CHAPTER XII
MR. SHEI STRIKES
A fine drizzle was in the air and the street lights emitted a blurredand languid sheen. For an hour The Gray Phantom had been pacing thesidewalk across the street from the Whipple Hotel, impatiently waitingfor the lights in Mr. Fairspeckle's suite to go out. His coat collarwas turned up and the brim of his soft hat was pulled low over hisforehead. Taking Culligore's warning to heart, he had resolved not toendanger his project by running unnecessary risks.
The passing pedestrians gave him scarcely a glance, and he toldhimself that the inclement weather was a point in his favor. Evidentlyneither Culligore nor Starr had mentioned his presence in the city,for he could see no signs of accelerated activity on the part of thepolice, as there would have been if the news had leaked out that TheGray Phantom had come out of hiding. The solitary watcher whom he hadseen from the window of Mr. Fairspeckle's bedroom earlier in the dayhad evidently quitted his task, for he was nowhere in sight.
Throughout the late afternoon and early evening, The Phantom had beenharassed by fears for Helen's safety. At times he had scarcely beenable to control his impatience, but his eagerness had been cooled bythe knowledge that a headlong rush into danger would only render thesituation worse. His interview with Culligore had not only helped toclarify his mind, but it had left him with a renewed conviction thatthe emaciated and dour-looking ex-financier was Mr. Shei.
Again he cast a speculative glance at the windows of Mr. Fairspeckle'sapartment. All the lights but one had been extinguished since he lastlooked in that direction, and he guessed that the occupant had retiredto his bedroom. His imagination pictured the old man sleeplesslypacing the floor, chuckling softly to himself while his mind evolvednefarious schemes. It was The Phantom's plan to take him completely bysurprise and if possible wring a confession from him. But above allelse he was determined to ascertain whether Fairspeckle knew anythingabout Helen's whereabouts.
He waited fifteen minutes longer, then adjusted his hat and collar andwalked briskly across the street. With the air of one belonging on thepremises he entered the hotel and, not thinking it safe to use theelevator, walked toward the stairway in the rear. A few drowsyloungers sat in chairs in the lobby, and the clerk was engaged with alate arrival, so no one noticed him. The long, heavily carpetedhallways were silent and deserted, for the Whipple was cateringchiefly to the staid and respectable element that retires early andsleeps soundly.
The Phantom ascended three flights of stairs, then turned down thecorridor toward Mr. Fairspeckle's apartment. Reaching the door, hestopped and listened, but no sound came from the interior. After acautious glance behind him, he took from his pocket a compact casewhich he always carried when engaged in enterprises like the present,and from its silk-lined grooves extracted a small metallic tool. In afew moments the lock had yielded to his deft manipulation, and hestepped inside.
Again he stopped and listened. The hallway in which he stood waslighted only by a tiny electric bulb in the ceiling, and its glow wasso faint that the surrounding objects were scarcely distinguishable.At first he could not hear the slightest sound, and he was about toproceed when a curious impression caused him to draw in his steps.Perhaps his imagination was deceiving him, but he thought someone wassobbing, and he had a distinct impression that the sounds were comingfrom the door at his left.
In an instant he had pressed his ear against the keyhole. Now he couldheard the sounds quite clearly, but the soblike effect was gone, andinstead they made him think of someone gasping and spluttering.Mystified, he tried the lock and pushed the door open. The room wasdark, and he ran his hand along the wall until he found the electricswitch. As the light flashed on, a mutter of amazement fell from hislips.
On a bed at the farther end of the room, with hands and feet bound anda gag firmly adjusted to his mouth, lay Haiuto. The servant, a look ofmute pleading in his bulging eyes, was tugging impotently at the ropesaround his ankles and wrists.
"What's happened?" sharply inquired The Phantom, but renewedsplutterings called his attention to the fact that the gag preventedHaiuto from speaking. He removed the cloth while repeating thequestion. Haiuto, breathing hard, licked the bruised portion of hismouth.
