The Gray Phantom's Return

by Herman Landon

  CHAPTER XXIX--THE PHANTOM'S VISITOR

  With quick and nervous steps the Phantom walked back and forth withinthe narrow semicircle allowed him by the chain. The solution of themystery had come to him in a flash of intuition, but his elation hadbeen brief. It was now half past eleven, and after cudgeling his witsfor hours, he found the problem of how to extricate himself and Helenfrom their predicament as insolvable as ever.

  Soon Bimble would receive word from his messengers that they had beenhoaxed, and then Helen would be subjected to another agonizing ordeal inthe dark room. The Phantom shuddered as his imagination pictured herstrapped to the chair in that chamber of ghastly things. Again he lookedsharply about the room, hoping against hope that something would suggesta way of escape to him.

  He found nothing. The only objects were the cot and the table, and theyoffered no solution whatever. His pockets contained nothing but ahandkerchief and a watch, together with the cigarettes and matchesJerome had brought him with his dinner. At least a score of times duringthe late afternoon and evening he had given the chain a minuteinspection, only to be convinced that it could not be tampered with.With the aid of a small nail or a penknife he might have been able topick the lock that held it to his ankle, but not even a pin had beenleft him.

  The Phantom was all but ready to admit defeat. His only fortifyingthought was that he had never yet been the loser in a game of wits, andthat for Helen's sake he could not fail now.

  He rose quickly from the cot as the door opened and Doctor Bimble strodeinto the room. His face was dark, and a look of sullen anger had takenthe place of his usual smile.

  "You lied!" he declared gruffly. "I half suspected you would, but Ihardly thought you would attempt anything so clumsy as this. What haveyou gained by it?"

  "Time," said the Phantom, pretending a coolness he did not feel.

  The doctor laughed derisively. There was a dull flush in his cheeks andan ugly glitter in his eyes, but again he took care not to step withinthe Phantom's reach.

  "Time! Bah! Really, Vanardy, you're simpler than I thought. Just as if afew hours more or less could make any difference! You will either tellme what I want to know, or, Miss Hardwick will go to the madhouse or thegrave. She will be as harmless in one place as in the other. I trust youunderstand?"

  "Your meaning is perfectly clear." The Phantom spoke in level tones. "Ifyou would come a step closer, I should take extreme pleasure in beatingyou within an inch of your life. But you have no inclination in thatdirection, I see. Like most of your kind, you are a coward."

  "Words never hurt."

  "Furthermore," continued the Phantom, "you will be in jail before MissHardwick goes to either of the places you have just mentioned."

  "Jail?" The doctor stared as if he thought the statement utterlypreposterous. "Jail! Ha, ha! Good joke coming from a man who can't movesix feet."

  "Enjoy it while you can. As you may remember, I perpetrated the samekind of joke on the Duke, and he doesn't seem to relish that brand ofhumor."

  The doctor winced as if an unpleasant thought had been suggested to him,then walked stiffly to the door. "Remember," was his parting shot, "ifyou persist in your obstinacy, it will be either the madhouse or thegrave for Miss Hardwick."

  He slammed the door as he went out, and the Phantom's face sobered themoment he was alone. His threat had not been altogether an idle one, forit had driven a wholesome misgiving into the doctor's heart; yet thePhantom was painfully aware that he was in a desperate situation.Throwing himself on the cot, he turned the problem over and over in hismind. Black as the outlook seemed, he could scarcely believe that allwas lost. He still had faith in his star, and it was this that hadbraced him and enabled him to speak with such confidence in DoctorBimble's presence.

  After a while something drew his gaze to the window. He listenedintently. A faint scraping sound reached his ears, and it occurred tohim that it had been going on for several minutes, though he had beentoo preoccupied to notice it until now. He got up and stepped as closeto the window as the chain permitted. Now he heard it again--a slow,dull grinding and scraping that remotely suggested that someone wasattacking a metallic object with a blunt tool.

  He waited breathlessly. Evidently someone was trying to enter the room,and he wondered whether the intruder was coming as friend or foe.Perhaps the amazing luck that had so often turned a critical situationin his favor was once more coming back to him.

  A click sounded, then the boards in front of the window came apart, andthe Phantom gasped as Thomas Granger jumped into the room.

  "You!" he exclaimed.

