The Gray Phantom's Return

by Herman Landon

  CHAPTER XXIII--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. Awatcher--or were there two?--was standing just inside the window,guarding the exit. The discovery nettled him, for it meant the loss ofprecious seconds, but he thanked the warning instinct that had promptedhim to muffle his movements. It had probably saved him from anunexpected attack in the dark.

  Warily he reached for the pistol in his hip pocket. He was stilllistening, and now he was almost certain that two watchers were standingclose to the window sill. Doubtless they were armed and ready to springupon him the moment he betrayed himself, and his awkward position wouldmake it extremely difficult for him to defend himself.

  He turned the situation over in his mind while he waited. It had been atrap, of course. He remembered the slight sound that had told him of theopening of the door to the laboratory while he was fencing for time withCulligore. Someone had looked down on them from the head of the stairs,remaining there long enough to take in the situation and decide on acourse of action. Doubtless he had suspected that the Phantom would makean attempt to reach the tunnel, his only avenue of escape, and the planhad been to attack him as he came out of the passage.

  Again a board gave forth a slight creak, signifying that one of thesentinels was growing impatient. The Phantom was in a cramped positionand, with his feet above his head, he would be at a decided disadvantagein a fight. He could still use his pistol, but to do so would bedangerous, 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 thewatchers at the window spoke in a whisper.

  "'Slim!'"

  "Well?"

  "Hear anything of him yet?"

  "Not a sound. Suppose he shouldn't come out at all, 'Toots'?"

  "What's in has got to come out. He'll come acrawlin' this way by 'n' by.Don't you worry."

  The whispering voices were unrecognizable, and the names were notilluminating, but the Phantom did not think that the speakers wereofficers. More likely they were members of the Duke's band and hadgained entrance to the house during the absence of Doctor Bimble andJerome. It was even possible that they had trailed the Phantom to theanthropologist's residence.

  Again the man named Toots spoke. "I don't like this job a little bit.The Phantom's a bad customer--a reg'lar devil."

  "But we've got him this time. He'll come this way as soon as he noticesthe draft. He won't be suspectin' a thing, and all we've got to do isgrab 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 thePhantom. "What about the dick?"

  "Oh, he's taken care of. The boss is handlin' him. No danger of himbuttin' in on us."

  The Phantom listened intently, but was barely able to distinguish thefaint whispers. Slim's last remark was interesting. If Culligore hadbeen attacked and overpowered while searching the cellar, then thePhantom was in no danger from the police just at present. His onlyimmediate problem was how to deal with the two watchers.

  "What's the lay, Slim?" Toots was asking. "Why is the big chief soall-fired anxious to get his mitts on the Phantom?"

  "Orders from the Duke. There's a big job on, but only two or three arein the know of it. All you and me got to do, Toots, is to keep ourmouths shut, ask no questions, and collect our little bit when the timecomes. The boss will do the thinkin' part."

  Again a silence fell between the watchers; then Toots asked: "Why don'tone of us go to the other end and smoke him out? I'm gettin' tired ofwaitin'."

  "What's eating you? Time's cheap, ain't it? The Phantom will come outwhen he gets ready."

  Another pause ensued; then the inquisitive Toots asked another question."What I don't get atall is how the 'skirt' figgers in the deal. Wheredoes 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 s'posethe boss thinks the Phantom will be easier to handle if he's got a gripon 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' question had givenhim hope of learning something about Helen's whereabouts, but Slim'sanswer 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 afaintly scratching sound as of a match being struck. A daring ideaentered the Phantom's mind. For the time being the enemy's force wasdivided, and there was only one watcher at the window. He saw achance--a slender and dubious one, but perhaps the only chance he wouldhave--to get the upper hand of the sentinels.

  Bracing his shoulders against the wall of the passage, he drew hiselectric flash from his pocket. His right hand was already gripping thepistol. Holding both in readiness for instant action, he pricked up hisears and listened. Sounds of breathing told him that Slim was standing afew inches from his feet, perhaps looking directly at him through thedarkness. He had already decided that Slim was the more resourceful manof the two. If Slim could be put out of action, his difficulty would bemore than half solved.

  His finger touched the little button, and a shaft of light pierced thedarkness. In the same instant a head was thrust into the opening. A pairof startled eyes stared at him for a moment--and in that brief space oftime the Phantom acted. His foot shot out, delivering a sharp blow inthe region of the nose and eyes. With a cry of pain the man totteredback, 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 Phantomjerked himself forward, dropping his legs over the sill, and in anothermoment he was standing inside the room. He stooped, ran his fingers overthe floor, and recovered the electric torch, then darted noiselessly toone side. A pistol shot sounded, followed by a sharp thud as the bullethit the wall a few feet from where he stood.

