The Gray Phantom's Return

by Herman Landon

  CHAPTER XIV--THOMAS GRANGER

  Slowly and with difficulty the intoxicated man straightened himself andlooked unsteadily at his companion. They were in a dark street and theirfaces were indistinct.

  "Shay," demanded the tipsy one, "thish ish my cab. Get out!"

  "Now, Granger," replied the Phantom with a chuckle, "you surely don'tmind giving a fellow a lift? By the way, where do you think you aregoing?"

  "Home, but----"

  "You forgot to tell the driver your address."

  "Dam' the driver! He ought to know enough--hic--to take a fellow homewhen 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--hic--whenever I feel like it. Know where toget the sh-stuff, too. Alwaysh carry a bottle on my hip. Want a drink?"

  "Never touch it. Thanks, just the same. What was the matter back at theoffice? They were treating you rather roughly."

  Granger seemed to recall a grievance. He made an effort to draw himselfup. "I inshulted the city editor and--hic--he told the watchman tobounce me. I alwaysh inshult people when I'm soused. Did I ever inshultyou?"

  "Not yet, Granger."

  "Maybe I will shome day. Shay, tell the cabby to turn back. I wanta goback 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 tellyou! Hey, cabby, reversh the current."

  Granger sprang from the seat, lurched against the side of the cab, andwould have hurled himself against the pavement had not the Phantomjerked him back. The drunken man lunged out with arms and legs, but hesubsided quickly as he felt something hard pressing against his chest.

  "Cut out the nonsense!" The Phantom spoke firmly and incisively. "I haveyou covered, and I won't stand for any foolishness."

  The touch of steel against his ribs seemed to have a sobering effect onGranger. For a few moments he stared sulkily at his companion, then hesettled himself against the cushion, and his mind appeared to be gropingits way out of stupefying fumes. The cab was pursuing a zigzagging routethrough crooked and dimly lighted streets, the jehu having beeninstructed to drive at random until he received further orders. ThePhantom's mind worked quickly while he pressed the pistol against hiscaptive'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, butthe trip would consume too much time, to say nothing of the risksinvolved. Doctor Bimble's house? The Phantom shook his head even as theidea occurred to him. The anthropologist was too erratic a man toinspire confidence, and the Phantom needed someone whom he could trustabsolutely.

  Presently he felt Granger's eyes on his face. The cool night air,together with the steady pressure of the pistol, was rapidly driving thealcoholic vapors from the reporter's brain, and now he was subjectinghis captor to a blinking, unsteady scrutiny, as if he were justbeginning 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, whyshould I be pinching you?"

  "For being drunk and disorderly and carrying a bottle on my hip."

  "Those heinous crimes don't interest me. Anyhow, I understandjournalists are more or less privileged persons. I am merely taking youto a safe place, where you won't go around insulting people and gettingyour head smashed."

  Granger fell into a moody silence, and the Phantom thought he detectedsigns of a growing uneasiness about his captive. Evidently the period ofdepression that follows artificial stimulation was already setting in.Because of the darkness and his befuddled state of mind, the reporterhad not yet recognized the man at his side, but his gaze was taking on akeener edge and would soon penetrate the thin disguise afforded by themustache. The Phantom felt the need of a quick decision.

  A clock struck one. In scrupulous obedience to his orders the jehu wasurging 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 theywere crossing Mott Street and were not far from the heart of oldChinatown. A recollection flashed through his mind, and in its wake camean idea.

  "Stop," he called through the trap. The hansom jolted to the curb andhalted. The street was silent and the sidewalks, as far as eyes couldreach, were deserted. There was a thin, lazy drizzle in the air and theatmosphere was a trifle heavy.

  "Listen, Granger," he spoke sharply. "We are getting out here, but Iintend to keep you covered every instant. The slightest sound or theleast false move will cost you your life. Is that clear?"

  The reporter's response was surly, but the Phantom knew that his warninghad had the effect he desired. Holding the pistol with one hand, he tookout his wallet with the other and selected a bill. Then he stepped downon the curb, ordering the reporter to follow.

  "Here, cabby." He extended the bill, which, with the other the Phantomhad previously given him, was surely enough to make the jehu forget anylittle 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 lifedepends on the success of this little undertaking. I'll shoot you theinstant you show the least intention to spoil my plan. Understand?"

  Granger nodded, seemingly convinced that he was dealing with a desperateman and that, for the time at least, it behooved him to obey orders andask 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 appearance of steadying a slightly incapacitated friend.

  They approached the center of Chinatown, keeping in the shadows wheneverpossible. Granger was sullenly silent, and he seemed to be hoping andwatching for a sign of relaxing vigilance on his captor's part. ThePhantom understood, and as they left the shelter of darkness and turnedthe corner at Pell Street, he pressed the pistol a little harder againstthe reporter's armpit.

  A slumberous gloom hung over the district, as if the famous old quarterwere brooding over memories of a lurid past, when terror stalked insubterranean crypts and strange scenes were enacted under cover ofOriental splendor. There were a few stragglers in the streets and someof the shops and restaurants were lighted; but, on the whole, thesection presented a dull and lifeless appearance. The Phantom scannedthe signs and numbers as he hurried along with his captive, keeping thelatter close to his side, and constantly on the alert against lurkingdangers.

  Finally he stopped before one of the smaller establishments and, afterdescending a few steps, knocked on the basement door. Signs paintedacross the window in Chinese and English announced that the place wasoccupied by Peng Yuen, dealer in Oriental goods. Once, years ago, whilethe district was ripped and rocked by one of its frequent tong wars, thePhantom had chanced to do Peng Yuen a great favor, and the Chinaman hadsworn undying gratitude and promised to show his appreciation in apractical way if the opportunity should ever come. A strange friendshiphad developed, and Peng Yuen, though wily and rascally in his dealingswith others, had impressed the Phantom as a man whom he could safelytrust.