  "Not so loud!" whispered the reporter. He was still wearing thePhantom's clothing, and the garments were wrinkled and streaked withdirt. "The house is full of members of the Duke's gang. Holy smoke,you're certainly in a fix!"

  He stared at the cabin, then looked quickly about the room. "Don't askme how I found you. I had a devil of a time, and it's a longer storythan I've got time to tell. Lookouts are stationed in front and in rear,and it was only by sheer luck and some quick fist work that I gotthrough. How am I to get you out of here?"

  The Phantom regarded him thoughtfully. "Didn't you know that DoctorBimble was the Duke's chief representative?" he asked.

  "Never had the faintest idea."

  "This room is in the rear of the house, I believe."

  "Yes, but----"

  "You were lucky to locate my window as easily as you did."

  "That wasn't luck. I tried several before I found yours. Twice I bumpedinto the Duke's men. I hate to think what that bunch would do to me ifthey caught me." He made a wry face. "But this isn't getting you out ofhere. We'll have to get a move on."

  Strangely enough, the Phantom seemed absolutely calm and in no hurrywhatever. "I haven't been able to get my bearings," he announced. "Whereis this house?"

  "Next door to Doctor Bimble's."

  The Phantom started. "The one with boarded windows and doors?"

  "That's the one. The front is boarded-up, and from the street it lookslike a vacant house. Nobody would suspect that it was the headquartersof the Duke's gang. I suppose Bimble owns or controls both houses, andthere is probably a connecting passage somewhere."

  The Phantom knitted his brows. He had seen no such passage when hesearched the Bimble residence. However, that proved nothing, for itmight be so carefully concealed that a hasty search would not reveal it.The arrangement, he thought, was rather ingenious. No one who had seenthe anthropologist's home, where everything suggested artlessness andlove of simple comforts, would have suspected that the occupant wasusing the adjacent house for the conduct of criminal enterprises.

  "Miss Hardwick is somewhere in the building," he remarked. "Her safetyis the first consideration."

  "Worse still. You and I might be able to fight our way through, but witha woman on our hands it's almost certain death. It wouldn't be so bad ifthere weren't so many against us. I have only one gat. How about you?"

  "A watch, a handkerchief, a package of cigarettes and some matches aremy sole possessions just now."

  The reporter scowled. "The Duke's men would be sure to pounce on usbefore we could get her out of the house, and I don't suppose MissHardwick is bullet-proof."

  "What would you suggest?"

  Granger reflected. "Have you any friends in town?"

  "As far as I know, Peng Yuen is the only one. There may be others, but Iwouldn't know where to find them."

  "Peng Yuen doesn't look much like a scrapper. We can't appeal to thepolice, for they are after you just as hard as the Duke's men are. I'dgive half my life to be able to meet that bunch in a fair and evenfight. Too bad you haven't any friends handy. Say"--and Granger lookedas though he had suddenly snatched an inspiration out of the air--"whatabout the place where you live? Haven't you got some friends there?"

  The Phantom looked thoughtful. Rumor had it that he had taken a fewcarefully selected members of his former organization with him to hisplace of retirement. His lips twitched a little.


  "It would take sometime to get them here," he murmured, "and we must actin a hurry."

  "But it's our only chance. We'll wire them to get a fast car and burn upthe roads. I'm rather stuck on the idea of organizing an expedition andrushing to the rescue of a fair lady in distress. Write out yourtelegram, and I'll sneak out and file it."

  The Phantom, chuckling as though he had caught the contagion of theother's enthusiasm, made as if searching his pockets for pencil andpaper. "All right. I guess, after all, it is the only thing we can do. Apitched battle in the heart of New York will be something of a novelty.Have you a pencil and a scrap of paper?"

  Granger stepped up to the table and handed out the desired articles.With the reporter standing at his elbow, the Phantom placed the paper onthe table, poised the pencil over it, and stood as if framing a messagein his mind. Suddenly, with a motion as quick as that of a metallicspring, his hand darted out and gripped Granger's. Then, with anothersurprisingly swift movement, he jerked the reporter down on the cot andshoved a knee against his chest.

  "Tommie Granger," he said in low, measured tones that throbbed withexultation, "I've been waiting a long time to lay my hands on themurderer of Gage and Mrs. Trippe."