“It’s apartment Eleven B at Nine hundred and ninety-seven Eastern Boulevard. Uptown a bit, but quiet and clean. Just what we wanted.”
“Be there,” the Phantom said, “at exactly nine o’clock tonight. If the man with the malformed ear follows you, don’t let on you are aware of it.”
“I’ll do exactly as you say, Phantom. I’ve prayed I might find some way of helping avenge Arthur’s murder. Thanks to you, the opportunity is here. And I’m not afraid anymore.”
“Good girl. Run along now, and possibly by morning we’ll know what this is all about.”
*****
RISING when the Phantom pulled back her chair, and with a confident smile at him, Vicki Selden walked out of the place. The Phantom followed, after a moment or two spent in paying the check. He quickly picked out the green outfit she wore; and, sure enough, Len of the twisted ear, was shadowing her.
She walked across town, turned north and entered a building which the Phantom had left not long before. It was the building where Park Sunderland maintained his small but swank model’s bureau. The Phantom wondered if she worked for Sunderland’s agency. She was certainly the type.
Twisted Ear hurried in too, and both of them disappeared in the busy lobby. The Phantom didn’t follow, but turned to the curb and flagged a taxi. He had himself driven to the address Vicki Selden had given him.
It was quite far uptown, as she had stated, and probably out of the fantastically high rent areas. Just the sort of a place for a man whose finances had slipped. The building was provided with a self-service elevator. The Phantom pressed the button for the eleventh floor. He listened outside the apartment door, heard no sound, and tried the knob. The door was locked, but this was a thirty-year-old building, and the locks were not too modern. One of the Phantom’s assets was a thorough knowledge of locks and lock picking. He used a thin bit of metal, wedging it between the door and its frame, manipulating the highly ductile instrument until it slid behind the ancient bolt. Then, with a quick twist of his wrist, he forced the bolt back just far enough so that the door opened under the pressure of his other hand.
He stepped into a modestly but nicely furnished living room. Everything was sparkling and new. In the bedroom closet, the Phantom discovered clothing that belonged to Arthur Arden. He opened bureau drawers, ransacking them. He went through the cabinets in the tiny kitchen, returned to the living room, and investigated the contents of a small desk. All he discovered was evidence to back up Vicki Selden’s claim that Arthur Arden had been almost broke.
In a smaller back room of the apartment, he found the billiard table. He located the eight ball in one of the side pockets. It looked and felt like any ordinary billiard ball. He dug at the surface with his penknife. The material chipped. Underneath it was just another billiard ball. Like the one found at the feet of Arthur Arden’s corpse, it was no different from a million other billiard balls.
The Phantom placed the black ball in the center of the pool table and left it there. In his mind a new idea was forming. If these eight balls meant nothing in themselves, then there was something about them that had a meaning. Perhaps the color, perhaps their silly reputation for being a symbol of bad luck. Perhaps even the number eight possessed some significance.
He returned to the living room for one last look around and noticed the plain Mason jar standing on the mantel of the imitation fireplace.
It was greasy and dirty, and certainly didn’t belong there.
The Phantom took it down and removed the flat glass top. He dumped some of the contents into the palm of his hand. The slight frown on his forehead grew deeper. That simple Mason jar contained more of that bronze colored powder which he had first seen near Arden’s corpse. The powder he had proved to be some metallic alloy. These clues at the Arden lakeside home were taking on more meaning.
The Phantom replaced the jar and its contents on the mantel, quietly left the apartment and the building, and paused on the sidewalk for a quick look around. Then he crossed the street and took up a position down a fairly dark driveway.
CHAPTER XIV
ALMOST MURDER
JUST two minutes of nine, a taxi slid to the curb in front of the apartment house, and Vicki Selden got out. She paid the driver, didn’t look around at all, but hurried into the building. From his hiding place, the Phantom saw another cab pull up half a block down the street, and Len with the twisted ear got out. He flung a bill at the driver and began running toward the building.
