The city, consuming the news of Mr. Shei’s amazing coup along with its coffee and toast the following morning, reacted to the sensation much as a child might react to the sight of a fabled monster. The whole affair seemed monstrous, unbelievable—and yet the facts could not be reasoned away. Seven of the city’s wealthiest men had been inoculated with a malady of such a mysterious nature that the most celebrated physicians in New York City had admitted they were unable to diagnose it.
An air of bafflement and suspense hung over the city. Mr. Shei’s name was on every tongue, and the blow he had struck was discussed by groups that gathered on street corners, in cafés, and in public squares. Among the seven victims were several of the most important capitalists in the country, so the effect of Mr. Shei’s astounding maneuver was an assault on the financial nerve center of the nation.
The name that, next to Mr. Shei’s, was most often spoken in the street corner discussions, was that of The Gray Phantom. The spectacular nature of the coup, as well as the daring and resourcefulness exhibited by its perpetrator, seemed ample proof that The Gray Phantom had returned to his old ways under thenom de guerreof Mr. Shei. No one else, it was argued, could have engineered an achievement of such magnitude without bungling and falling into the clutches of the police. Already wagers were being placed on The Phantom’s ability to evade capture until he should have consummated his plans.
At ten o’clock, just as newsboys were raucously crying the latest extras, a taxicab stopped before a dingy establishment in a squalid and disreputable section of the lower East Side. The Gray Phantom alighted, hurriedly tossed the driver a bill, then disappeared in a basement entrance. The door was opened by a surly-looking man wearing a soiled apron, and The Phantom took a seat at one of the tables in the rear. He looked nervously at his watch. Lieutenant Culligore, whom he had reached by telephone at police headquarters, had promised to meet him at ten sharp, and he had suggested Lefty Joe’s place as a reasonably safe rendezvous.
The Phantom cast a slanting glance at the rough-looking customers scattered about the place, and just then the door opened and Culligore walked in and took a seat beside him.
“Any luck?” inquired the lieutenant, though the question seemed superfluous in view of The Phantom’s dejected appearance.
“None. That’s why I wanted a talk with you. How is Fairspeckle?”
The lieutenant, a little bleary-eyed and with a trace of diffidence in his manners, looked queerly at the questioner. “Why single out Fairspeckle? He’s in the same boat with the six others. Neither better nor worse, though the doctors say his age and poor health will weigh against him.”
“You still think that Fairspeckle is Mr. Shei?”
Culligore hesitated. A thin, inscrutable smile hovered above his lips.
“If he is, he gave himself a dose of his own medicine,” was his final comment.
“And that’s precisely what I think he did.” The Phantom, speaking in low tones, gave the table a resounding thwack. “Being one of the city’s richest men, he knew suspicion was apt to turn in his direction, unless he was inoculated along with the others. He is easily one of the seven wealthiest men in town, and it would have looked queer if he had been omitted. And so, to ward off suspicion, he had a dose of the poison injected into his own veins, though I suppose the amount was carefully adjusted so it would produce the characteristic symptoms without causing death.”
Culligore appeared to ponder. “Not bad reasoning,” he remarked. “That would be on a par with the trick he played on you yesterday. Fairspeckle seems to be a shrewd old fox, the kind that isn’t overlooking any bets. Maybe you’re right. In that case, of course, the binding and gagging of the Jap was a blind.”
The Phantom nodded.
“Well, whoever Mr. Shei is, he certainly put one over last night,” was Culligore’s rueful comment. “He seems to have a gang of highly trained followers who do exactly as he tells them without batting an eyelid. Last night, between ten o’clock and two in the morning, he sent one or more of his men to the homes of each of the seven victims. In two or three instances the servants were bribed, I understand. Anyhow, Mr. Shei’s men got in by some hook or crook. Four of the seven were caught in bed and trussed up before they could say Jack Robinson. Two of the others were tapped on the back of the head when they returned home from the theater, and one got his in a taxicab. Mr. Shei made a clean sweep.”
“What do the doctors say?”
“Most of them are doing some fancy stalling to cover up what they don’t know. The high muckamucks of the profession are holding a consultation this morning to decide what’s to be done. One of them let slip the information that the symptoms look something like a combination of rabies and delirium tremens, but he believes the disease is produced by one of the ancient poisons that were known to the Asiatics. The fact that the doctors are keeping mum is a bad sign. It will be interesting to see how many of the patients will cough up Mr. Shei’s price for the antidote. If all of them come across, Mr. Shei will rake in a good many millions.”
“Billions, rather, I should say.” The Phantom smiled wearily. “If successful, the experiment will be unique in that it will demonstrate just how much a billionaire considers his life to be worth. But that isn’t what I wanted to talk with you about. Culligore, I still think that Fairspeckle knows where Miss Hardwick can be found.”
“Well?” Culligore gazed noncommittally into space.
“I wonder if some sort of pressure couldn’t be brought to bear on him to make him divulge what he knows. Last night he was in no condition to be questioned, and to-day, I can hardly make a move without running the risk of being arrested.”
