then I searched his room, and what do 
 you suppose I found?" 
 
 " What?" asked the Phantom and Helen in unison. 
 
 Culligore laughed softly. "It's queer how clever 
 rascals like Granger always make some childish 
 blunder. He didn't have sense enough to throw 
 away the Maltese cross — that bit of phony jade that 
 the murderer took from Gage's desk — but hid it in 
 the false bottom of his trunk. Well, I guess that 
 alone will give him a start toward the electric chair, 
 though it isn't the only piece of evidence I have 
 against him." 
 
 u Then, Culligore," asked the Phantom, "I sup- 
 pose you're convinced I had nothing to do with the 
 murders?" 
 
 The lieutenant grinned. "Well, you sized me up 
 about right while we were stalling each other in the 
 basement. From the first I didn't want to believe 
 you were mixed up in the dirty deal. I had a sort 
 of bet with myself that the Gray Phantom would 
 always play the game according to the code. Any- 
 how, it wasn't long before I began to suspect that 
 the whole thing was a frame-up. Granger has just 
 told me all about it. Seemed proud of his achieve- 
 ment. The Duke had mapped out a nifty plan for 
 Bimble to work on. None of the flossy details were 
 omitted. Gage was to be murdered and you were 
 to be the goat. If possible, the man put on the job 
 was to be someone resembling you, so that if he 
 were seen on or near the scene of the crime the evi- 
 dence against the Gray Phantom would be strength- 
 ened. 
 
292 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 "I guess you know what a thoroughgoing bunch 
 the Duke's men are. They combed the country till 
 they found a man looking like you. Granger seemed 
 to fit the specifications, and they offered him a big 
 bunch of money if he would do their dirty work. 
 Granger tells me he has always had his eye on the 
 main chance, that he was sick and tired of the news- 
 paper grind, and was ready to do almost anything to 
 get out of it. I suppose his conscience troubled him 
 a bit, but the Duke's gang gave him all the whisky 
 he wanted, for they knew he had the knack of keep- 
 ing his mouth shut even when he was drunk, and 
 liquor is a pretty good antidote for a troublesome 
 conscience. 
 
 "The threatening letter was forged, of course. 
 The job was done by one of the cleverest forgers irt 
 the world, a member of the Duke's organization. 
 After the murder " 
 
 "Not quite so fast," interrupted the Phantom. 
 "How did Granger get into Gage's bedroom?" 
 
 "Through the tunnel connecting with Bimble's resi- 
 dence." 
 
 The Phantom looked puzzled. "But I satisfied 
 myself that the revolving frame could not be ma- 
 nipulated from the outside." 
 
 "It wasn't," said Culligore. "Gage himself ad- 
 mitted his murderer. It wasn't the first time that he 
 had received a visit from one of the gang that way, 
 and he did not know that the organization had con- 
 demned him to death. So when Granger gave the 
 customary signal, Gage thought somebody who didn't 
 care to be seen was bringing him an important mes- 
 sage." 
 
 "I might have guessed it," murmured the Phan- 
 tom. "Evidently I was not cut out for a detective. 
 
THE OUTLAW 
 
 293 
 
 Granger, of course, made his escape through the 
 tunnel after committing the murder ?" 
 
 "He did, and that's what made the crime look so 
 mysterious. It was part of the plan, for it convinced 
 everybody that no one but the Phantom could have 
 committed it. But Granger had no sooner com- 
 mitted the murder than he began to be nervous. 
 Somehow he got it into his head that the housekeeper 
 was wise to him. Maybe she was; we will never 
 know that for sure, though I have a private hunch 
 that Mrs. Trippe had guessed the truth. Anyhow, 
 Granger decided that he wouldn't be safe unless the 
 housekeeper was put out of the way. He locked 
 her up in the bedroom; then went out for a drink. 
 He was bent on murder, and he needed a bracer for 
 his nerves. When he came back " 
 
