The Gray Phantom's Return

by Herman Landon

  CHAPTER XX--THE MISSING SKELETONS

  Dusk was falling as the Phantom, refreshed by Peng Yuen's excellentcooking and several hours of sound sleep, left the shop in Pell Streetand cautiously picked his way through the reek and noise of the Chinesequarter. He still felt a twinge of apprehension whenever he thought ofHelen Hardwick, but his nerves were steady once more, and he had thespringy step and the clear, alert eye of the man who feels sure of hisability to meet any emergency.

  His fears were allayed somewhat by the comforting thought that Helen wasas capable and keen-witted as she was reckless and audacious. She waswhat the Phantom termed a thoroughbred. She had nerve, spirit, andsubtlety, and on several occasions she had evinced an amazing capacityfor handling a difficult situation. Besides, she had a robust vitalityand an athletic physique that in no wise marred her womanly charms.

  The Phantom walked slowly, turning the complex situation over in hismind, for it was still too early to go to the coffee house in CatharineStreet. At a corner news stand he bought an evening paper, glancing atthe headlines as he walked along. The murder of the housekeeper wasgiven glaring prominence because of the general belief that it had beenperpetrated by the Gray Phantom. The motives ascribed to him weresomewhat sketchy, but the police seemed convinced that he was bent on acampaign of terror, and there was anxious speculation as to where hisbloodstained hand would appear next. In the meantime, the search wasbeing continued at fever heat, and the detective bureau expected to makean important announcement within a few hours.

  The Phantom smiled as he read. He had expected that the death of thehousekeeper would be charged to him, and he had drawn fortitude from thefirm belief that in a short time he would prove his innocence.

  The odd predicament in which Pinto had been found was describedfacetiously and at great length. The paper treated it as a mystery thatmight not be solved until the officer, who had been taken to a hospitalsuffering from a severe concussion of the brain, recoveredconsciousness. His partner in the droll situation had stubbornly refusedto render any explanation, and was being held for investigation pendingPinto's recovery. He had an unsavory record, according to the police,and was known in the underworld as "Dan the Dope."

  The Phantom was satisfied. From Dan the Dope he had nothing to fear, andPinto, even if he were inclined to tell what he knew, would not be ableto speak for some time. He was passably safe as far as the police wereconcerned, and a little extra caution and vigilance would checkmate thedesigns of the Duke's henchman. As far as he was able to tell, neitherside suspected that the Gray Phantom was masquerading as Thomas Granger.

  He had still more than an hour to while away, and a hazy thought in theback of his mind guided his steps in the direction of Doctor Bimble'shouse. Everything seemed to indicate that Helen had disappeared shortlyafter leaving the anthropologist's laboratory, and he might be able topick up some clew in the neighborhood that would help him to trace hermovements. He looked about him cautiously as he walked along, surmisingthat the vicinity was being watched by spies of the Duke.

  At the corner nearest the Bimble residence he turned into a cigar storeand purchased a package of cigarettes. He loitered near the door whilesmoking one, amusing himself by studying the faces of the passers-by,and presently a tall, angular figure approached from the other end ofthe block. At a glimpse the Phantom had recognized the inscrutablefeatures of Jerome, the anthropologist's servant. The man walkedhurriedly, looking straight ahead, and in a few moments he was out ofsight.

  A vagrant impulse told the Phantom to start in pursuit of him and seewhither he was bound, but he realized that he had no reason for doingso. He had sensed something mysterious about Bimble and his servant, buthis interest in them was little more than an idle curiosity. If he hadany suspicions at all, they were of the intangible and intuitive sortand afforded him no basis for action.

  After a few minutes another figure appeared down the block, and thePhantom pressed close to the wall at his back. Even at a distance herecognized the enormous head, the jutting stomach, and the absurdly thinlegs of Doctor Bimble. With a beatific smile on his face, and lookingneither to right nor left, the anthropologist walked past him, evidentlybound in the same direction as his servant.

  Again the Phantom felt an instinctive urge to follow. It struck him asrather queer that master and servant had not come out together, but thenhe told himself that the circumstance was probably meaningless and thathis imagination was magnifying trifles. He crossed to the opposite sideof the street and turned east, scanning the dark front of the Bimblehouse as he strolled along.

  Coming directly opposite the residence, he paused in the doorway of adelicatessen store and looked across the street, scrutinizing the gloomyand unprepossessing dwelling with an interest for which he could notaccount. It seemed strange that Doctor Bimble should have chosen such anunattractive location, but he remembered that the scientist had saidsomething about wishing to live in an out-of-the-way place where hewould be safe against intrusions on his privacy and where he couldconduct his researches in peace and quiet.