“I should say you can’t!” declared Culligore explosively. “It’s as much as my job is worth to be seen here talking with you. The Gray Phantom is a marked man, if ever there was one. Fairspeckle and the Jap swear you were in the apartment late last night, and Fairspeckle believes—or pretends to believe, which amounts to the same thing—that it was you who squirted the poison into his veins. Of course, he doesn’t pretend to know just how it happened, but he remembers seeing you just as he was recovering his senses. You’d better take my advice and lie low for a while. I’ll see what I can do with Fairspeckle, though I haven’t any high hopes. I’ll have him watched, and it’s just possible that we can squeeze some information out of him. But look here. Aren’t you starting this thing from the wrong end?”
The Phantom gave him a puzzled glance.
“When Miss Hardwick left the Thelma Theater day before yesterday,” pursued Culligore, “I could have sworn she was on her way to see you. She didn’t say anything about her plans, but that was the idea I got from her actions.”
The Phantom shook his head. “If she started for my place, she never got there. I called up on the long distance this morning, and was told that nothing has been seen of her. Of course, something may have happened to her on the way.”
“Well, I wouldn’t worry just yet. The young lady has a lot of spunk, and I’ll bet a pair of pink socks she knows how to take care of herself. It mightn’t be a bad idea to get in touch with her father. He may have had some news from her since yesterday. I must be on my way. Mr. Shei is putting gray hairs on my head.”
Culligore rose, and the two men shook hands. They parted after the lieutenant had once more admonished The Phantom against exposing himself to arrest. For a moment or two after the detective had left the place, The Phantom looked dubiously at the door through which he had departed.
“There’s something queer about Culligore,” he mumbled. “I wonder if he——”
He did not finish the thought, but with a shrug of the shoulders he stepped out and looked warily up and down the sidewalk. Culligore’s warning had not been needed to impress upon him that caution was necessary. He sniffed danger in the very air he breathed as he slunk across the street, walked a block to the east, then ducked into a deserted doorway. A taxicab appeared, and he signaled the driver. For a moment he hesitated as to his next move, then Culligore’s parting advice occurred to him and, after consulting the small notebook he carried, he gave the chauffeur the address of the Hardwick residence.
The cab started. The Phantom glanced sharply through the windows. A familiar and yet intangible sensation had been with him constantly for the past hour. Now and then, at long intervals, he had had a fleeting impression that he was being watched. Now, as the cab chugged its way down the avenue, a sixth sense told him he was being followed, yet he could detect no sign of pursuit in the welter of traffic. He tried to dismiss the impression, knowing that in his present state of high mental tension his senses were not to be trusted.
He alighted in front of a modest brownstone house, its rigid exterior relieved by sprawling vines and flowers in the window boxes. The female servant who opened the door announced that Mr. Hardwick was at home, and The Phantom gently pushed past her. In the room he entered, a thin, stoop-shouldered man was pacing back and forth with hands clasped at his back. He stopped abruptly at sight of The Phantom and peered blankly into the visitor’s face.
“You know me?” inquired The Phantom.
“It’s—it can’t be—The Gray Phantom?” A startled look appeared in Mr. Hardwick’s deeply furrowed face. He came a few steps nearer. “But youareThe Gray Phantom, I see. I recognize you from your photographs. Where is my daughter?”
The Phantom was a trifle taken aback by the sharply spoken question. “Then you have received no word from her? I telephoned your house shortly after my arrival in the city and was told she had been missing for twenty-four hours. I was in hopes you might have heard from her this morning. That’s why I called.”
“I have not seen my daughter since breakfast day before yesterday,” explained Mr. Hardwick in quavering tones. “In the afternoon I received a brief message from her announcing she did not expect to be home for dinner and telling me not to worry. She is an impetuous child, and it isn’t the first time she has caused me anxiety. Her message made me very uneasy, for she had been acting strangely ever since—since——”
“Since the affair at the Thelma Theater,” guessed The Phantom. “Listen, Mr. Hardwick. I am as deeply concerned in what has happened to her as you can possibly be. I intend to find her, no matter where she may be. Can you trust me?”
Mr. Hardwick’s dim eyes searched The Phantom’s face for a long time. At first there was a look of doubt and suspicion in the old man’s countenance, but it faded gradually away.
“I believe I can,” he declared. “I know what your past has been, and I confess I have disapproved strongly of the friendship between you and my daughter. She is still impressionable and there are romantic notions in her head, and you will forgive me if I say that you did not seem quite the proper person for her to associate with.”
“I can understand that,” murmured The Phantom. “Your attitude was quite natural in view of the circumstances.”
“And so,” continued Mr. Hardwick, “when your letters came I did not feel justified in giving them to her. I was not unappreciative of what you had done for her and me, but I feared she might form an unsuitable attachment. In short, I destroyed the letters after a glance at the handwriting on the envelope.”
