The Gray Phantom's Return

by Herman Landon

  CHAPTER XIX--THE BIG STORY

  "How is your guest, Peng Yuen?" was the Phantom's first question afterentering the shop on Pell Street.

  The Chinaman's eyes widened. "The guest? Ah, yes, I remember. I thinkthe gentleman is well."

  "Has he telephoned anyone, or sent out any messages?"

  "No; he has remained in his room all the time. He asked me thismorning 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-coloredgarments, stepped to the wall with the softly gliding gaitcharacteristic of his race. He pressed a button, and the Phantom passedthrough an opening which instantly closed behind him.

  Granger, lying on a couch, looked up drowsily. The little room hadneither windows nor visible door. Air was wafted in through a mysteriousrecess in a corner of the ceiling, and a shaded lamp shed a greenishlight over the scene. The walls were covered with yellow satinembroidered with quotations from Chinese philosophers. On a tablestanding near the couch were the remnants of a breakfast.

  "Fairly comfortable, I see." The Phantom sat down. His glance, thoughseemingly casual, was taking in every detail of the reporter'sappearance, "How are you feeling?"

  "Rotten!" Granger rubbed his eyes and scowled disgustedly. "I asked thechink for something to drink, and he brought me a mess that tasted likevinegar and molasses. Then I dropped a hint that I would like somereading matter, and he handed me a book that put me to sleep before Ihad turned the first page. Say, how much longer are you going to sportmy clothes and wear my name?"

  "No longer than I have to. Your name suits me well enough, but ourtastes in clothes differ."

  Granger grinned. He was comfortably stretched out on his back and hiseyes were lazily studying the arabesques in the ceiling.

  "Anyhow, my clothes are harmless. That's more than can be said for myname. 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 thePhantom. "Because you went in for a lot of trouble when you annexed myidentity. I was pickled last night, and you took my breath away when youyanked off the mustache. Till then I hadn't had the faintest idea thatmy abductor was the Gray Phantom. If I hadn't been so flabbergasted Imight have given you a friendly tip."

  "A tip?"

  "To the effect that Tommie Granger was a marked man. I'll tell yousomething interesting if you promise not to fall out of the chair. I ama member of the Duke's gang."

  The Phantom's brows went up. For several hours he had been aware ofGranger's membership in the criminal organization, but the glibadmission surprised him. He had intended to pull the Duke'scommunication out of his pocket with a dramatic gesture and startle aconfession out of the reporter and he was wholly unprepared for thelatter's frank and voluntary avowal.

  "Surprised you, didn't it?" Granger chuckled as if mildly amused. "I canhardly get used to the idea myself. Membership in that gang ofcutthroats and grafters is nothing to be proud of, exactly. I've alwayshad a sneaking admiration for the Gray Phantom, but the Duke'sdifferent. He's smooth and artful enough, but he's made of coarserstuff."

  "Yet you are a member of his organization?"

  "Sounds contradictory, doesn't it? Well, since I have told you thebeginning, I'll have to tell you the rest. The cause of it all datesback to my birth. I came into the world with the face I'm wearingto-day, though it's undergone a process of beautification in theintervening years. You see, my face is the mainspring that hasdetermined most of my actions in recent years--some of the moreimportant ones, anyhow. I wouldn't be a newspaper man to-day if I hadbeen born with a different face."

  "I don't see the connection."

  "Let me tell you how it came about. On seven different occasions, and inas many different places, I have been mistaken for the Gray Phantom andput in durance vile. The clippings in my scrapbook tell all about it. Iwas in Cheyenne, Wyoming, the first time it happened, and after I hadsatisfied the police dunderheads as to my identity, the editor of one ofthe local papers asked me to write up my impressions while in jail andtell how it felt to be mistaken for a celebrity like the Gray Phantom. Idid, and that gave me a taste for newspaper work. The editor gave me ajob on the spot and I've----"

  "But what has all this to do with your membership in the Duke's gang?"interrupted the Phantom impatiently.

  "Everything. I've been plugging away at the newspaper game ever since Igot my start in Cheyenne. I never stayed long in a place, for I havesomething of a roving disposition and like change of scenery now andthen. My face got me in bad almost wherever I went. I had no soonerstruck a new town than some ambitious dick thought he saw a chance toget famous by pinching the Gray Phantom. Of course, that always meant astretch in the lock-up--anything from two days to a week. I used to lieawake nights imagining that I was in reality the Gray Phantom anddreaming of great criminal exploits. That got me interested in crime andcriminals, and I began making a study of the subject.

