by Lee Falk
"Oh, don't you know Mrs. Mott-Smith, Devlin? I thought anyone who was anyone in Manhattan knew the old girl."
"I guess I'm not anyone at the moment"
"Mrs. Mott-Smith is fantastically rich," the dark- haired Mimi explained. "One of the sponsors of this thing tonight. And that rock is real."
"Is it now?"
"Sure enough. They call the thing the Eye of Isis," said Mimi. "If a stone like that were mine, I'd wear it only in the privacy of my own home, with all the doors double-locked. But the old girl seems to subscribe to the philosophy of ... if you've got it, flaunt It."
"Yes," agreed the Phantom. "Speaking of decora- lions, Mimi, that's an interesting pin you're wearing, ii golden arrow. I don't believe I've ever seen one like II before."
"It's a family heirloom," replied Mimi. "Come, Devlin. Let's push on to the bar."
"An heirloom? Then I suppose I couldn't get one like it."
"Not a chance, no way." The girl's head turned to the right and then the left. She seemed to notice someone or something and nodded very quickly. She hurried on ahead dodging a fat man with a gigantic egg for a head. "It occurs to me, Devlin, you are very fond of asking questions."
"Am I?" He grinned at her.
After a second, she returned the grin. She said, Success is near, Devlin. There's the bar right up ahead. What say you fight through and get me something simple with scotch in it?"
The Phantom again took hold of the pretty dark girl's arm. "Let's try it as a team, Mimi."
"Be easier if you go. Don't worry, Devlin, I won't vanish like Cinderella. It's a long way to midnight yet."
Letting go, the masked man made his way to the makeshift drink counter. The bartender noticed him at once, served him in under a minute.
When the Phantom returned to the spot where he'd left Mimi, she was gone.
His eyes narrowed behind his mask. The girl didn't seem to be anywhere in the immediate vicinity.
"If you've got nothing else to do with that drink, I can use it."
The long, tall black girl who worked for Sweeney Todd was standing beside him, dressed in a full- length cloak with golden fastenings, "Good evening, Nita," said the Phantom.
One bare arm extended itself through a slit in the cloak to tap at the glass. "What is that, bourbon?"
"Scotch," answered the Phantom. "Originally intended for a girl named Mimi. Know her?"
"Nope, sorry," said the tall Nita. "But, listen, the reason I sought you out is that I have a message for you."
The Phantom passed the chill plastic glass to her. "A message from Sweeney Todd maybe?"
The girl sampled the scotch, then wrinkled her nose and puckered her hps. "Um, that's surely quality stuff," she said. "Yes, Sweeney Todd's in attendance and would like to talk with you."
"Fine. Point him out."
Nita's other bare arm extended from the cloak. "He likes privacy when he talks business, so he tells me. He's waiting for you in that room off the auditorium. See the door marked Private, Employees Only? There's a guy in a deep-sea diver suit leaning just to the right of it."
The Phantom nodded. "Thanks, Nita. Ill talk to you again later on." He turned his broad back on her, strode rapidly off through the crowd
He stopped before the metal door Nita had indicated. Two ghosts and a chubby vampire were talking to the young man in the diving suit They paid no attention to the masked man when he turned the handle and stepped across the threshold.
The heavy door closed behind him with a metallic click there was no light in the musty smelling room.
Sweeney Todd? called the Phantom
Right behind you called a throaty voice me and this gun.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Chewing on a donut, Lt, Colma circled his venerable desk, scowling. The night city outside was loud and bright. "Jim-dandy," he said at last. Open on the desk top were two suitcases which the railroad had turned over to him. The luggage contained the clothes and other belongings of the man known as Walker.
In the door slouched the huge VerPoorten. He watched the lieutenant rummaging through the clothes and gear. He held a greasy white donut bag in one hand, a sheaf of memos and notes in the other. "Nothing?"
Not replying, Colma stuffed everything back in a rough approximation of its original order. He slammed each tan suitcase shut and walked away from the desk. "Either ready-made brands, or no labels at all," he said, watching the worn floor. "And not a letter, note, scrap of paper, or even a ticket stub."
"This Walker guy," said VerPoorten, "is starting to look like what you call a mystery man." He waved his handful of new memos. "No trace of him after his little escapade in Thornburg."
"Nobody saw that dog of his, or wolf or whatever it is?"
"No, nobody," answered VerPoorten. He dropped the papers on the nearest suitcase, then reached into
the sack for a donut. '1 like this kind, with maple frosting smeared on top."
Colma asked, "What about Chicago?"
VerPoorten shook his head. "Couple of railroad people remember Walker and his ... his pet, remember seeing them at the train station there in Chi. But so far, we can't trace him further back than that. Nothing as to where he was before he caught the train."