The Phantom smiled faintly. “I know you acted for what you thought your daughter’s best interests. It is not for me to criticise your conduct in the matter. I can readily see—— But wait.” The Phantom’s brow suddenly clouded. “How many letters did you intercept?”
“I think there were two. One came in the spring; the other late in the summer. Yes, I am quite sure there were only two.”
The Phantom’s narrowing gaze swept the older man’s face. His lips tightened into a grim line. “The letter I mailed in the spring was the one in which I told your daughter of my removal from Azurecrest to Sea Glimpse,” he explained in tense tones. “I had promised to keep her informed of my movements so that she could communicate with me if she should ever need me.” He paused for a moment. “Have you any idea where your daughter might have gone? Didn’t she say anything that suggested what her plans were?”
“She talked rather incoherently at breakfast, but said nothing about intending to go away. When I received her message later in the day, it occurred to me that she might have gone in search of you. You had been mentioned several times in our talks together, and I thought that——”
“If her intention was to find me, she probably went to the wrong place,” gravely interrupted The Phantom. “Not knowing of my removal to Sea Glimpse, she naturally would look for me at Azurecrest. I sold the place through a broker and never even learned the name of the present owner. But her going to Azurecrest doesn’t explain her absence for the past twenty-four hours. She would naturally return at once upon learning that I was not there. The trip by train takes only two or three hours. I fear something must have happened to her on the way. Well, we shall soon learn——”
He dashed across the room, snatched up the telephone from its stand in a corner, and, after being connected with the long-distance operator, gave his old number at Azurecrest. A wait followed. The Phantom stood tense and rigid, while Mr. Hardwick dazedly drew his palm across his forehead. He gazed expectantly at The Phantom while the latter spoke briefly into the transmitter. Finally, with a puzzled look in his face, The Phantom hung up.
“The present owner of Azurecrest is a Mr. Slade,” he announced. “I just had him on the wire. He tells me nothing has been seen of Miss Hardwick, or of any person resembling her.”
Mr. Hardwick looked as if he did not quite know whether to feel relieved or discouraged. The Phantom grasped his hand.
“Don’t worry,” he said in a tone of hopefulness which he was far from feeling. “We will find your daughter. I shall communicate with you as soon as I learn something.”
He squeezed the older man’s hand and walked out. Though he could not understand why, his interview with Hardwick and his brief talk with Slade had intensified his fears and misgivings. It seemed as though the mystery of Helen’s disappearance had become darker and deeper. Suddenly, as he stood irresolute on the doorstep, he heard someone call his name. A limousine had silently drawn up at the curb, its sides of burnt sienna flashing brilliantly in the sunlight, and at the window, beckoning him with a smile and a nod, he saw a woman’s face. He stepped forward, and the woman leaned slightly from the window.
“If you will step in,” she whispered, “you may learn something of interest concerning the young person you are looking for.”
The door opened invitingly. The words had exerted a magical effect on The Phantom, and without a moment’s hesitation he entered. As the car glided away, he noticed that the woman had a young, dark face, a figure almost serpentine in its slenderness, and that there was an air of gay insouciance about her smartly embroidered frock and rakish picture hat that seemed to clash with the subtlety and craftiness expressed by her pale-green eyes.
“You are very reckless, my dear Phantom,” she murmured. “Please don’t ask to what happy circumstance you owe the invitation to ride with me. I abhor ceremonious speeches. I am Fay Dale, though that probably don’t interest you, and I have a message for you from Mr. Shei.”
The bluntness of the statement made The Phantom catch his breath. He wondered whether it was the vivacious eyes of Fay Dale that had been following him all morning and giving him the haunting impression of being watched.
“As I said, you are very reckless,” Miss Dale went on. “Twice within the last two days you have been warned to abandon the course you are pursuing, and you have paid no heed whatever. There’s such a thing as carrying audacity to a fault, you know. Doesn’t the safety of a certain young lady mean anything to you at all?”
“Everything!” exclaimed The Phantom impulsively. “You said you had something to tell me about her.”
“I have, but you mustn’t be impatient. I have something very important to tell you. You have seen fit to meddle in an affair that doesn’t concern you in the least. You have been warned that your conduct is endangering the life of the young lady, but evidently you have not taken the warnings seriously. I can assure you that Mr. Shei never makes idle threats. It is his wish that you leave New York at once.”
A taunting laugh was on The Phantom’s lips, but he held it back. “Why?” he demanded.
“Because Mr. Shei doesn’t care to have you interfere with him. He is now engaged in the most important enterprise of his life, and he would rather not be opposed by such a formidable enemy as yourself. I shall be perfectly frank with you, even at the risk of inflating your vanity. You are the only man of whom Mr. Shei stands in fear. He has a profound respect for your genius. He laughs at the police and snaps his fingers at public opinion, but he knows The Gray Phantom is a dangerous adversary. At this particular time he can brook no opposition. That’s why he requests you to leave New York immediately.”
