CHAPTER III
HELEN EQUIVOCATES
Across the breakfast table Mr. Hardwick looked anxiously at hisdaughter. The wild-rose color that usually flooded her cheeks hadfaded a trifle since last night, and her eyes were less bright. Mostof the time the curator's mind browsed among relics of the past, buthis perceptions were amazingly keen where his daughter was concerned.
"Mr. Shei gave us quite a shock last night," he remarked.
Helen kept her eyes down while she poured his coffee and added two anda half lumps of sugar and the usual portion of cream. Then she stirredit for him, knowing he would be quite apt to forget to do so himself.Despite the half dozen titles bestowed upon him by universities andlearned societies, she felt he needed looking after.
"Don't forget that you have a lecture engagement this afternoon," sheadmonished as she passed the cup across the table.
Mr. Hardwick nodded and sipped. "It is a most extraordinary case. Themurder of that poor woman--assuming that it was a case of murder--seemedwholly unprovoked. I gathered from the conversation among the officersthat no motive was in evidence. It looks like a wanton, despicablecrime."
Helen crumbled a piece of toast. "Professor Warburton is coming to seeyou at three this afternoon."
"I have a memorandum of the appointment on my desk." Mr. Hardwicksmiled faintly. "Our minds seem to be pulling in opposite directionsthis morning. This Mr. Shei interests me. He appears to be aremarkable criminal. His audacity and the originality of his methodsare unparalleled. I don't know that I ever encountered anything quiteso mystifying as the circumstances surrounding the murder last night.How the murderer went in and out without being seen is beyondunderstanding, and the subsequent removal of the body was the mostamazing part of it all. There seems to be neither method nor reason inthat. One thing appears certain. Mr. Shei could not have accomplishedwhat he did unless he had been aided by accomplices. What do youthink, my dear?"
Helen's head was lowered over her coffee cup. The captive sunlight inher hair gleamed and flashed.
"Your extra pair of glasses are at the optician's," she reminded him."Don't forget to stop for it."
Mr. Hardwick looked at her helplessly; then carefully, and from forceof habit, he folded his napkin.
"I wonder whether the police will ever learn Mr. Shei's identity," hemurmured musingly. "So far the scoundrel has contrived to mystify themcompletely, but some day his egotism and love of self-glorificationare apt to cause his undoing. In the meantime, however, he is likelyto do a great deal of mischief. The fellow's effrontery is colossal,and his fearlessness and brains render him most dangerous. In somerespects he bears a very close resemblance to that other notoriousrogue, now reported to be in retirement."
Helen drew a quick breath. She bent her head a little lower over hercup. Her right index finger traced a design on the tablecloth.
"Another cup of coffee, dad?" was her only reply.
Mr. Hardwick appeared not to have heard. "You know who I mean. The manthey used to call The Gray Phantom. For several years he was regardedas one of the cleverest and most dangerous criminals the world hasever known."
Slowly Helen raised her head. Her eyes, as they met her father's, weresteady and bright.
"That was because the world didn't understand him," she said withemphasis. "The Gray Phantom wasn't really a criminal. He was only a--asort of human dynamo whose energy happened to be turned in the wrongdirection."
"Isn't that a distinction without a difference? A Robin Hood is anenemy of society despite the glamour with which he surrounds himself.However," and Mr. Hardwick's face softened quickly, "I am deeply inThe Gray Phantom's debt. He saved your life twice, and but for him Iwould now be a lonely and heartbroken old man."
Helen nodded eagerly. "And the Assyrian collection, dad. You spentmost of your life gathering it, and you were almost overcome withgrief when it was stolen. The Gray Phantom risked his life and libertyin order to recover it and restore it to you. He wouldn't have donethat if he had been just an ordinary criminal."
"True," admitted Mr. Hardwick. "I shall be under obligations to TheGray Phantom as long as I live. The man has a number of excellentqualities, whatever may be said of his past. On the whole, it is notsurprising that you have taken an interest in him."
Helen's eyes were lowered again.
There was a mingling of tenderness and worry in Mr. Hardwick's face ashe looked at her. "I know just how you feel," he said softly. "A manwho is trying to live down a dark past always exerts a strong romanticappeal on a woman of your impressionable age. I don't know why it is,unless it pleases her to think he is doing it for her sake. It makesme think of your play, 'The Master of His Soul.' All last night, untilthe interruption came, I was wondering whether your _Marius_ was notThe Gray Phantom."
Helen sat rigidly still for a moment. Then her lips began to twitch.She flashed her father a smile.
"Sometimes, daddy dear, you show a wonderful understanding of thingsthat have nothing to do with Assyriology."