Lt. Colma got out Ms pack of cigarettes. Before taking one, he counted those remaining. "Huh, looks like I smoked two less today. Good." After lighting a fresh one, he asked, "How about those three dames?"
VerPoorten shrugged his big shoulders, gesturing with the half-consumed maple donut. 'Without any descriptions, it's pretty tough," he said. "Too bad you didn't get more details out of Walker before he did his dive. Anyway, no one on the train noticed three suspicious looking ladies. And that Toshiko girl hasn't any idea who swiped her spare outfit."
Colma was at his office window. The night was black against the smeared glass. "That's jim-dandy," he said finally. "Four people, four people plus a gigantic dog. They all vanish into thin air."
"You want to look in on that charity ball?"
Stretching his arms up over his head, the robbery division lieutenant said, "Might as well take a look at Mrs. Mott-Smith's Eye of ... what was it?"
"Isis."
"Yeah. Okay, let's head over to the place."
Verpoorten asked, "Want another donut?"
"No, I have to watch my carbohydrates."
"Maybe they'll come up with a health food donut," said the big detective, following Colma out of the office.
A girl in a grass skirt passed them, rustling, and remarked, "Those aren't much in the way of costumes."
"Huh," said Colma. He and VerPoorten were standing near the wall in the Westlake auditorium, watching the varied crowd.
"Thafs the Mott-Smith woman over there," said the big VerPoorten. "Old gal's done up like a princess."'
"Seems to have quite a following," observed Lt Colma. There were nearly a dozen costumed people circling the wrinkled Mrs. Mott-Smith.
"You can still see the ruby, though, in spite of the crush," said VerPoorten. "It's enormous."
"How many men have we got here?"
"Two, in costume," answered VerPoorten. "And the ball people have six uniformed private cops of their own spotted around."
"Should be sufficient to protect her and the ruby."
A Chinese girl dressed as a drum majorette paused in front of the two policemen. "Marvelous, marvelous," she said. "Wherever did you find those marvelous antique suits? They make perfect costumes, really nostalgic. You ought to win a prize." She fingered Colma's lapel before moving on.
"Huh," said the lieutenant. "This suit is only six years old."
"When you're young six years is a long time," said VerPoorten. The fluctuating lights turned his broad face gold, then watery blue, then pale scarlet
The lieutenant yawned, blinked his eyes, scratched his back through the thin cloth of his wrinkled suit coat. "All this noise and excitement, it just makes me sleepy," he said.
"You want to leave?"
"Yeah, we might
as well." Colma pushed between a skeleton and a short musketeer. "I doubt anything. . .
Just then, the whole vast room went completely black.
There were gasps, laughing, a few shouted complaints. Cutting through all the other sounds came a sharp high pitched scream.
"That sounds like the old gal," said VerPoorten close to Colma's ear.
"We'll find out." He clicked on his pocket flash and aimed it at the place where he'd last seen Mrs. Mott- Smith.
She was not there now, although the circle of admirers was still intact. Colma's stripe of hght lowered, dropping toward the floor of the auditorium.
There on the polished yellow planks lay the old woman.
CHAPTER NINE
A few moments earlier, the Phantom felt the hard barrel of the automatic digging into his back. "You don't treat your customers too cordially, Sweeney Todd," he said into the darkness.
Behind him, Sweeney Todd's throaty voice replied, "You're not an ordinary customer, Devlin."
"Oh, so you know Mimi, too?" The masked man knew he hadn't given Nita his name.
"You're full of questions, to be sure," said the man with the gun. "Bight now, however, it's my turn to ask, your turn to answer."
"I don't think you've got much leverage," the Phantom told him. "I don't think you can afford to shoot me, not here."
"Can't I now? Just give a listen, Mr. Devlin."
The thick door blotted out most of the noise from the costume ball.
Sweeney Todd added, "A shot in your back won't even be heard out there. Keep that in mind, friend."
"The gang gets larger all the time," said the Phantom. "There's you, Nita, Mimi, not to mention the three ladies on the train."
Laughing, Sweeney Todd said, "You don't know the half of it, Devlin. And you probably never will. Now tell me who you are." "You already know that. I'm Devlin."
The gun end was shoved harder into the Phantom's back. "Who do you work for, friend? You're not a
cop."
"Let's simply say I'm interested in your operation."
"Let's tell me why."
"I'm a speculator, looking for a business to invest in," said the Phantom. "You golden arrow people appear to have a highly successful setup."
"So you do know about the organization? That's why you've been so darned curious about the golden arrow pins."
"They're your trademark, aren't they? You have to expect people to notice." J i
"Well," said Sweeney Todd, "we don't need any new members, Devlin. As for your...."
The Phantom felt the gun move away from his back, sensed that it was going to come slamming toward his head. He threw himself sideways in the black room.
His jungle trained senses had given him a pretty good idea of what the room contained, even though he could see almost nothing. There was clear space next to him, then some large object, probably a desk.