“I am flattered,” murmured The Phantom, gazing reflectively out of the car window. “What I cannot understand is how Mr. Shei learned of my plans.”
Miss Dale gave an amused laugh. “One of Mr. Shei’s agents saw you in Times Square the morning you arrived. You have been watched ever since. Mr. Shei has sources of information that would amaze you if I were to tell you about them. And he is just as resourceful in other ways. Don’t you think you had better swallow your pride and comply with his wishes?”
“Suppose I were to refuse?” The Phantom temporized, trying hard to restrain his impatience.
Miss Dale looked straight into his eyes. There was a hint of cruelty in her tightly compressed lips.
“There are ways of breaking even such a stubborn will as yours,” she coldly declared. “The young lady is absolutely in Mr. Shei’s power. That gives him a means of persuasion that ought to impress even you. Nothing in the world can save her if you disobey his wishes.”
Her tones carried an emphasis that caused The Phantom to give her a sharp glance. There was a curl to her lips and a gleam in her eyes that impressed him even more strongly than her words. His mind worked quickly.
“If Mr. Shei will return Miss Hardwick safely to her home, I will leave New York on the next train,” he promised.
She laughed frigidly. “You must think Mr. Shei is a fool. He would lose his hold over you the moment he released Miss Hardwick, and what guarantee would he have that you would carry out your promise?”
“My word of honor.”
“It would be enough under ordinary circumstances, but not in this case. Evidently you do not realize the gravity of Miss Hardwick’s position, or you would not quarrel with Mr. Shei’s terms.” She shrugged her slight shoulders. “Well, you shall soon be convinced that Mr. Shei is not to be trifled with. From Miss Hardwick’s own lips you shall learn what a desperate predicament she is in. After that, my dear Phantom, I think you will be more amenable to reason.”
There was a question on The Phantom’s tongue, but just then the car drew up in front of an apartment house facing Central Park, and Miss Dale conducted him through an ornate entrance, then up three flights in the elevator, and a little gasp of admiration escaped The Phantom as they passed into an exquisitely furnished apartment. Save for the prevalence of the feminine touch, exemplified in gorgeous but meaningless trifles and gewgaws, it met the emphatic approval of The Phantom’s discriminating eye.
Miss Dale excused herself and entered an adjoining room, and he was left alone for a few minutes. He strained his ears and listened. From faint sounds coming through the closed door he imagined she was at the telephone. The cold gleam in her eyes as he had helped her from the car was still haunting him, and he wondered what she had meant when she promised that from Helen’s own lips should he learn the nature of her predicament.
The frigid, insinuating smile was still on her lips when she returned to the room in which she had left him.
“Your curiosity shall be gratified in a few moments,” she announced, seating herself and regarding him with a cold, impersonal gaze. There was an air of quiet self-reliance and efficiency about her that enabled him to understand how she could be a valuable assistant to Mr. Shei. Neither spoke, and presently the silence was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone in the other room.
“Answer, please,” she said lightly, the faintest trace of malignant satisfaction in her tones. “I think Miss Hardwick is on the wire.”
Puzzled and tormented by vague suspicions, The Phantom passed to the telephone. The woman followed a short distance behind.
“Hello,” he said tensely.
He started violently as he recognized the answering voice. He would have known it among a million voices despite the hysterical catch and the staccato accents that tended to disguise it. It spoke a few jumbled and disconnected phrases, then broke into a stream of loud and wild laughing in which he detected the same note of maniacal glee that had characterized the ghastly laughter of W. Rufus Fairspeckle.
Spasmodically The Gray Phantom pressed the receiver closer to his ear. The laughter at the other end of the wire rose to a shrill crescendo, then ended abruptly in a harsh and discordant twang.
“Helen!” shouted The Phantom.
No answer came; nothing but a muffled thud that sounded as if the person at the other end had suddenly dropped the receiver. His face white, The Phantom turned to Miss Dale.
“Are you convinced now?” she murmured, a silken smile hovering about her lips. “And don’t you think you had better obey Mr. Shei’s wishes and leave the city immediately?”
The Phantom mopped the clammy perspiration from his forehead. A moment ago his face had been distorted from horror; now a look of rage glittered menacingly in his eyes. “Mr. Shei will pay for this,” he muttered thickly. “When I have finished with him, he will wish he had never been born.”
“And just what do you propose to do?” Miss Dale airily waved her slim, white hand. “As a measure of self-protection, knowing that he could not control you by any other means, Mr. Shei has caused Miss Hardwick to be inoculated with the same malady that killed Miss Darrow, and which will kill seven of the city’s wealthiest men unless they comply with his wishes. There is only one thing which can save her, and that is the antidote. It is in the possession of a Malayan scientist, one of Mr. Shei’s most devoted followers, and it will be administered only when you have carried out the terms I have explained to you.”
The Phantom stood silent while trying to fight down the surge of emotions that threatened to swamp his reason. Suddenly his roving gaze was fixed on the numbered tag above the mouthpiece of the telephone instrument. His lids contracted a little.