"I was right, then." His face sobered. "I hope you realize that,despite The Gray Phantom's admirable qualities, there is a gulfbetween him and you. But you are just as level-headed as was yourmother, and I have no fear that the impulses of your heart will getthe better of your judgment. We were discussing Mr. Shei. There seemsto be a striking similarity between his methods and those of The GrayPhantom, except that the latter was never known to stoop to murder."He paused for a moment and studied her averted face. "You puzzled melast night, dear. You will admit that your conduct was--er, peculiar."
"It's getting late, dad," murmured Helen, a bit confusedly glancing ather wrist watch. "You should have been at your office half an hourago. And this is the first time I've known you to take an interest ina murder case."
"Once during the evening you gripped my hand and tried to point outsomething to me," pursued Mr. Hardwick, heedless of her remark. "Youspoke incoherently, and I had not the faintest idea what it was about.Then, a minute or so before the tragedy, you left the box and hurriedaway. Still later, while the officer was questioning you, I felt youwere concealing something."
Helen, her fingers tightening about a fork handle, shook her head. "Ianswered every question he put to me."
"I know, dear. Yet you withheld a secret of some kind from him."
"Not exactly. I--I merely refrained from telling him somethingthat--that I might have told."
"Something you had heard or seen?"
She hesitated for an instant. "If I had told all I had seen and heard,I wouldn't have been telling half of what I knew."
Mr. Hardwick leaned back against the chair and pondered this crypticstatement. He seemed puzzled rather than hurt by his daughter'sevasive answers. Suddenly she looked up, saw the troubled expressionin his face, and impulsively pushed back her chair and ran up behindhim.
"Please don't ask me any more questions, dad." She put her arms aroundhis neck and tilted her face to his. "It is true I held somethingback, but at the time I didn't know why. I merely felt that itwouldn't do to tell. This morning, after lying awake most of thenight, I knew I had done the right thing." She gave a little laugh."Isn't it just like a woman to act first and look into her reasonsafterward?"
"I--well, I suppose so. And what were your reasons?"
"Would you be hurt if I told you I would rather not explain them justnow?"
"No; I trust you. Experience has taught me that I can depend upon youin spite of your mysterious little ways and madcap pranks. There isone thing I wish you would tell me, though." He stopped, fumbling forwords. "Was your reticence last night prompted by a wish to shieldsomeone?"
"No," was her prompt reply, and her eyes gazed frankly into his. "Whatput such a thought into your head?"
"I scarcely know. You'll think I am an old fool, but it occurred to methat perhaps you had discovered something that led you to think thatMr. Shei and The Gray Phantom are identical."
"And you thought I was protecting The Gray Phantom? What an idea! Butyou
were wrong, dad--absolutely wrong."
"Then I am glad." Mr. Hardwick rose and put his arm around her waist."My goodness! Almost ten o'clock, and I have been sitting heregossiping like an old woman. You have taken a load off my mind, dearchild. I was really worried."
She laughed, whisked a few crumbs from his coat, straightened his tie,and kissed him.
"And I hope," added Mr. Hardwick banteringly, "that Uranus won't leadyou into any more foolhardy adventures."
Again she laughed, but her face sobered the moment he turned away andleft the room. A wiser, maturer expression settled over the wide-seteyes and the vivid lips. It seemed as though her talk with her fatherhad left a disquieting impression in her mind. She moved absentlyabout the room, setting things in order here and there, but thefar-away gleam in her eyes told that her mind was scarcely aware ofwhat her hands were doing. Presently she stopped before the openwindow and looked out. A building was going up across the street, andthe groaning of derricks and screaming of steam whistles jarreddiscordantly in the back of her mind. Near the curb a group oflaborers were mixing concrete, and a powdery substance was drifting inthe air.
She came out of her abstraction with a little start. Her eyes were onthe window sill, and she spelled out the characters she had written inthe thin layer of dust.
"G-r-a-y P-h-a-n-t-o-m," she mumbled, puzzled and somewhat annoyedwith herself. The faint pencilings in the dust seemed all the strangerbecause she had not been thinking of The Gray Phantom. Instead, hermind had been occupied by Mr. Shei and what the morning newspapers hadsaid about the tragedy in the Thelma Theater. The accounts she hadread had been largely speculation and conjecture. The dying woman'sstrange laughter and her mysterious allusion to Mr. Shei had affordedmaterial for columns of vivid and imaginative description. The medicalexaminer had reluctantly admitted that Miss Darrow's death might havebeen caused by a poison administered hypodermically, but he had addedthat the symptoms were strange to him, and that he knew of no drugproducing just such effects. A number of toxicologists had beeninterviewed, but they had declared that the few facts at hand were notsufficient to enable them to form an opinion, and the disappearance ofthe body rendered it doubtful whether the cause of death would ever belearned definitely.