  "Finally, I drifted into New York and landed on the _Sphere_. One nightwhile prowling about the Chatham Square section I dropped into a Turkishcoffee house. It was a low joint, a hangout for thugs and thieves. Whilesipping my coffee I made a study of the different types around me. Onefellow interested me in particular. He was an evil-looking cuss, butthere was something about him that fascinated me. He looked somethinglike a Stevensonian pirate, and he had a great scar over his left eye.Presently I began to notice that he was looking my way now and then, andfinally I motioned to him to come and sit beside me. We talked inwhispers, like everybody else in the joint, and by and by he asked me ifI 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 sameplace. The fellow piqued my curiosity, and I tried to draw him outwhenever I had a chance. I knew he would shut up like a clam if I toldhim my profession, so I let him think I was a crook, though I didn't gointo details. We met night after night, and each time we were moreconfidential. I could tell he had something on his mind that he didn'tknow just how to put into words, and of course, I did my best to leadhim on. He approached the subject by slow and easy stages, dropping acautious hint now and then. Finally, when he had convinced himself thatI was to be trusted, he told me he belonged to a big criminal band andasked me if I would like to join."

  "So that's how you happened to become a member of the Duke'sorganization?" observed the Phantom.

  "To cut a long story short, that was the way it happened. I thought Icould work the salamander stunt--play with fire without getting burned.The idea of getting on the inside of a big gang of crooks and studyingits members at close quarters appealed to me. Aside from that, I saw achance to turn up a big story for my paper, for it was my intention toget the goods on the gang and, eventually, hand it over to the police.But"--and a rueful smile wrinkled Granger's face--"I soon discoveredthat one can't play with fire without getting scorched."

  "That explains," mumbled the Phantom thoughtfully, at the same timeextending the communication handed him by the Duke's messenger. "There'sa 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 alongand borrowed my clothes and name. I wasn't really a traitor, though. Imerely refused to obey certain orders they gave me."

  "You might have known that you would be expected to take part in thegang'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 Iwanted. You see, I was hoping they wouldn't ask me to do any of therough stuff till I had been a member for a while. I soon discovered mymistake."

  "And so the big story will never materialize?"

  "I'm afraid it won't. My obituary is the only kind of story that'slikely to grow out of
this adventure of mine. The Duke's crew doesn'tstand for any nonsense. I've been told that members who don't obeyorders usually disappear under mysterious circumstances. I never gotnext to the inner circle of the gang. I suppose they didn't trust mebecause I took a drink too many now and then. Anyhow, I didn't get thestuff I was after. I was a sort of probationer, reporting to one of thebig chief's lieutenants, and I didn't get as much as a glimpse of theinner sanctum."

  "Too bad, Granger." The disappointment written on the reporter's faceseemed so ludicrous that the Phantom could not repress a smile. "Maybeit 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 jumpedup and stared in dumfounded amazement at the Phantom.

  "Why do you ask?" he inquired hoarsely, after a pause during which eachman looked the other straight in the eye.

  "Answer my question and I'll tell you my reason for asking it."

  Granger swallowed hard. "Has anything happened to Miss Hardwick?"

  "She has disappeared. Left her home two days ago and hasn't been heardfrom 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," hedeclared, speaking in thick accents, "but I haven't the least idea whereshe is."

  "Well, what do you think has happened to her?"

  "She's been kid--kidnaped." As if to steady his nerves, Granger pickedup a cigarette and lighted it.

  "How do you know that?"

  "Because I"--Granger drew in a whiff of smoke--"because I know theDuke'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 likethat. It was my refusal to do as they told me that got me in bad withthe gang."

  The Phantom's blood was slowly receding from his face. For a moment hesat rigid, lips tightly compressed, as if stunned. "Why did the Duke'scrowd want Miss Hardwick kidnaped?"

  "That I can't tell you. The leaders simply issue orders; they neverexplain their motives. I haven't the faintest idea what their reason forabducting Miss Hardwick could be."

  Silence fell between them. The Phantom's steely gaze continued to searchthe other's face. Though evidently shocked by the news of MissHardwick's disappearance, the reporter did not once lower his eyes.

  "They must have got somebody else to do it after I refused," hemuttered, slowly getting a grip on himself. "Wish I had a drink."

  The Phantom was hardly listening. His knitted brows told that his mindwas struggling with a problem.

  "Know an officer named Pinto?" he asked abruptly.

  "I think I've heard of him."

  The Phantom gave a brief summary of his adventures since arriving in thecity. Granger listened attentively, his eyes expressing a mingling ofastonishment and admiration. They opened wide as the narrator describedthe scene in the storeroom and Pinto's peculiar behavior, and hechuckled appreciatively 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 onlyputs a few extra kinks in the mystery."