“Brilliant idea, my dear Phantom,” drawled Miss Dale. “For once you are quite transparent. It is your intention, as soon as you leave my apartment, to call up the telephone exchange and trace the call, thus learning Miss Hardwick’s whereabouts. It would be simple, for it was a long-distance connection, and such calls are always recorded. I will save you the trouble, however. Miss Hardwick is at Azurecrest.”
“Azurecrest?” echoed The Phantom, momentarily a trifle dazed.
Miss Dale seemed to find his perplexity highly amusing. “When Mr. Shei learned the place was for sale, he bought it anonymously through an agent. It seemed an ideal spot for certain experiments he had in mind. Hoping to find you there, Miss Hardwick went to Azurecrest the day after Miss Darrow’s death, and for divers reasons it was thought best to detain her.”
The Phantom muttered an exclamation. Slade had lied to him, then, when The Phantom had called up Azurecrest earlier in the day and inquired for Miss Hardwick. Slade, he now suspected, was one of Mr. Shei’s agents, and under the circumstances it was not surprising that he had disclaimed all knowledge of Helen. The Phantom might not have accepted his denial so readily if he had had the faintest inkling that Mr. Shei was the present owner of his former retreat.
Suddenly he whirled round on his heels and started abruptly from the room.
“Wait a moment,” commanded Miss Dale as he reached the door, and a subtle quality in her tone caused him to stop. “How impulsive you are, my dear Phantom. I suppose you mean to rush madly off to Azurecrest and rescue the fair damsel. Stop and think for a moment. Surely you don’t imagine I would have told you Miss Hardwick’s whereabouts unless I had been absolutely certain that you were powerless to act.”
The Phantom saw the weight of the argument at once. He moved away from the door.
“Glad you are willing to listen to reason,” murmured Miss Dale. “You see, you could accomplish nothing at all by going to Azurecrest alone. The place is very carefully guarded by a little army of picked men, not to mention a few savage dogs. Of course, you might ask the police for assistance, supposing that you were on good terms with them, but what would be the result? If Mr. Shei and his followers are put in jail, Miss Hardwick will die, and so will the seven others. In fact, if anything at all happens to Mr. Shei and the members of his organization, the antidote will be irrevocably lost. I believe you grasp the idea, don’t you?”
The Phantom’s expression showed that he did. There was a baffled look in his eye that testified to his thorough appreciation of Mr. Shei’s ingenious precautions.
“In other words,” Miss Dale went on, her tones now soft and purring, “you have the best reasons in the world for not wishing the police to annoy Mr. Shei. In a way, Mr. Shei has compelled you to become an ally of his as a result of having Miss Hardwick in his power. It is really an excellent arrangement. And the police, when they understand the situation, will not be inclined to risk the lives of the seven wealthy men by forcing Mr. Shei to take extreme measures. Ah, you are beginning to understand at last that Mr. Shei is practically invulnerable.”
“So it would seem,” mumbled The Phantom, at last finding his voice.
“And don’t you think you had better be reasonable and accept Mr. Shei’s conditions? If you decide to be sensible, the antidote will be administered to Miss Hardwick as soon as Mr. Shei’s plans are consummated, and she will not be one whit the worse off for her experience. On the other hand, if you choose to be disagreeable——” Miss Dale paused significantly.
The Phantom’s tense face bespoke a great mental effort. One by one he reviewed the details of Mr. Shei’s brilliant precautions. He could not see a loop-hole anywhere. As far as his imagination could stretch, the only result of obstinacy would be certain death for Helen. Yet the cup of defeat was a bitter draft. Never before had The Gray Phantom surrendered to any man; but now the life of one dear to him was in danger. He made his decision promptly.
“Mr. Shei wins,” he announced with a bow. Then he walked out, oblivious of the triumphant smile that curled Miss Dale’s lips. His brow was clouded as he descended in the elevator and walked out on the sidewalk. He was aware that the dragnet was thrown out and that he was endangering his liberty by going about so boldly, but arrest and imprisonment seemed a minor matter now. For the first time in his life he was a defeated man. Worse still, he could not rid himself of fears concerning Helen’s safety.
Presently he paused as a new and even more disturbing thought flashed through his mind. He had accepted Mr. Shei’s terms in the hope that by doing so he would insure Helen’s safety. He wondered if he had been too gullible, and he dodged into a doorway while considering the question. He had been under a terrific tension the past few days, and his mind had not been working with its customary agility. Now it occurred to him that he had nothing but Miss Dale’s word for it that Helen’s life would be spared if he yielded to Mr. Shei’s terms. He had relied on her promise, not because of blind faith in her, but rather because Mr. Shei would gain nothing by killing Helen. He was merely using her as a means of suasion whereby to hold The Phantom in leash and prevent interference with his plans, and once she had served his purpose there was no reason why he should do her harm.