Only one thing seemed beyond dispute and that was Mr. Shei'scomplicity in the affair. The elusive and highly accomplished roguealready had a score of astounding crimes to his record, and the Thelmamurder was hedged with all the mystery and baffling detail with whichhe loved to mask his exploits. Miss Darrow's dying words were scarcelyneeded to turn the finger of suspicion in Mr. Shei's direction. Theabsence of clews, the uncertainty in regard to the motive, theaudacity that marked the crime itself as well as the subsequentsnatching away of the body, all indicated a boldness and a finessethat left little doubt of Mr. Shei's guilt. Even if his own hand hadnot executed the crime, it seemed practically certain that his mindhad planned and conceived it.
But who was Mr. Shei? The whole train of surmises and theories pivotedon that question. Not much was known of him save that he had a passionfor tantalizing the public and keeping the nerves of the men atheadquarters on edge, and that his achievements had not been equaledin scope or brilliance of execution since The Gray Phantom'sretirement. He took a diabolical delight in flaunting his name beforethe world while keeping his person carefully out of the reach of thelaw's long arm, and even the name was a challenge to the police and ateaser for the public imagination. Someone versed in dead languageshad discovered that the word "shei" was the ancient equivalent of themodern _x_, the symbol of the unknown quantity, and it was generallyagreed that the name fitted the elusive individual who bore it.
Yet the name meant nothing. It was only an abstraction, for itafforded no clew to its owner's identity. The night before, while shesat beside her father in the Thelma Theater, a vagrant flash ofintuition had come to Helen. She had seen the solution of the mysteryin a swift, dazzling glimpse. The revelation had stunned and nearlyblinded her, and thoughts had crowded upon her so thickly that shewould have been quite unable to clothe them in words. The idea carriedto her by that intuitive flash had seemed clear and unquestionable. Itstill seemed so, but her talk with her father had disturbed her alittle and turned her thoughts in a new direction.
Again she looked down at the tracings in the dust. A smile, faint andwistful, reflected her softened mood, and a light of wonder andgentleness flooded her eyes. She reached out a hand to obliterate thetelltale pencilings, but something restrained her. Besides, a freshlyforming layer of dust was already blotting them out.
The telephone rang in the adjoining room, and she hurried away toanswer.
"Miss Hardwick?" inquired a drawling voice which she instantlyrecognized. "Lieutenant Culligore speaking. I'm at the Thelma Theater.Wish you'd come over right away. I want to ask you a few questions."
Before she could reply, he hung up. Her face grew suddenly tense.Culligore's brusqueness piqued her, though she knew it wascharacteristic of the man, and she felt he had taken undue advantageof her by giving her no chance for argument. She did not wish to seehim, yet she knew she could not escape him by merely ignoring hisrequest. Anyway, she reflected as she hastily dressed for the street,it would be interesting to learn Culligore's theory of the murder.
A ride in the subway and a short walk brought her to the door of theThelma. On the wall, at each side of the entrance, were postersstating that until further notice there would be no more performancesof "His Soul's Master." Helen viewed the announcement of thewithdrawal of her play without much regret. She had partly anticipatedit, and last night's occurrence had given her weightier things tothink of. As she passed through the foyer, a policeman nodded stolidlyand in a way that told her she was expected. She passed unhinderedinto the auditorium.
At first she could see nothing. Every door was closed, and the vastroom was full of silence and vague shadows. Presently, as her eyesgrew accustomed to the dusk, she glanced toward the chair that hadbeen occupied by Miss Darrow. She looked quickly aside, and saw thatshe was standing not far from the pillar that had supported her whenthe creature with the loathsome face brushed past her. The scene,which had seemed dim and immaterial while she was out in the sunlighta few minutes ago, now recurred to her with disagreeable vividness. Ofa sudden the air about her felt heavy and oppressive.
A figure was moving up the aisle toward where she stood. The dawdlinggait and the slouchy attitude told her it was Culligore, and shebraced her nerves for an ordeal. In a few moments her quickly workingwits had found a way of handling the situation.
"Good-morning, lieutenant," she said pleasantly as he came up besideher. "I suppose you are looking for clews. Any success?"
"Nope," he replied complainingly. "That's why I sent for you, Miss----"
"You have found no trace of the body?" she quickly cut in, anxious tomaintain the role of questioner.