  The Phantom nodded thoughtfully. "How well 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. Ireferred her to Doctor Bimble."

  "So she told me."

  "Bimble is a nut, but he has done several brilliant things along linesof criminology. I was busy the day Miss Hardwick called me up, and I gota 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 hadbeen asked to kidnap. Well, I thought the easiest way to dispose of herwas to suggest that she see Bimble."

  The Phantom looked puzzled. "You never saw Miss Hardwick, and you havetalked with her only over the telephone," he murmured. "That being thecase, I wonder why Pinto asked me, while we were in the storeroom thismorning, if I knew what had become of Miss Hardwick."

  "Rumor has it that a romantic attachment exists between Miss Hardwickand 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 Iwas the Gray Phantom. He still thought I was Thomas Granger. It was myway of responding to the question that aroused his suspicions. Now, hemust have had some reason for supposing that Thomas Granger knewsomething of what had happened to Miss Hardwick."

  Granger considered. "Miss Hardwick may have told him about consultingme. But I think it just as likely that Pinto was playing a bit of cleverstrategy--that he had already suspected your identity and sprung thatquestion about Miss Hardwick in the hope that you would betrayyourself."

  "Perhaps." The reporter's theory seemed so natural that the Phantomwondered why it had not occurred to him before. "If that was hispurpose, the trick worked beautifully. Tell me, was it before or afterthe murder of Gage that the Duke's men came to you with the kidnapingproposition?"

  Granger stared hard for an instant; then a glint of admiration appearedin his eyes. "Gray Phantom, you ought to have been a detective. That'sas neat a piece of mental acrobatics as I've seen in many a day. Theproposal came to me a few days before Gage was murdered."

  "But the two plots might have been hatched simultaneously?"

  "They might. I see what you are driving at. You think the two plots wererelated 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, ofcourse, are going on the presumption 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 butPinto could have committed the murder. You believe that after killingGage he murdered the housekeeper in order to silence her. Pinto's queerconduct, especially the stunt he pulled off in the storeroom thismorning, is sufficient proof, to your way of thinking, and you base yourentire 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 inthe _Sphere_ that you did not share the generally accepted opinion."

  Granger looked up quickly. "The devil you did! I didn't mean to air myprivate opinions. It must have been a subconscious process. To beperfectly frank, I don't know whether I agree with you or not. I have anidea of my own on the subject, but it's vague as yet. Maybe I'll tellyou later."

  The Phantom shrugged his shoulders. "The mystery of the murders doesn'tinterest me particularly just at present. Granger, if you were in myposition, how would you go about finding Miss Hardwick?"

  The reporter considered for a long time. "My first step would be to getin touch with the Duke's gang and try to ascertain where Miss Hardwickis being concealed. That's a large order, and you will find it fairlyexciting. The Duke, I've been told, hates you as he never hated anyonebefore, and he's almost as dangerous behind prison bars as outside. Hefroths at the mouth whenever he mentions your name to the otherprisoners. Your borrowed personality won't give you a great deal ofprotection, 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 theGray 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 peeredreflectively at the man on the couch; then an idea came to him. "How didthe heads of the organization communicate with you? To whom did youreport 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 thereabout 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 whatextremes you are willing to go in order to get a good story for yourpaper. The capture of the Gray Phantom would make an even bigger storythan the one you were after. I can't quite trust you, Granger. You loveyour liquor not wisely but too well, and you're likely to give the showaway. Besides, it wouldn't do for us two to be seen together."

  "That's so," said Granger resignedly. "Well, anyhow, you might send mesomething for a bracer."

  The Phantom promised to try. He got up and rapped on the wall, eyeingGranger steadily as he stepped through the opening that appeared as ifby magic. But the reporter, evidently realizing that any attempt toescape would be useless, made no move.

  An opium lamp was sizzling in a corner of the room. At a table sat PengYuen, his face as impassive as granite. If he had overheard any part ofthe conversation he showed no sign of it.

  "You need food and sleep," he remarked tonelessly, pointing to thetable, 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 acceptedthe Chinaman's hospitality. As he ate, Peng Yuen regarded him stolidlywhile he smoked his acrid pipe of li-un. He did not speak until thePhantom had finished his meal.

  "'The Book of the Unknown Philosopher,'" he remarked, without lookingdirectly at his guest, "says that the overwise sometimes go far afieldin search of truths that may be found at home."

  The Phantom looked up, bewildered. "I suppose there is a priceless gemof wisdom hidden somewhere in that sentence, but I don't see how it canapply to me."

  The Chinaman gave a queer laugh, half chuckle and half grunt, and deepin the almond-shaped eyes lurked a faint, shrewd twinkle.