But The Phantom was far from satisfied. At Azurecrest, Helen must have heard and seen things that if divulged would constitute a great danger to Mr. Shei and his organization. Her keen perceptions and inquisitive nature were always delving into whatever was strange and mysterious. Would Mr. Shei dare let her live after her usefulness to him was past? Again, as he repeatedly asked himself the question, a cold perspiration broke out on The Phantom’s brow.
Once more he made a quick decision, completely reversing the one he had made in Miss Dale’s presence. He glanced quickly at his watch. If he remembered correctly, there would be a train for Azurecrest inside twenty minutes. Single-handed, relying only on his quick wits and agile strength, he would beard the lion in his den.
But first he was anxious to learn whether Culligore had made any progress toward clearing up the other phases of the mystery, particularly in regard to Mr. Fairspeckle. He entered a convenient telephone booth and called up the police department. Luck was with him, for after a brief delay he heard Culligore’s voice over the wire.
“Oh, Fairspeckle! Why, he’s vamoosed. Slipped away right from under the eyes of a doctor and a nurse. Can you beat it?”
The Phantom’s veins tingled as he hung up. Fairspeckle’s disappearance was final proof that he had correctly guessed the identity of Mr. Shei.
Helen’s little wrist watch showed a quarter past four.
Getting up from the chair, she roamed aimlessly about the room. Presently she stopped at the table and gazed down. The initials she had heedlessly scrawled in the dust were still there. The faint tracings that had betrayed her knowledge of Mr. Shei’s identity seemed fraught with fate now. With a few idle strokes of the hand she had signed her own death warrant.
She could not have mistaken the sinister gleam she had seen in Slade’s eyes as he looked down at the letters in the dust. His eyes had spelled her doom just as surely as the tracings on the table spelled the name by which Mr. Shei was known to the world at large. And the slam with which he had closed the door told even more eloquently than words that her life was forfeit.
Suddenly she felt a little hysterical. The fatal secret she had learned, the spectacular intrigues of Mr. Shei, even the scrawl in the dust seemed so trivial now that she felt an impulse to laugh. It was grotesque, she thought, that such a little thing as a couple of initials traced on the surface of a table should mean the blotting out of her life.
The house was very silent. No one had entered the room since Slade’s departure, and she had spent the intervening hours in a state of musing detachment. Her thoughts and fancies flitted about in circles, and she had a curious impression that only her mind was functioning and that her emotions were numb. The slanting rays of the sun glimmered pleasantly on the furniture and she wondered abstractedly whether she should ever see the sunlight of another day. She glanced down at her dress, trimmed with delicate touches of red, and the thought struck her that perhaps she was wearing it for the last time. It was odd, she mused, that the prospect held no terror for her, and that her only feeling was a sense of dull, aching void.
Voices in the hall outside started her out of her reverie. The Gray Phantom’s name, spoken in excited tones, sent an emotional quiver through her being and awoke her from her lethargy. Sensations, gentle and stimulating ones, stirred in the depths of her consciousness.
“The Gray Phantom,” she whispered, looking pensively at the door. He had inspired her with emotions that she had never been quite able to understand. At times they had terrified her by their strangeness and power, for she had felt as if they were rousing new impulses within her and sweeping her along toward an unknown destiny. His career, bright and swift as the flash of a meteor, had intrigued her imagination even while she felt awed and a little frightened at the stories she heard about him. Of late he had tried to throw off the shackles of the past and start a new life, and she had watched his efforts with a strange and bewildering sense of sponsorship.
The voices in the hall had ceased now, but the name that had been spoken was still echoing in her ears and vibrating against hidden cords in her consciousness. Of a sudden the prospect of death, which a few minutes before she had contemplated without fear, filled her with dread and poignant regrets. The mere mention of a name had inspired in her a vehement desire to live.
She tiptoed to the door. It did not surprise her that Slade had left it unlocked. The picket fence, the ferocious Cæsar, and the attendants made such a precaution unnecessary. She stepped out in the hall, then looked hesitantly about her, but she could see nothing of the men whose voices she had heard a few moments ago. At the end of the hall a door stood open, and she moved silently in that direction. Entering, she ran her eyes over long white benches on which were bottles, jars, and queer-looking apparatus. There was a reek of chemicals in the air, and she guessed it was a laboratory of some sort. It all seemed a little strange to her, but in the next moment her attention was engaged by voices coming through a partly open door at one side of the large room.
“Oh, it’s serious enough,” one of them was saying, and she instantly knew that the speaker was Slade. “The Gray Phantom is the only man alive who can queer Mr. Shei’s game.”
The words were spoken in a tone of reluctant respect that gave Helen a thrill. Coming from an enemy, it was a striking tribute to The Phantom’s genius and power.
“Ah, The Gray Phantom! I have heard the name. One of your fascinating master criminals, is he not?” The second man spoke with the exaggerated precision that characterizes the educated foreigner. “But why does The Gray Phantom interfere in the affairs of Mr. Shei?”
