The Grey Phantom's Romance

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 810, 2 November 1929, Page 24

The Grey Phantom's Romance

THE ASTONISHING ADVENTURES OF A LOVABLE OUTLAW

COPYRIGHT BY STREET AND SMITH COUP SERIALISED BY LEDGER SYNDICATE

CHAPTER XXl.—Continued

The Phantom made another alight 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 ocurred 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. In 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. Culligore, momentarily taken aback by the Phantom’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 basement, and the Phantom heard him muttering to himself as he picked his way through the gloom. After a few moments’ search the Phantom’s fingers found the tiny rift in the brick surface that marked the location of the door. Culligore, evidently 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 pictured the lieutenant's discomfiture.

He had no fear that Culligore would find his hiding-place. The door was so carefully concealed 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 indefinitely, and escape through the other end was impossible, 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 favour. 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 indeed. Even if the searchers should not find his hiding 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. Iu a moment he knew what it was; a faint current of air w. C stirring in the tunnel. At first he could not understand, for he was certain that both exits were closed, and the tube itself was airtight. He worked deeper into the tunnel, trying to trace the mysterious current to its origin, and presently it came to him. that, through some unaccountable 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 Culligore must have discovered that his quarry had in some inexplicable way escaped from the basement. Perhaps he was even now cursing himself for his vainglorious boast that he would take the Grey 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 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 slightest 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 XXII. 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 certain 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 remembered the slight sound that had told him of the opening of the door to the laboratory while he was fencing for time with Culligore. Someone had looked down on them from the head of the stairs, remaining 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 the plan had been to attack him as he came out of the passage. Again a board gave forth a slight creak, signifying 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 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! ” “Weil?”

"Hear anything of him yet?” "Not a sound. Suppose he shouldn’t come out at all, Toots?”

The whispering voices were unrecognisable, and the names were not illuminating, hut 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 Dr. Bimble and Jerome. It was even possible that they had trailed the Phantom to the anthropologist’s residence.

Again the man named Toots spoke. “I don’t like this job a little hit. The Phantom’s a bad customer —a regular devil.” “But we’ve got him this time. He’ll come this way as soon as he notices the draught. He won’t be suspecting a thing, and all we’ve got to do is to grab him. It’ll be as easy as picking a banana out of the peeling.”

Toots was silent for a time. Evidently he stood in great awe of the Phantom. “What about the dick?” "Oh, he’s taken care of. The boss is handling him. No danger of his butting 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 attacked 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 tho lay, Slim?” Toots was asking. “Why is the big chief so allfired 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 thinking 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 getting tired of waiting.” “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 at all is how the ‘skirt’ Jiggers 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 suppose 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?”

“Say, ask me somethin’ easy. The boss don’t tell me his secrets.” The Phantom felt a twinge of disappointment. Toots’s 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 sentinels.

Bracing his shoulders against the wall of the passage, he drew his electric flash from his pocket. His right hand was already gripping the pistol. Holding 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 darkness. 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 startled eyes stared at him for a moment, and in that brief space of time the Phantom acted. His foot 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 movement, the Phantom jerked himself forward, dropping his legs over the, sill, and iii another moment he was standing inside the room. He stooped, ran his fingers over the floor and recovered the electric 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 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 remarked -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 without making the slightest sound, he advanced toward the door. Now he reached out a hand, fumbled for a moment in the darkness, until he lightly touched one of Toots's 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 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 reasonably 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 realisation 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 gaolers. 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 organisation 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 for strong drink, had given the Phantom the feeling that he was not to be trusted. Those two 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. *ln 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 iu your eyes,” he observed as he conducted his guest into the den. “Is it the little Lotus Bud who is troubling the Grey Phantom? The 'Book of the Unknown Philosopher’ says ” The Phantom interrupted him with a short laugh. “Peng Yuen, for a man who doesn’t read the newspapers you are surprisingly well informed. I have come to have a talk with my double.”

The Chinaman regarded him stonily. Two inconse sticks, burningbefore 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.

play of my career. lam 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 behind 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 conditions.

| “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 happens to me I want you to take up the search where I left off. Above all else you are to get Miss Hardwick 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 masquerade a while longer. lam 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 fingerprints, and you will have to explain why you have shed your gaudy feathers. If we have a bit of luck we'll pull off a stunt that the. police won’t forget in many a day. They’ll be so busy explaining their own mistakes and blunders that they won’t ask many questions.” 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-consuming 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 Lunu. 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?” “X 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. f don’t know his name, and I’ve never seen him. Through underground 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?”