 "In the meantime," interrupted the Phantom, 
 "Mrs. Trippe tried to escape by way of the revolving 
 window frame. Probably she knew there was a hid- 
 den exit somewhere in the room. At any rate, she 
 had discovered how to open it just before Granger 
 returned. I was in the aperture in the wall and saw 
 the murderer's hand as he drove the knife into her 
 body. Granger either knew or guessed that I was 
 there. He did not see me, but he heard the house- 
 keeper addressing someone just before the blow was 
 struck, and he probably surmised who it was. To 
 make sure I wouldn't get him into trouble, he ran 
 around to the Bimble residence and blocked the other 
 end of the tunnel. But there is one thing I don't 
 understand. How did it come about that Granger 
 was suspected of treachery?" 
 
 "You have just told us that he tried to kill you," 
 said Culligore. "Well, that was the reason. The 
 doc had given strict orders that you were to be taken 
 alive and were not to be killed under any circum- 
 
294 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 stances. Granger violated those orders when he 
 tried to smother you to death in the tunnel. Shortly 
 after that he disappeared, and that made it look all 
 the worse for him. The "doc" didn't know that you 
 had kidnaped him. All he knew was that Granger 
 had vamoosed, and he thought he was doing the 
 gang dirt and pulling some kind of treacherous stuff." 
 
 "That explains the note Dan the Dope handed 
 me," observed the Phantom. "Everything is clear 
 except Pinto's part in the affair. His statement 
 cleared up a good many things, but not all. For 
 instance, he was startled when I showed him the 
 ducal coronet. Tell me," and the Phantom lowered 
 his voice as a new thought occurred to him, "is, or 
 was, Pinto a member of the Duke's crowd?" 
 
 "Not exactly." Culligore spoke with a hesitant 
 drawl. "Til tell you something if you promise to let 
 it go in one ear and out the other. For some time 
 I've had a private tip to the effect that the Duke's 
 outfit wanted someone on the inside of the police de- 
 partment. They made Pinto a pretty attractive 
 offer, and Pinto nibbled at the bait. He might have 
 swallowed it if the Gage murder hadn't happened 
 along." 
 
 u No wonder he acted so shaky," murmured the 
 Phantom. "Well, I am glad the ugly mess has been 
 disposed of. "The wily old Peng Yuen must have 
 had an inkling of the truth when he quoted something 
 to me from one of the Chinese philosophers. I 
 didn't get his meaning then, but I do now. Any- 
 way," with a soft laugh, "the bloodstain has been 
 w r ashed from the Gray Phantom's name. There will 
 never " 
 
 Granger, who had been leaning back against his 
 chair as if in a drunken stupor, made a sudden move- 
 ment. The Phantom was about to interfere, but the 
 
THE OUTLAW 
 
 295 
 
 reporter was only pouring himself a drink from the 
 bottle. He rose unsteadily and held the glass aloft. 
 
 "It was fun while it lasted," he declared thickly. 
 "I'm going to have one more drink — just one. Here 
 goes V 
 
 He gulped down the contents of the glass, swayed 
 for an instant and regarded the others with an odd 
 {expression. Then, before either of them could in- 
 terfere, he picked up the pistol he had dropped upon 
 the Phantom's entrance. 
 
 A crack sounded. Helen uttered a sharp cry, and 
 Culligore limped toward the reporter's chair just as 
 Granger went staggering to the floor. 
 
 "Killed himself!" muttered the lieutenant. "Shot 
 himself through the heart. Well, that's one way of 
 Idodging the electric chair." 
 
 Helen shuddered convulsively and the Phantom 
 led her gently toward the door. He drew the doc- 
 tor's keys from his pockets and tossed them to Cul- 
 ligore. 
 
 "1 forgot to tell you," he remarked in casual tones, 
 "that Bimble and his gang are locked up in the base- 
 ment. Miss Hardwick and I rounded them up and 
 took their guns away from them while you and Gran- 
 ger were discussing the crime. I understand, too, 
 that there's a large amount of swag salted in the 
 cellar. It will be quite an important catch for you, 
 Culligore, and ought to help toward promotion for 
 you." 
 