He entered it, and must have been in time to see the elevator signal indicate what floor Vicki had gone to. The Phantom started moving toward the building too. Vicki might be in danger from this man.
The Phantom was halfway across the street when another cab pulled up. Someone got out of it, holding two immense shopping bags heaped full of groceries. Apparently the man had already paid his driver, for the taxi pulled away. The burdened man hoisted the two heavy bags a little higher, so they shielded his face, turned, and walked into the lobby.
When the Phantom reached the elevator he saw that it was stopped on the eleventh floor. Vicki had gone there, so had Len apparently, and now this man loaded with groceries seemed to have visited the same floor. When the Phantom rang for the elevator and it didn’t budge, he sprinted for the steps and went up them three at a time. Someone was holding the elevator at the eleventh floor!
Eleven floors will take the breath out of any man, and the Phantom was puffing by the time he reached the tenth. He heard the elevator mechanism working now. Whoever had been holding the elevator had at last released it.
On the eleventh floor, the Phantom found the door to Arthur Arden’s apartment closed but not locked. He turned the knob, drew his gun, and stepped into the living room. Then he heard the muffled cry.
He came through the doorway into the bedroom, and there was no hesitation in his next move. Vicki was outside the window on the fire escape; and Len with the twisted ear was savagely grappling with her, twisting her arm as he tried to pull her back into the room.
Len turned, grabbing for his gun as he saw the Phantom. The detective shot him through the shoulder. Len screamed and lunged through a door into another room. The Phantom went to the window. His helping hand brought Vicki back inside, and she sank to the floor.
He turned his attention to the other room then, and he realized abruptly that his unwillingness to plunge headlong into a trap that Len might have set for him there had cost him his capture of the twisted eared man. Taking advantage of the Phantom’s necessary caution, Len had fled from the apartment through its service entrance. The Phantom went out into the hall, but the criminal hireling had vanished.
Returning, the Phantom closed and locked the door. Then he carried Vicki to a bed in the bedroom and placed her on it. He allowed her head to lie a bit lower than her body and gently chafed her wrists. When she came out of her faint, the Phantom was smiling down at her with an assurance that she, too, felt the moment she recognized him. In a few moments she was able to sit up.
“I’m sorry,” the Phantom said. “This was partly my fault. I never intended that our twisted-ear friend would hardly do more than show himself. I was unable to follow him quickly enough. Somebody else got the elevator before I could reach it.”
“He — followed me to an office.”
“Park Sunderland’s Model Agency?” the Phantom asked.
“Yes. I’ve been trying to become one of the models there, but Mr. Sunderland is very hard to see. Then I started here, just as you instructed. That man — never lost sight of me. After I was in the apartment, someone knocked on the door. I didn’t know if it was the man with the bent ear or — you. If it turned out to be him, I was sure you’d be close by, so I opened the door.”
“Then what happened?” the Phantom asked.
“This man seized me, and I became terrified. All I know was he meant to kill me and that I had to get away. The fire escape goes to the roof, and so I made a break for it. Then —” her voice broke with remembered horror — �
�he caught me again.”
“I winged him when I came in,” the Phantom said, “but he got away from me.”
“There was someone else,” Vicki said. “I’m sure someone came in after this killer attacked me. In the first place, this killer held me while he pushed the latch on the door so it wouldn’t lock automatically. Then, as he was grappling with me on the fire escape, I’m certain I heard the outer door slam shut.
*****
PROMISING to return in a moment, the Phantom sped to the elevator and brought it up from the ground floor. Propped in the corners of it were two grocery bags, heaped full of supplies. The Phantom shook his head in self-reproach. The man laden with those bags had been working with Len and guessed Vicki’s coming to this apartment might be a plant. He’d made very certain that his features were not seen. But what had he been after?
Vicki asked that same question a moment later when the Phantom returned to the living room.
The Phantom gestured. “On your former visit here, did you ever notice a glass jar on that mantel?”
“No,” Vicki replied. “I did not.”