  The house, flanked by a lodging house on one side and on the other by athree-story structure of residential appearance, whose boarded-upwindows and doors hinted that it had stood vacant for some time, wasdark from attic to basement. Presumably Doctor Bimble and his man wereout for the evening. The house and its neighbors on each side held thePhantom's gaze with a persistence that he could not understand. Hesensed an incongruity of some kind, and for a while he tried in vain toanalyze it. Finally, as he centered his attention on the building to thewest, the one with the boarded windows and doors, it came to him. Itseemed strange that a structure of that kind should be standing vacantin the midst of a housing famine, when even the least desirabledwellings commanded extravagant prices.

  The Phantom laughed, a little disgusted with himself for allowinganother meaningless trifle to perplex him. As likely as not the housewas vacant for the simple and sufficient reason that it had beencondemned by the building commissioner. His gaze wandered to the door ofthe Bimble residence, and a disturbing thought caused the chuckle to diein his throat.

  Only the other day Helen Hardwick had walked out of that door, heremembered, and from that moment on her movements were veiled behind acurtain of mystery. Which way had she turned, what had happened to her,and where was she now? Had she been forcibly abducted as she steppedfrom the house, or had someone lured her into a trap?

  There had been nothing about her disappearance in the newspaper thePhantom had just read, and he surmised that Mr. Hardwick had used whatinfluence he had to keep the matter out of the press. The door acrossthe street still held his gaze; and of a sudden, out of the jumble ofhis fears and perplexities, came another harassing thought.

  What if Helen had never walked out of the door across the way? What ifshe should still be inside the house?

  The Phantom's eyes narrowed as the suspicion came to him. It wasgroundless, so far as he could see, and there was no reasoning behindit. It had come out of nowhere, like a stray figment of the imagination,yet it tormented him with an insistence that he could not shake off.

  He walked to the end of the block, then crossed the street and moved upthe side on which the Bimble house stood. There were a few pedestriansin the street, and to attempt to force the main door might prove unsafe.The basement entrance was dark, and in a moment, concealed by theshadows, he was at work on the lock. It yielded so easily to his deftmanipulation that he could understand how the prowlers of whom Bimblehad complained had managed to enter the house.

  Pulling the door shut, he took out his electric flash, determined tosettle his suspicions by making a systematic search of the house. Heproceeded swiftly but with care, searching every nook and cranny andoccasionally tapping the walls and floors to make sure there were nohollow spaces. He explored cellar and basement without finding anythingof suggestive nature, then walked up the same stairway he had ascendedafter his first trip through the tunnel.

  He was now in the laboratory,
sweeping floor and walls with the electrictorch. At first glance it looked exactly as it had when Helen met him atthe head of the stairs with a leveled pistol, yet he sensed a differencealmost at once. His eyes flitted over the long workbench with itscollection of chemical apparatus, over the black-framed photographs andX-ray prints, and then he glanced at the tall cages along the wall, inwhich the skeletons stood, erect and grim as ghostly sentinels.

  It was then his mind grasped the difference. On his first visit therehad been at least a dozen skeletons in the room; now he counted onlyseven. The famous Raschenell, to whom Bimble had pointed with so muchpride, was among the missing ones. He paused only for a moment to wonderwhat had become of the others, for Bimble and the servant might returnat any time and interrupt his search, and he wished to be at the Turkishcoffee house not later than half past ten.

  He inspected room after room, but without result, finally mounting tothe attic and making the same thorough investigation there. He had foundnothing whatever to reward him for his efforts. He came to theconclusion that his suspicions had been entirely unfounded, for if theyhad had any basis in fact his investigation would have uncovered someclew or hint pointing in that direction. One thing had beenaccomplished, however, was his reflection as he walked down the stairs.He had eliminated Doctor Bimble from the range of his suspicions andwould waste no more time and effort trying to explain the eccentricitiesof a scientist.

  Deciding to leave the way he had entered, he crossed the laboratory andmoved toward the stairs. With his hand on the doorknob, he looked backand once more let his electric torch play over the floor and walls.Again, without exactly knowing why, he counted the cages, vaguelyfeeling that there was a hidden significance in the depletion of thegrisly company.

  Finally, he extinguished his flash and resolutely turned away. Again hewas berating himself for bothering his mind over trivial things.Doubtless Doctor Bimble had a sound and simple reason for removing anumber of the skeletons. As he walked down the basement stairs heresolved to banish the anthropologist and his collection from histhoughts.

  An odd sense of apprehension took hold of him as he reached the bottomstep. He looked about him sharply; the darkness was so thick that hecould see nothing. He pricked up his ears and listened, but he coulddetect no sound except those coming from the street. Yet he had afeeling that he was not alone, that another being was lurking somewherein the darkness. It was a familiar sensation and he had learned to heedits warning, for he had experienced it before in moments of danger.

  He stepped down on the floor, at the same instant reaching for thepistol he had taken from Dan the Dope. Before he could draw the weapon avoice spoke sharply:

  "Stay right where you are, friend!"

  Then a click sounded, followed by a blaze of light. He turned quickly inthe direction whence the voice had come. He saw the glint of a pistolbarrel pointed toward him with a steady hand, and behind the pistolstood Lieutenant Culligore.