 The lieutenant stared. 
 
 "Well, I'll be hanged!" he muttered at last. 
 
 The Phantom smiled. "I believe there are several 
 outstanding charges against myself," he observed. 
 "To arrest the Gray Phantom would be almost as 
 big an achievement as the rounding up of the Duke's 
 gang." 
 
S96 THE GRAY PHANTOM'S RETURN 
 
 Culligore seemed to hesitate. "Well," with a 
 broad grin, "I suppose I ought to pinch you, but my 
 leg still hurts a bit and you can run a lot faster than' 
 I can. Anyhow, I'll get plenty of credit as it is. 
 You two might as well go away. I'll wait ten 
 minutes before I telephone headquarters." 
 
 "Thanks, Culligore." 
 
 He gripped the lieutenant's hand and held it while; 
 each man looked the other in the eye. Then he 
 turned and led Helen from the room. In a little 
 while they were out on the street, and her face bright- 
 ened as the morning breeze fanned it. The Phantom 
 hailed a passing taxicab. 
 
 For a time they sat silent, and there was a touch 
 of reverence in the Phantom's attitude as he gazed 
 at the girl. 
 
 "Helen!" he whispered. 
 
 The soft brown eyes looked into his own. 
 
 "Gray Phantom!" she murmured. 
 
 He found her hand and held it. "It was a great 
 adventure — the greatest of my life. Who would 
 ever have dreamed that the Gray Phantom would 
 go to such extremes to clear himself in the eyes of 
 a girl?" 
 
 She looked up again, and there was a warm, misty 
 radiance in her eyes. 
 
 "Did my opinion of you really matter as much as 
 that?" 
 
 "Why, of course; it meant everything to me. And 
 Helen " 
 
 There was a choking sensation in his throat. He; 
 turned his head and looked out through the window 
 at a quiet street lined with brownstone fronts. He 
 laughed sadly. 
 
 "I forgot for a moment that I am still a hunted 
 man. I am still an outlaw, and all officers are not 
 
THE OUTLAW 
 
 297 
 
 as generous as Culligore. My past is hanging over 
 me like a great black cloud. But perhaps some 
 :day " 
 
 She smiled as he broke off. "Perhaps some day," 
 she murmured, "the cloud will roll away." 
 
 His fingers tightened convulsively about her hand; 
 then he opened the door and called to the chauffeur. 
 The cab swerved up to the curb and stopped. 
 
 "Good-by, Helen." 
 
 Her lips trembled and for a moment she could not 
 speak. 
 
 "Au revoir — Gray Phantom!" 
 
 He drew a long, deep breath as the cab glided 
 away. He watched it till it was out of sight. There 
 was a smile on his lips and his eyes held a tender 
 light. 
 
 "Farewell, Brown Eyes," he said, half aloud. 
 "Wonder if we shall meet again, and if — " He did 
 not finish the thought, but smiled whimsically. "I 
 must hurry back and see what I can do with my gray 
 orchid." 
 
 Then he swung down a side street and walked 
 briskly away, looking furtively to right and left with 
 the habitual caution of hunted men. 
 
 THE END 
 
A Gripping Story of Adventure 
 the Santa Fe Trail in the 
 Early Forties. 
 
 Bring Me His Ear 
 
 By CLARENCE E. MULFOR 
 
 "Bring Me His Ears" is a real Wes 
 tern thriller, dating back to 1840. 
 
 Tom Boyd, the hero, had at one tin 
 slapped the face of Governor Armig 
 the treacherous head of the Depar 
 ment of New Mexico, and that ofnei, 
 had sent out word to his men to tali 
 Boyd, dead or alive. 
 
 Most of the action of the story takf 
 place during a caravan journey acroc 
 the country, which the author describe 
 in detail, including the many struggle! 
 and hardships endured by the travellers 
 
 Crossing the continent with th< 
 caravan was a wealthy trader and hii 
 beautiful young niece. Tom join! 
 them and appoints himself as their per 
 sonal escort. 
 