Culligore shook his head. She felt his eyes on her face, though he didnot appear to be looking at her. Practicing a trick cultivated by hisprofession, he was studying her without seeming to do so.
"Don't you think it strange that the murderer should go to all thatrisk and trouble to remove the body?" she went on.
"Murderer? There must have been three or four of them, at least. Therewas some mighty fast work done when the lights went out, and one mandidn't do it all. I've got a bump in the back of my head as big as ahen's egg. Selfkin, the man from the district attorney's office, is inbed with a fractured skull, and Starr looks as though somebody had hithim on the nose with a brick. One of the gang must have tampered withthe switchboard back of the proscenium arch just before the othersswooped down on us and carried away the body."
"But what was the object? Wasn't the murderer's purpose accomplishedwith the killing of Miss Darrow?"
"Hard telling. One thing is sure. As long as the body is missing therecan be no autopsy, and I'll bet a pair of yellow socks that that'sexactly what they wanted. Not that I pretend to understand it all, butit seems reasonable th
at they didn't care to have the exact cause ofMiss Darrow's death become known."
Helen pondered this statement for a moment. "How about the motive forthe murder?"
"We're pretty much in the dark there, too," admitted Culligore. "Idon't suppose, though, that it was just by accident that Miss Darrowhappened to die a few minutes after she had sent Starr a note warninghim that Mr. Shei was in the house."
"Oh!" Helen gave a quick start. "You think she was killed because shehad in some manner discovered Mr. Shei's identity?"
"Maybe." Culligore, with legs spread out and hands in trouserspockets, seemed engrossed in a study of Helen's bright-trimmed hat."My mind isn't made up on that point. Mr. Shei's schemes go prettydeep. Maybe you can tell me----"
Again Helen interrupted him. "Have you discovered how the murderersgot in and out of the building?"
"They didn't leave any tracks behind them, but there is a door in therear of the basement that they might have used. It's supposed to belocked, but I satisfied myself a while ago that the spring lock can bepicked. That the body was carried out that way is as good a guess asany. But look here, Miss Hardwick," and something that might have beena grin drifted across his face, "you're pretty good at firingquestions, but it's my turn now."
She stiffened, seeing she would have to assume defensive tactics. Shesent him a quick glance, but his face, always inscrutable, was evenmore so in the dusk.
"I asked you to come here, hoping the surroundings would refresh yourmemory of what happened last night," Culligore went on in his usualplacid drawl. "You needn't repeat what you said then. What I'm afteris the things you _didn't_ say."
"I don't believe I understand."
Culligore's chuckle sounded like a snort, though she knew it was meantto be good-natured. "Oh, yes, you do. I didn't do much talking lastnight, but I was watching you all the time. We'd met before, you know,and I could read you like an open book. I knew you were just as longon brains as on looks. Though you answered every question, you weren'ttelling anything. All the while you were holding something back. Isn'tthat true?"
She hesitated, having an uncomfortable feeling that Culligore wasseeing through her and that any attempt at evasion would be useless.
"What do you want to know?" she asked.
"That's a lot better, Miss Hardwick. You might begin by telling mewhere you were sitting when the disturbance began."
"Why, I--I wasn't sitting anywhere."
"Standing up, then?"
"I wasn't standing, either."
"Oh, I see. You were lying down?"
"No, not even lying down."
Culligore gave her a queer look. "If you weren't sitting, standing, orlying, you must have hung suspended in the air. Was that it?"
Helen smiled engagingly. She had found time for deliberation whilequibbling, and now her mind was made up. "I was so frightened I couldneither stand up nor sit down. I was leaning against that pillar overthere." She pointed.
"How did you happen to leave your seat?"
Helen told him of the flitting shadow that had caused her to leave herfather and run to the rear of the house.
"And what did you see while you were leaning against the pillar?" wasCulligore's next question.
Helen searched her mind for words vivid enough to recount herimpressions during the terrible moments just before the drop of thecurtain, but she felt her description was both hazy and fragmentary.Her picture of the face that had flashed past her in the dark wasblurred and unreal, like one's recollection of a dream.
When she had done her best, Culligore walked back and forth for atime. Standing in an attitude of strained tensity, she wondered whathis next question would be. Suddenly he stopped squarely in front ofher, and again she had an uncomfortable feeling that his deceptivelylazy eyes were reading her thoughts.
"What else?" he demanded quietly. "What you have told me so far ispretty good, but you're still holding back the most importantthing--the thing you didn't want to tell about last night."
"How--how do you know that?" she asked.
He gave another snortlike chuckle. "Common horse sense tells me. Thereason you didn't tell about the things you saw while leaning againstthe post was because you were afraid they would lead you on to asubject you didn't want to discuss. You were afraid that if you gotstarted you might get tangled up and wouldn't be able to stop."