“Such a jar was there a little while ago. Now it is gone. The man who followed Twisted Ear into this apartment, came here for one reason — to get that jar and its contents. He made one slip though. It may give me what I’ve been hoping for.”
“I don’t understand —” Vicki began.
The Phantom interrupted her. “Twisted Ear wore no gloves, and he grabbed that door knob on his way out. Its surface is smooth and should take fingerprints well. I’d stake my reputation that Twisted Ear has a police record. Now I’ll be sure of that; and if I identify him, we’ll be on a more definite trail.”
Quickly, with the screwdriver blade of his pocket knife, the Phantom removed the knob and wrapped it carefully in his handkerchief.
Vicki stirred restlessly. “I’d better get out of here before Twisted Ear decides to pay me a return visit — a more deadly one this time. I’m not a brave girl, Phantom. If I ever see that man with the bent ear again, I’ll promptly do more than faint.”
The Phantom chuckled. “I’d be willing to take odds you’ll bend his other ear if you get the chance. I’d better see about him quickly. But I do agree that this apartment isn’t the safest place in the world for you. Have you somewhere you could go?”
“I checked in at a quiet hotel and used another name,” Vicki explained. “It’s odd how I sensed I’d be in danger after I learned of Arthur’s murder.”
The Phantom helped her up. I’ll see you home. Then I’ll go after Twisted Ear, and I’ll try to find the man who is behind that twisted-eared killer.”
The Phantom left her in the lobby for a few moments while he scouted the neighborhood to be certain nobody was posted either to follow or kill Vicki. He called a cab, and they changed taxis twice before reaching their final destination. The Phantom lingered until he saw Vicki enter the hotel elevator. Then he had himself driven to Police Headquarters where he showed his badge to a lieutenant in charge of the Identification Division.
The doorknob was promptly dusted and some excellent prints brought out. In a short time the Phantom was studying Len Barker’s police pedigree and gazing thoughtfully at Twisted Ear’s photograph.
“If you want this fellow,” the lieutenant said, “I think you’ll find him at the last address given on the card. He was sprung about four months ago, after serving two years of a six-year stretch, and he’s on parole. With four years to do if he violated any parole rules, I’m betting he’ll be at that address. Any parolee who moves without notifying the Board goes back to serve out the rest of his time.”
“Thanks.” The Phantom made a note of the address. “My bet would be that Len Barker just violated every provision of his parole. You might send out an alarm for him, Lieutenant. He’s wounded. I put a bullet through his left shoulder. The wound is bad enough to demand treatment.”
“I’ll do what I can,” the lieutenant promised. “And haul Len in if we run across him.”
“Good,” the Phantom said. “Let Mr. Havens know if you arrest Len.”
*****
THE PHANTOM proceeded straight to the address of the crook. It was in the Greenwich Village section, a four floor walk-up. He smelled the odor of burning papers even before he reached the fourth floor where Len lived.
The door to Len’s room was locked, and the smell of burned paper was even stronger here. The Phantom drew back and flung himself at the old, thin door. It cracked, and he was able to smash one panel through with his foot. Reaching inside, he turned the latch, pushed the door open, and went straight over to a fireplace: the relic of some wealthy family that had lived here years ago.
On the grate was a pile of burned papers, the top layers being gradually picked up by the draft. The Phantom looked around the room, saw no signs of Len Barker, and concentrated on what was left of those papers on the grate.
Len had been in a hurry, burned too much at one time and without taking the precaution of crumpling the papers so the flames could get at them more thoroughly. A few papers had been wadded together, and these were the ones the Phantom was able to salvage.
There was not much to them, only some blackened remains, but he knew how to develop parched documents and make them plain. He carefully slipped the ashes into an old candy box he found in one bureau drawer. Handling this with all care, he placed it to one side while he began a complete search of the room.
Len had recently removed most of his clothing, the Phantom discovered, which indicated he was on the lam. In the bathroom, the Phantom found a towel stained with blood, showing that Len had not yet gone to find medical attention for his wound.