 The thrilling adventures met witB 
 by the caravan include attacks from 
 hostile Indians and mutiny within ihj 
 ranks. These combined with the allun 
 of a pleasing romance make up a vivir 
 and gripping story that is sure to ho! ] 
 the reader's interest to the very end. 
 
 Other Books by Clarence E.MuIford; 
 
 BAR 20 
 
 BAR 20 DAYS 
 
 BAR 20 THREE 
 
 BUCK PETERS, RANCHMAN 
 
 THE COMING OF CASSIDY 
 
 HOPALONG CASSIDY 
 
 JOHNNY NELSON 
 
 THE MAN FROM BAR 20 
 
 THE ORPHAN 
 
 TEX 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY 
 
 Publishers - New Yor'. 
 
— — I r 
 
 The Newest Books in Popular Reprint Fiction 
 
 Only Books of Superior Merit and Popularity Are Published in This List 
 
 FOUR-SQUARE. By Grace S. Richmond. 
 
 The story of a beautiful and talented young woman, who is given the choice 
 of a social career or a life with a "Four-Square" young man, who lacks wealth, 
 but who is madly in love with her. A well-written and absorbing romance. 
 
 BRING ME HIS EARS. By Clarence E. Mulford. 
 
 A story of adventure on the Missouri River and Santa, Fe trail in the early 
 forties. There is a steamboat wreck, a kidnapping scene and plenty of fight- 
 ing, with a romance worked in to give it the needed flavor. 
 
 SKY LINE OF SPRUCE, THE. By Edison Marshall. 
 
 A wide-awake story of adventure in the mining district of the Caribou Range 
 in British Columbia. The hero is called upon to fight a mining claim against 
 a gang of lawless claim-jumpers, during which his friend is murdered by one 
 of the gang. He adopts a plan of vengeance that will thrill the reader, 
 absorbing love romance lends interest to the story. 
 
 SNOWDRIFT. By James Beardsley Hendryx. 
 
 A story of Alaska with plenty of action and adventure. Garter Brent, 
 hero, finds a rich claim, goes to Dawson and gambles until he is "broke." 
 
 An 
 
 a state of helplessness from drink, he is kidnapped by Indians and carried 
 off to th^f cfirtp. There he meet's with "Snowdrift," and ft happy romance 
 
 develops. 
 
 MAN'S COUNTRY. By Peter Clark Macfarlane. 
 
 Business and romance are here happily blended. George Judsou, the hero, 
 proves that a. young man of merit, ambition and a capacity for hard work, 
 can succeed in the dual role of business man and lover. The reader will find 
 in this interesting and absorbing story an inspiration to youthful ambition and 
 romance. 
 
 SIR OR MADAM. By Berta Ruck. 
 
 An interesting story of wealthy young bachelor of secluded habits, and his 
 lively experiences with a "little widow" and a beautiful young woman of 
 boyish tendencies, who. in t!he guise of a man, has obtained the position of 
 chauffeur in his household. These happy ingredients have been worked into a 
 charming tale of mystery and romance. 
 
 SEVENTH MAN, THE. By Max Brand. 
 
 A gripping story of the West, full of excitement and adventure. "Whistling 
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 TYRREL OF THE COW COUNTRY. By Robert Ames Bennet. 
 
 A» western story of adventure that mov's along with exhilarating speed. The 
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 the reader who enjoys Western romances, is sure to find this one to his liking. 
 
 CITY OF PERIL, THE. ByArthur Stringer. 
 
 A mystery story dealing with the underworld of New York's lower East side, 
 in which murders, hair-raising fights on roof tops and other thrilling events, 
 figure prominently. A romance between lovers is also a part of this exciting" 
 
 story. 
 
 NEVER-FAIL BLAKE. By Arthur Stringer. 
 
 A detective story of New York City. The principal characters in this stirring 
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 international repute. An exciting tale of adventures and dangerous journeys 
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 Fdt sale by most booksellers at the popular price. Published by 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY, 114-120 EAST 23d ST., NEW YORK