  The front of the store was dark, but through an open door in the rearcame a shaft of light. As he waited, the Phantom threw an uneasy glanceup and down the street. Luck had been with him so far, but the tensionwas beginning to tell on his nerves.

  A puny figure crossed the path of light, then the door opened a fewinches, and the two arrivals were given a keen, slant-eyed scrutiny. ThePhantom knew a little Chinese, and a few words spoken in that tongue hada magic effect on the man inside. With a curious obeisance, he drew backand motioned them to enter. The Phantom, pushing his quarry ahead of himthrough the door, spoke a few more words in Chinese, and their hostpointed invitingly to the door in the rear.

  The three entered, and Peng Yuen, arrayed in straw-colored garmentsembroidered with black bats, sho
t the bolt. His face was as impassive asthat of the image of Kuan-Yin _pu tze_ which stood on a shelf over alacquered teak-wood cabinet, and he was so slight of stature that itseemed as though a puff of wind would have blown him to the land of hisancestors. The air in the little den was heavy with scents of the East.

  The light, filtering through shades of green and rose, gave Granger hisfirst clear view of the Phantom's face. With a start he fell back a stepand stared at his captor out of gradually widening eyes. The last signsof stupor fled from his face, and a startled cry rose in his throat asthe Phantom smilingly snatched the false mustache from his lips.

  The Chinaman, standing with arms folded across his chest, viewed thescene with supreme indifference. Granger slowly ran his hand across hisforehead, 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.

  "The--the Gray Phantom!" he muttered shakily, wetting his lips andfalling 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 youknow they are accusing me of murder?"

  "So?" said Peng Yuen in his slow, precise English. "I did not know. Inever read the newspapers."

  "Then, of course, you are not aware that the police are conducting alively search for me?"

  "My friend," said the Chinaman, unimpressed, "I have told you that I donot read the papers."

  The Phantom searched the almond-shaped eyes for a sign of a twinkle, butfound none.

  "Peng Yuen, you are lying like a gentleman. It grieves me to shattersuch beautiful ignorance, but it must be done. I did not commit themurder of which I am accused. For reasons of my own I desire to find themurderer and hand him over to the police. I am seriously handicapped bythe interest the authorities are taking in me, which makes it unsafe forme to move a single step. I have thought of a ruse by which thatobstacle may be removed."

  The Chinaman lifted his brows inquiringly.

  "This gentleman," continued the Phantom, indicating the inebriate, "isMr. 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 asatisfactory account of himself, of course, and his finger printsquickly convinced the authorities they had made a mistake. They are notlikely to make that kind of mistake a second time. You follow me, PengYuen?"

  The ghost of a grin flickered across the Chinaman's face. "Your words,my friend, have their roots in eternal wisdom."

  "Thanks for that kind thought, Peng Yuen. I knew you would see thepoint. Granger has seen it, too, though his mind is not functioning withits usual brilliance to-night. He has consented to disappear for a fewdays and has agreed to let me borrow his identity in the meantime. Asthe Gray Phantom I can scarcely move a step. In the role of ThomasGranger, 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, together with a warninglook, quickly silenced the protests on Granger's lips. After a fewmoments of fidgeting and indecision, he accepted the situation with agood-natured grin, as if its humorous side had appealed to him.

  "Excellent!" drawled the Phantom. "I knew you would be reasonable. Nowwe 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 afew minutes the two had exchanged garments. The reporter was addicted tovivid hues and extreme designs. At first the Phantom felt a trifleuncomfortable in the strange garb, but he knew it was necessary to therole he was assuming. He studied the reporter carefully while he took anumber of tubes and vials from his case. Granger was a younger man, hiseyes were of a slightly different hue from the Phantom's, and there wereother differences which were easily discernible to the keen eye.

  The Phantom, viewing himself in a cheval glass, daubed a dark tint overthe gray at his temples. With an occasional backward glance at thereporter, he dappled his cheeks with a faintly chromatic powder, traceda tiny line on each side of the mouth, poured a little oil on his hairand patted it till it lay smooth and sleek against his head, performingeach touch with such a delicate skill that, though the resemblance wasgreatly enhanced, there was scarcely a suggestion of make-up.

  "What do you think, Peng Yuen?" he inquired, turning from the chevalglass.

  A look of admiration came into the Chinaman's usually woodenlike face.Even the voice was Granger's. The expression around the mouth and theeyes and the characteristic set of the shoulders were adroitly imitated,and already the Phantom had picked up several of the reporter'smannerisms.

  "It is good," murmured Peng Yuen, putting the maximum of approval intothe minimum of words.

  The Phantom was beginning to show signs of restlessness. He glanced athis watch, then fixed the Chinaman with a penetrating look.

  "Peng Yuen," he said, "in the good old days there were hiding places onthese premises where people could disappear."

  "It may be so." The Chinaman's face was expressionless. "I do notrecollect."

  But even as he spoke, a touch of his fingers produced an opening in thewall. The Phantom motioned, and with a shrug of the shoulders thereporter stepped through the aperture. A moment later a sliding panelhad shut him from view.

  "The Phantom has disappeared," mumbled the Chinaman. "Except when Ibring him food and drink, I will forget that he exists. Going so soon,Mr. Granger?" The bogus journalist grinned as he gripped Peng Yuen'sthin, weazened hand. He squeezed it until the Chinaman winced, thenhurried out into the dark, dripping night, turning his steps in thedirection of the house on East Houston Street.