  He leaped silently across the floor. The brief flash emitted by thepistol had given him a glimpse of Slim at the opposite wall. Before theman could move, the butt of the Phantom's pistol had crashed down on hishead. Uttering a feeble grunt, he sank limply to the floor, and in thesame instant came another crack and flash, and a bullet whistled pastthe Phantom's head.

  "You almost winged me that time, Toots," he remarked coolly, at the samemoment dropping to his knees and noiselessly crawling toward where Tootsstood with his back to the door. Another shot, fired at random, lightedup the room for a brief instant, giving him another glimpse of hisadversary. Swiftly and without making the slightest sound, he advancedtoward the door. Now he reached out a hand, fumbling for a moment in thedarkness until he lightly touched one of Toots' shoes. With a swift andpowerful motion he jerked the man's feet from under him.

  The Phantom sprang to his feet and rushed out of the room, turning thekey in the lock on the other side. He paused for breath while he brushedsome of the dirt from his clothes. He had vanquished his adversaries,but possibly the shots had been heard, and haste was necessary. He ranto the front of the store. The street outside was quiet and dimlylighted. Cautiously he opened the door and stepped out, casting a quickglance up and down the street.

  He made a few rapid calculations as he walked to the corner. IfCulligore had fallen into the clutches of the Duke's gang, as seemedlikely from the remark dropped by Slim, then he was still reasonablysafe so far as the police were concerned. Yet, for the first time inmany years, the Phantom was haunted by misgivings. Each thought of HelenHardwick burned itself into his mind, leaving a scar. The realizationthat the Duke's minions had her in their power was maddening. He felt anurge to find her at once and snatch
her away from her jailers.

  Yet, at almost every step, he was hampered by the designs of hisenemies. There were traps and snares everywhere. He had just escapedfrom one of them, but another time he might not escape so easily, andwhat would become of Helen then?

  He shuddered at the thought. His mind was as keen and his muscles aspliant as ever, but he was playing against overwhelming odds, and themere thought of defeat was unbearable. To ask help of the police was outof the question. His old organization was scattered to the four cornersof the earth. Wade, his former chief lieutenant and now his trustedfriend, had grown too fat to be of much use, and to reach him would bedifficult.

  Suddenly he thought of Thomas Granger. The reporter's journalisticinstincts, coupled with his fondness of strong drink, had given thePhantom the feeling that he was not to be trusted. Those two qualitiesaside, he had rather liked the fellow. Granger had traits that appealedto him strongly. He reconsidered the question as he stood on the corner,glancing furtively in all directions to see whether he was being spiedupon.

  In a few moments his mind was made up. For Helen's sake he must seekassistance somewhere, and he was in no position to be squeamish abouthis 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 broughthim to Peng Yuen's door.

  The wooden-featured Chinaman scanned his face as he held the door openand bade him enter.

  "There is fire in your eyes," he observed as he conducted his guest intothe den. "Is it the little Lotus Bud who is troubling the Gray Phantom?The 'Book of the Unknown Philosopher' says----"

  The Phantom interrupted him with a short laugh. "Peng Yuen, for a manwho doesn't read the newspapers, you are surprisingly well informed. Ihave come to have a talk with my double."

  The Chinaman regarded him stonily. Two incense sticks, burning before ahideous joss idol, filled the air with acrid fumes. Peng Yuen, sucking abamboo pipe with gorgeous tassels, seemed to be turning over a questionin his mind.

  "I think your friend is sleeping," he said at length.

  "Then wake him," directed the Phantom impatiently.

  The Chinaman shrugged his shoulders and touched a button on the wall,then motioned the Phantom to enter. Granger was in bed, but he looked upgloomily and stretched himself. There was a litter of cigarette ends onthe table, and torn and crumpled newspapers were scattered over thefloor.

  "Hope you've brought me a drink," said Granger.

  The Phantom shook his head. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed andfixed the reporter's face with a keen and minutely searching gaze, as ifexploring the depths of his soul.

  "What's the idea?" asked the reporter. "You look at me as if I were somekind of curiosity."

  There was a faint hint of doubt in the Phantom's face, but it vanishedsoon.

  "I think you will do," he declared. "There's just one quality in yourface, Granger, that I can't quite analyze. It's a weakness of somekind--your craving for alcohol, perhaps. Anyway, I am willing to take achance on it. You are going with me."

  The reporter sat up, his face all eagerness.