Carefully carrying the candy box in which he’d placed the remnants of burned papers, the Phantom left the building. He hailed a cab at the corner and was driven to an address within hail, a block of Park Avenue.
There he paid off the driver, walked casually along the side street, and finally entered a private door of one of the towering apartment buildings. A private elevator was waiting. He pushed the single “up” button it contained, and the car rose smoothly to the top. Here was Richard Curtis Van Loan’s luxurious penthouse apartment.
The Phantom entered it, locked the door behind him, and after putting the box in his well-hidden laboratory, he sat down before a triple mirrored makeup table, and deftly removed the disguise until he was again the handsome, sleek Richard Curtis Van Loan.
Van entered his laboratory where he removed the burned scraps of paper from the candy box. He arranged these fragile bits of blackened substance on glass plates. Next he mixed a solution of colorless, fast drying lacquer, placed it in a spray gun, and sprayed the ashes carefully.
Once the lacquer dried, he could handle his bits of evidence with far greater impunity. Now he placed each of his glass slides under the lens of a large magnifying glass. One by one he eliminated such burned papers as those dealing with Len’s parole and prison record. Finally he studied a typed fragment.
Some of the words were burned away but he made a note of those he could read; and upon assembling these notes he estimated that someone had typed a letter to Len about a factory, a town called Galloway, the payment of three thousand dollars, and what seemed to be an address given as either Springdale Road or Springdale Avenue.
*****
VAN closed up the lab and walked slowly into his living room, with its big picture window overlooking the panorama which is New York. He sat down in a deep chair and stared out over the rooftops. He hardly saw them, or the millions of lights reddening the city sky. Van was thinking about a black billiard ball — and murder.
His mind went back to the discovery of Arthur Arden’s body with the eight ball lying at his feet. It could have been placed there, but, Van asked himself, what significance would it have? A murderer would require a very strong reason to set up a clue like that.
But if Arthur Arden had faced death, and known there was no way out, he might have arranged that the e
ight ball be found at his feet. He’d have meant this as a clue. One so vague that the murderer didn’t even recognize it, but Arden apparently had hoped someone would.
Van recalled the bronze powder he’d found on the floor near Arden’s body. That, too, had some significant connection with the murder. A very important tie-up, seemingly, for great risks had been taken to steal Arden’s supply of this powder.
Dr. Winterly was mixed up in it somehow; and his loutish servant and companion, Luke, acted as if he knew it and meant to protect the strange doctor against anyone and everyone.
Arthur Arden had been engaged to marry Vicki. He’d been financially insecure, yet had confidently stated he would soon recoup his wasted fortune, have money enough to marry Vicki. A man who would propose to a girl, when his financial stability was dependent upon future operations, had to be extremely confident.
Van began checking over people he might reasonably suspect. Dr. Winterly, of course. Len of the twisted ear was nothing but a paid pug and so, probably, were some others who had taken direct action against the Phantom thus far. But behind these men had to be someone else. The man who directed their efforts and meant to profit from his evil. There was that sleek, fast thinking man in a pearl-gray hat who went by the name of Bernie, but Van was inclined to classify him as a hoodlum also.
In most of the Phantom’s investigation, people appeared whom he could reasonably suspect, others whom be could clear easily. But in this case the only out-and-out suspect so far was Dr. Winterly.
Hugh Royal, the artist, had been able to help the Phantom locate Vicki. So had Park Sunderland, who ran that model agency. Maxine Hillary, presumably Vicki’s friend, also knew about the intended contact. Someone had sent Len on the trail. Someone who knew where Vicki was, or where she’d turn up. Van sighed deeply, thought out his next moves, and went to bed early.
CHAPTER XV
FACTORY OF DEATH
WHEN morning came, the Phantom, once more wearing the same disguise, left the apartment building and after a quick breakfast, went straight to the huge newspaper building where Frank Havens had his office.
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