Helen could only stare at him. He had stated the truth far moreclearly than she herself could have done.
"What was it, Miss Hardwick? I think you had better tell."
She stood silent, twisting her figure this way and that, and all thewhile wishing that he would take his eyes from her. Jumbled thoughtsthronged her mind, and she felt her power of resistance slipping fromher. Finally Culligore swung round on his heels, and a sigh of reliefescaped her.
"The thing about you that puzzles me more than anything else is thatyour hair isn't red," he told her. "The rest I can savvy easilyenough. I can even tell what it was you were holding back last night.Want me to?"
His tones were soft and teasing. She squirmed, torn between anxietyand despair. His face was expressionless, but she felt he was inwardlylaughing at her.
"All right, then," he said, taking her silence for assent. "Youcouldn't have had more than one reason for keeping mum last night, andthat reason was that you wanted to shield somebody. There is only oneman on earth you could have wanted to shield, and that man is The GrayPhantom."
"No!" she cried. "You're mistaken! I wasn't----"
"Easy now." All at once his tone changed. "There's such a thing asprotesting too much, you know. I don't take much stock in what I readin the Sunday papers, but there's a lot of talk going the rounds abouta romance between you and The Gray Phantom. Most of it is pipe dreams,I guess. Anyhow, it's nobody's business, and it makes no difference.All I'll say is that if I was The Gray Phantom and had a girl like youfighting for me, I'd be willing to go through hell-fire for her everyday in the week. You're loyal clean through and----"
"But you're wrong!" she interrupted emphatically. His words filled herwith a great fear, but there was a kind of rough tenderness in hisvoice that warmed her.
"I knew you'd say that, but you have to hear me through. I take off myhat to The Gray Phantom. He always played the game according to thecode, even when he cut those fancy didos that put gray hairs in almostevery head on the force. I shouldn't say it, but it goes just thesame. The Phantom's been lying low now for some time. Nobody seems toknow where he is. He's shown himself only twice, and each time he cameout in a good cause. They say he's going it straight, and it's rumoredthat a certain young lady has had a lot to do with his turning over anew leaf."
He paused, and for a moment his eyes rested on her averted face.
"It's hard work for a leopard to change his spots. Some people say itcan't be done. The Phantom's human, like the rest of us. Maybe he'sgot tired of the straight and narrow path and gone back to his oldtricks under a new name. Just for the sake of argument we'll say hehas. And I've got a hunch that last night you saw or heard somethingthat made you think that Mr. Shei is The Gray Phantom."
The assertion staggered her, though she had known all the time that hewas leading up to it. Using almost the same words, her father hadexpressed the same idea at the breakfast table, and it was thesimilarity of the phrasing that startled her.
"No--no!" was all she could say.
"Then will you please tell me," said Culligore, his tones both gentleand insistent, "why didn't you come out with what you knew lastnight?"
She fell back a step, feeling suddenly weak as she realized that hisquestion was unanswerable. A confusion of ideas churned and simmeredin her mind. Her lips moved, but no words came.
"You've answered me," declared Culligore. "You think Mr. Shei is ThePhantom. Maybe you're right, and maybe you're wrong. What I wanted toknow was what you thought. And let me tell you something." A foolishgrin, one of Lieutenant Culligore's infrequent ones, wrinkled hisface. "I hate my job less whenever I meet u
p with one of your kind."
Helen did not hear what he said. She felt as if the swirl of thoughtsand emotions within her had suddenly turned into a leaden lump. Sheglanced involuntarily at the chair in which Virginia Darrow had sat,and of a sudden she fancied she heard laughter--slow, tinkling laughterthat sounded like a taunt flung in the face of an approaching specter.She knew the sounds existed only in her imagination, but with a low,long drawn-out cry she turned abruptly and fled toward the door,conscious only of a fierce desire for sunlight and air.
No one detained her. She ran across the street. An idea was slowlyworking its way out of the turmoil in her mind. She opened her bag andcounted her scant supply of bills. Then she looked about her. Half ablock down the street she saw the sign of a district messenger office.In a few moments she was inside, hastily scrawling a note which shehad addressed to her father. A taxicab was passing as she stepped outon the street. She hailed the driver, and he drew in at the curb.
"Erie station--West Twenty-third Street," she directed breathlessly.
As the cab started she slumped back against the cushions and gazedrigidly out the window. Despite the bright sunlight, things blurredbefore her eyes, and there was only one clear thought in her mind.
She was on her way to The Gray Phantom, for she alone knew where tofind him.
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