The masked man bounded across the clear space, diving behind the big wooden desk.
"You're only postponing the inevitable, friend," warned Sweeney Todd.
Silently, the Phantom grabbed up a wastebasket and chucked it across the room.
An instant after, it clanged into a water cooler, a flashlight came on and illuminated the spot.
The Phantom leaped up, vaulted the desk and sailed into Sweeney Todd.
The young man, glowing faintly in the light thrown back on him by the flash, was tall and thin. He had on a crimson devil suit. His satanic beard and moustache were real.
With one deft chop of his palm, the Phantom knocked Sweeney Todd's .45 automatic down.
The devil disguised young man spun, jabbing his flashlight toward the Phantom's stomach.
The masked man stepped back free of the jab and, feet planted flat, gave Sweeney Todd two swift blows to the chin.
One of the young man's devil horns popped free of his hood. He swayed, stumbled, dropped his flash.
The light clacked on the linoleum flooring, blinked and went out. There was blackness filling the room once again.
The Phantom crouched, moving toward the place he knew Sweeney Todd must be.
Then the door of the room was shoved open, letting in brightness and noise. "What's taking you so long?" asked a girl's voice.
Moving rapidly on hands and knees, Sweeney Todd, his devil tail flapping, crossed the room and ducked through the open doorway.
By the time the Phantom got there, Sweeney Todd was lost in the crowd.
"Shouldn't be hard to find a red devil," the masked man told himself.
He had been back in the auditorium a little more than thirty seconds when all the lights went out.
Lt. Colma dropped to one knee beside the fallen Mrs. Mott-Smith.
The old woman's conical hat had fallen from her head. She was moaning faintly and there was a reddening welt on her cheek. One wrinkled hand reached up toward her throat. She sat up suddenly, eyes popping open. "It's gone, it's gone." The Eye of Isis ruby, chain and all, was gone from round her neck.
Slipping his arm behind her shoulders, Colma said, Tm afraid so, Mrs. Mott-Smith. Do you have any idea. . .
"Who are you?"
"Lt. Colma, robbery division."
The old woman shook free of his touch. "You're a bit late. Where were you while I was being .. . being mugged?"
"Right over there," he answered. "Can you tell me anything about who...."
"No, nothing. I can't tell you anything."
All the lights came on. The tinted strobe lights first, followed by the bright overheads.
Colma helped the pale woman to her feet, stooping again to retrieve her prinoess hat. He turned to the group gathered around them. "I'd like all of you to stay right here. I'll want to take your statements."
A broad black man in a private eye costume said, "Come off it, man. I'm not going to spend. . . ." He started to walk away.
VerPoorten was behind him. "ItH only take a few minutes," he explained, gripping the retreating man's arm.
His eyes on the cluster of ten people, Colma edged over to his partner. "We want to search this bunch, too," he said quietly. "One of them may still be holding the ruby."
VerPoorten surveyed the room. "Door over there marked Private. I can herd them in there, while our other boys look around out here."
"Good idea," agreed the lieutenant. He had turned his head toward the door, frowning. "That guy over there in the tightfitting costume with the gunbelts. He looks familiar."
"Not to me."
The stocky Colma was moving toward the masked man. "Sure, I know him. It's Walker. Walker from the damn train." He broke into a trot. "Hey, Walker! Hold it right there. I want to talk to you."
The Phantom grinned when he recognized the lieutenant jogging toward him. He turned on one booted heel, went zigzagging through the crowd.
Colma snatched out his revolver. "Halt! That's an order, Walker!"
The Phantom kept moving, running. No one tried to stop him. Then he leaped up, caught hold of one of the steel support pillars.
Colma had been afraid to risk a shot. But now the masked man was above the crowd, climbing the pillar. The lieutenant stopped, stood wide-legged. He gripped the revolver in both hands. "Stop right there, Walker! Or I'm going to shoot!" he shouted.
The Phantom jumped again. He went arching through the empty air between the steel column and the narrow balcony where the light machines were.
A shot sounded.
But it came nowhere near the masked man. He had landed safely on the balcony.
"Get up there and grab him," Lt. Colma ordered nobody in particular. He went scurrying toward a stairway.
When he arrived up on the balcony, there was no trace of the Phantom.
CHAPTER TEN
A little after two in the morning it began to rain a Rain, a cold thin rain that fell straight down through the darkness. The night took on a chill smokey look.
The Phantom, still in tight-fitting costume and mask, was poised on the edge of the roof of a three-sto
ry building. He crouched then leaped off.
He dropped down ten feet through the cold drizzle, landing on his feet on the tarpaper which covered the roof of the building housing Sweeney Todd's shop. The masked man eased his way over to a dusty skylight which looked down into a hallway lighted by a single yellow bulb in a wall bracket.