Slade chuckled grimly. “That’s hard to tell, Doctor Tagala. Perhaps for a number of reasons. Maybe he dislikes to see another man excel him at his own game. There’s such a thing as professional jealousy even among crooks, you know. All we know for certain is that he arrived in New York the day Mr. Shei’s notices were posted. One of our men saw him, and he was watched almost from the moment of his arrival. His actions indicated plainly that he had gone on the warpath against Mr. Shei. Confound the infernal meddler!”
“But Mr. Shei is a resourceful man,” observed Doctor Tagala. “He surely can devise some means whereby this impudent fellow may be restrained.”
“He has already done so. As you know, he motored back to New York early this morning, but I had a long-distance telephone conversation with him a few minutes ago. He made a very good suggestion, but the execution of it will have to be left to you.”
“To me?”
“You remember hearing me speak of the young lady who came here looking for The Gray Phantom. Her name is Helen Hardwick, and she is much too astute for her own good. She’s learned a number of things that won’t bear repeating, and among them is the identity of Mr. Shei. Of course, as soon as I found out how much she knew, I saw that she would have to be put out of the way, and I told Mr Shei so over the telephone. He over-ruled my plan; or, rather, he suggested an improvement.”
“What was it?”
“To let the young lady remain on earth five or six days longer; in other words, until Mr. Shei had cashed in his chips. You see, doctor, The Gray Phantom has quite a crush on the young lady, and he would rather go through hell fire than have a single hair on her head hurt.”
Helen felt the blood rushing to her head.
“I am beginning to comprehend,” remarked Doctor Tagala. “It is Mr. Shei’s plan to keep The Gray Phantom in check by threatening to inflict harm on the young lady. An excellent idea, but a trifle vague.”
“Oh, there’s nothing vague about it, and it involves something far more substantial than mere threats. Can’t you guess, doctor?”
There came an interval of silence. Evidently Doctor Tagala was exercising his imagination. Helen crept a little closer, then peered through the narrow crack between the door and the jamb. Only two or three feet from her, with his lips curled into a leer, sat Slade. Her eyes traveled a little farther until she saw Doctor Tagala, and suddenly she caught her breath. It required all her self-control to keep from betraying her presence. She had seen the face twice before, first in the Thelma Theater and later at the window of the room in which Slade had interviewed her shortly after her arrival at Azurecrest, and on each occasion the sight had given her a chill. The coarse and brutal features, framed by black hair that reached almost to the shoulders, stood out in sharp contrast to the man’s cultured speech and polished manners. Again, as she saw the brutish lips and the flaming eyes, she received an impression of something evil and loathsome. She leaned weakly against the wall, and then she heard again Doctor Tagala’s voice.
“I am very poor at making conjectures. You will have to enlighten me.”
“Well, then, Mr. Shei’s orders are that you are to inoculate the young lady with the laughing fever. You will calculate the dose just as you did in the cases of the seven millionaires. The Phantom will be told that the antidotes will be administered on the one condition that he goes back to his bailiwick and keeps his hands out of Mr. Shei’s affairs. That will keep him on his good behavior for a week, and by that time Mr. Shei will have cleaned up.”
“And the young lady?”
Slade laughed unpleasantly. “She knows too much, as I have already told you. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Much knowledge is apt to prove fatal. You will merely forget to administer the antidote when the time comes.”
Doctor Tagala gave a rumbling laugh. Helen felt a sudden chill. She leaned weakly against the wall. Inoculation with what Slade had called the laughing fever seemed far more dreadful than death itself.
“By the way, doctor,” Slade went on, “I hope the antidote is safely hidden?”
“You may rest assured on that point,” Tagala declared. “I have hidden it so securely that not even Mr. Shei knows where to find it.”
“Good. That being the case, our seven millionaire friends would be in a bad fix if a sudden misfortune should befall you.”
“Nothing on earth could save them,” said Tagala emphatically. “The secret is in my exclusive possession. No other man could diagnose the malady, much less prescribe a remedy. The lives of the seven gentlemen are absolutely in my hand.”
“Then there isn’t the slightest chance of Mr. Shei’s plans falling through?”
“Not the slightest. The seven gentlemen will pay Mr. Shei’s price, and within a week we shall all be rich beyond the dreams of avarice.” The gloating tones hinted that Doctor Tagala’s imagination was luxuriating in enchanting visions. “By the way, when do we inoculate the young lady?”
“Better wait till evening,” suggested Slade. “There will be less danger of interruption then.”
Helen turned away. She feared an involuntary cry of horror would betray her if she remained longer. Steadying herself with great difficulty, she stole out of the laboratory and slipped back into her room. Her watch showed half past five, and the inoculation would probably not take place for an hour or two. In the meantime she wanted to think and if possible find a way of escape, but the fierce pounding of the blood against her temples seemed to preclude clear thinking.