  "Wait," commanded the Phantom; "I want to be sure that we understandeach other. I am making the biggest play of my career. I am going afterthe Duke's crowd. My primary object is to get Miss Hardwick out of theirclutches. My secondary one is to put the whole gang of sneaks andcowards behind the bars, where they belong. If I succeed, it will be asgreat 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 walkinto the arms of the police, or into one of the traps set by the Duke. Imay get shot, put in a dungeon, murdered, perhaps. You are to follow meat a safe distance wherever I go, never letting me out of your sight. Ifanything happens to me I want you to take up the search where I leftoff. Above all else you are to get Miss Hardwick away from thoseruffians. 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 ofdoubt flickered across his face, but it was soon gone.

  "Then get into your clothes," he directed; "or mine, rather. We might aswell keep up the masquerade a while longer. I am just a shade safer whenI 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 canonly pick you up again and take another impression of your fingerprints, and you will have to explain why you have shed your gaudyfeathers. If we have a bit of luck we'll pull off a stunt that thepolice won't forget in many a day. They'll be so busy explaining theirown mistakes and blunders that they won't ask many questions."

  He had found a whisk broom and was removing from his clothing some ofthe grime and dust he had gathered in the tunnel. He glanced impatientlyat his watch, while Granger dressed with time-consuming care.

  "Which way?" inquired the reporter.

  "Do you suppose it's too late to find the coffeehouse pirate?"

  "Doubtful, but you might try. Sometimes he hangs around the CatharineStreet joint till late."

  "What's his name?"

  "You might call him Matt Lunn. He has several names, and he isn'tparticular which one you use."

  The Phantom considered. "Is he close to the inner circle of the gang?Does he share its secrets?"

  "I think he does, but I wouldn't swear to it. Anyhow, he is a lot closerto the big chief than I ever got."

  The Phantom scowled while Granger adjusted his tie. The reporter seemedalmost as keen on sartorial polish as on journalistic attainments.

  "By the way," inquired the Phantom, "who is the illustrious personagethat's referred to as 'the big chief'?"

  "He is the Duke's chief agent. I don't know his name, and I've neverseen him. Through underground channels the Duke sends him orders fromhis cell in Sing Sing. The Duke is the brain that plans, and the bigchief is the hand that executes. Say, I'm being consumed with curiosity.Aren't you going to tell me something of your plans?"

  "I haven't anything definite. I shall go to the Catharine Street coffeehouse and try to cultivate the acquaintance of Mr. Matt Lunn. I mean toobtain certain items of information from him. Just how I shall go aboutobtaining them depends upon what sort of man I find him to be. We'll beon our way whenever you are through primping."

  At last the reporter was ready. Peng Yuen was stolidly smoking his pipeas they passed out. The almond-shaped eyes narrowed a trifle as thePhantom shook his hand, and for an instant he seemed about to saysomething. In another moment he had changed his mind, however, and witha queer little grunt in his throat he went back to his green-tasseledpipe.

  With a final admonition to exercise care and discretion, the Phantomleft Granger outside the shop and walked rapidly toward CatharineStreet. He had no reason for doubting the reporter's sincerity.Granger's moral stamina might not be all that could be desired; but, onthe whole, the Phantom was well pleased with the arrangement. It hadalready relieved him of much worry and enabled him to center histhoughts and efforts on the task before him.

  He had no difficulty in finding the coffee house, a crumbling andevil-looking hovel squeezed between a sooty factory building and asqualid tenement. Lights shone dimly through several windows in theblock, which had a gloomy and somewhat sinister appearance, and he waslooked at sharply by several wretched creatures who passed him on thesidewalk. The window and glass door of the coffee house were coveredwith green paper blinds, but there was a narrow opening through whichthe Phantom could get a glimpse of the interior.

  Some twelve or fifteen men were seated at long tables, drinking coffeeand smoking pipes or cigarettes. The air was so heavy with tobacco fumesthat the Phantom could not distinguish their features clearly, but hegot the impression that they were a disreputable lot. He looked in vainfor anyone answering the description Granger had given of Matt Lunn. Hewalked away from the
window and stood at the curb, scanning the streetin either direction. At a corner a block away, he saw a shadowy figureleaning against a stack of boxes outside a grocery.

  "Granger is on the job," he mumbled.

  Then he turned quickly just as a huge, raw-boned man appeared from theopposite direction and walked into the coffee house. The Phantom caughta glimpse of his face as he opened the door and passed through, and thatglimpse revealed a great, livid scar over the left eye.

  In an instant he knew that the man was Matt Lunn. A thin, audacioussmile hovered about the Phantom's lips as recognition flashed throughhis mind. For a moment he hesitated, casting a swift glance to thecorner where Granger stood; then he crossed the sidewalk and resolutelypushed the door open.

  A minute or two later, in a cheap, all-night lunchroom a block down thestreet, someone was impatiently jigging the hook of a telephone.