Her only distinct thought was that she must flee from Azurecrest no matter what dangers and difficulties she might encounter. She felt that The Gray Phantom would gladly fling his life away in order to protect her, but in this instance his hands were tied. He could not make a single move without rendering her predicament worse, and that fact would restrain him, much as he might rebel against his enforced inaction. Mr. Shei’s men would point out to him that her safety depended on an unresisting attitude on his part. He could not know what she had just learned from the conversation between Slade and Tagala, that it was their intention to take her life, anyway.
Somehow, she told herself, she must manage to escape from the horrors awaiting her at Azurecrest. Even being clawed and torn by the savage dog seemed preferable to the slightest touch of Doctor Tagala’s hand. She shuddered whenever her imagination conjured up a vision of his repelling features, and a hoarse cry rose in her throat at thought of being inoculated with the fearful malady. Miss Neville’s maniacal outbursts were still ringing in her ears, and she remembered the hideous strains that had poured from the lips of the dying woman in the Thelma Theater.
The recollections filled her with sickening terror. With ghastly visions floating before her eyes, she rushed blindly from the room. The hall was deserted, and she scurried down the stairs as if pursued by a monster. She reached the outer door without hindrance, and a flickering hope began to stir within her as she scanned the wide stretch of lawn surrounding the house. The long shadows cast by the trees gave her an additional sense of safety. Swiftly, without a backward glance, she started to run. Her hopes rose higher and higher as she plunged into the thick shadows among the trees. In a few moments now, if her flight remained unnoticed, she would have reached the fence. Somehow she would manage to scale it, or maybe she could find an opening somewhere.
She quickened her pace, but of a sudden a low, rumbling growl sent a chill through her veins. She stopped, stood crouching behind the scraggy trunk of a hemlock, and glanced wildly in all directions. With great leaps and skips, a huge, black form was rushing toward her, its teeth gleaming ominously between slavering jaws. In a few moments it would be at her throat, and then—— Once more a vision of Doctor Tagala’s repulsive features filled her with dread. Again she looked about her, then raced swiftly in the direction where the shadows were thickest. Behind her the underbrush crackled beneath the paws of the savage beast. In a moment or two he would be snapping at her heels.
Again hope rose within her. A squatty shed loomed within a narrow clearing. With the strength of frenzy she sped toward it. If she could reach it before the dog could overtake her, she would be temporarily safe. A great terror urged her on with the speed of the wind. Now the dog was snatching at the hem of her fluttering skirt, but she was already at the door. With a final exertion of strength she pushed it open and rushed in, then slammed it shut behind her. With a deep breath of relief she lurched against the wall. Suddenly she recoiled as from a blow.
“What are you doin’ here?” queried a gruff voice.
She stared into the dusk around her. A few wisps of waning sunlight straggled in through a small window in the rear. Gradually, as her eyes grew accustomed to the dusk, she descried a stocky figure leaning over a shovel. It was the sour-faced individual who had opened the gate for her on her arrival at Azurecrest. Little by little, as her pupils responded to the dim light, she took in each detail of the scene. An amazed gasp slipped from her lips.
An oblong space had been torn up in the center of the flooring and on each side of it were little mounds of dirt. Instinctively she stepped closer and looked down into a rectangular hollow. She had a weird sensation that she was looking into a grave, and with a shudder she glanced up into the man’s face.
“What—what’s that?” she asked hoarsely, indicating the hollow.
The man guffawed. “Better not ask questions, miss. This is a nasty job, and you’d better clear out.”
He looked aside just then, and she followed his glance. In a corner of the shed she saw a heap vaguely resembling a human form. Her feet seemed to drag her forward in spite of her horror, and she lifted the blanket that covered the figure. Then she stood rigid, her tightly drawn lips stifling the cry that rose in her throat. At once she recognized the features of Miss Neville, the woman whose maniacal laughter had startled her the night she arrived at Azurecrest. The face was white and rigid now, but the wraith of a ghastly smile lingered on her lips. A long, shuddering moan escaped her, and then she sank limply to the floor.
She had a weird sensation, during the hours that followed, that she was treading on the brink of oblivion. A merciful mist seemed to obscure everything. She was dimly aware of being carried from the shed and placed on a long, white table. Through the haze that engulfed her she glimpsed the repulsive features of Doctor Tagala. She felt a sting in the arm, and then a sickening substance raced through her veins. For a time she felt as though unseen hands were wafting her body through a limitless void. Somewhere—far away, she thought—there was laughter, and she had a curious impression that it was coming from her own lips.
Dawn came, and a flood of sunlight brightened the void through which she was roaming. The strange and wild fancies that had flitted around her throughout the night seemed to melt away, and now she saw things more clearly. She was standing at a telephone, and over the wire came a voice that sounded strangely familiar. Words poured from her lips, but they seemed futile and meaningless, and then an involuntary contraction of laryngeal muscles filled the room with wild strains of laughter. It frightened her, and just then a hand jerked her away.
“That’ll do,” said a voice, and she thought it was Slade’s. “The Gray Phantom has heard enough.”