"Don't know," he finally managed to say. "I sleep. Then noise at door.Before I can get up, somebody walk in. All is dark, like tomb ofIyeyasu. I get awful crack on head. Then sleep again. Don't knowanything else."
With a moan Haiuto sank back against the pillow. A startling suspicionflashed through The Phantom's mind. Without troubling to release theservant's limbs, he ran from the room and opened a door at the fartherend of the hall. He had thought it led into Fairspeckle's bedroom, buthis sense of direction had become somewhat confused, and he foundhimself in the library instead. Faintly through the darkness heglimpsed the bright nickel trimmings of the typewriter at which theex-financier had been at work earlier in the day. He groped his wayacross the floor, turning in the direction where he thoughtFairspeckle's bedroom was. A soft tinkle brought him to a dead stop.
The telephone was ringing! Acting on impulse, he fumbled about in thedark till he found the instrument, then lifted the receiver to his earand spoke a low response into the transmitter. The answering voicesent a quiver through his being. He recognized it at once, for he hadheard it before.
"Mr. Shei speaking," it was saying, and the cold, precise tones wereedged with a taunt. "I perceive you have chosen to disregard thewarning I gave you a few hours ago. Unless you abandon your plans atonce, Miss Hardwick will die. That is absolutely final."
A faint click signified that the connection was broken. For a fewmoments The Phantom stood rigid, scarcely able to comprehend theimport of the message. It had been spoken in tones so emphatic andsinister that he was left in no doubt regarding the speaker'ssincerity. But how had the man at the other end of the wire learnedthat The Phantom was in Fairspeckle's apartment? The telephone call,coming a few minutes after The Phantom's arrival, had been soaccurately timed as to indicate that he had been followed to theWhipple. Yet that did not seem quite possible, for he had beenparticularly alert against that very thing.
Finally he put the telephone down. He tried to stifle the new andpoignant misgivings with which the voice had inspired him. Heremembered the other message he had received from the personpurporting to be Mr. Shei. He had been deceived then, unless his ownand Culligore's deductions were all wrong, and he would not be soeasily imposed upon again. Doubtless the second message, like thefirst, was only a clever hoax on Fairspeckle's part. Well, in a fewmoments he would probably know the truth.
His fears and doubts were only partly quieted when he stepped softlyfrom the room. Time and again there flashed through his mind asuspicion that something was wrong with the theory Culligore hadimplanted in his mind, but his thoughts in this direction were hazy.The binding and gagging of Haiuto was a disquieting and perplexingcircumstance that did not seem to fit into the woof of thelieutenant's ideas in regard to Fairspeckle.
The Phantom passed through another door, then stopped short and staredin astonishment at the scene that met his eyes.
He was in Mr. Fairspeckle's bedroom. A single electric light, the onehe had seen while standing on the sidewalk opposite the hotel, glowedsoftly in a wall fixture. In a morris chair in the middle of the room,with the folds of a dressing gown hanging loosely over his bony frame,sat W. Rufus Fairspeckle. He sat so still that, if his eyes had beenclosed, The Phantom would have suspected that he was either asleep ordead. He was bound and gagged in the same manner as Haiuto had been,but it struck The Phantom as vaguely significant that his right armwas bared to the elbow.
As he stepped closer, he became oddly impressed by the strangeexpression in the old man's eyes. They looked straight ahead in afixed, unseeing way, and there was a gleam of merriment in their dimdepths that clashed sharply with the pallor on the shrunken cheeks. Itseemed as though Fairspeckle's soul was indulging in fancies of whichhis physical self was unaware, and the whole effect impressed ThePhantom a
s uncanny.
He leaned forward and examined the exposed arm. Just below the musclesof the elbow, and directly over one of the smaller veins, was apuncture and a congealed drop of blood. The puncture was so small thatit might have been inflicted with a needle prick. In a roundabout wayThe Phantom's mind went back to the scene in the Thelma Theater as ithad been pictured in the newspapers, and with an inward start heremembered that just such a puncture had been found on the right armof Virginia Darrow.
Though as yet he could not grasp the meaning of it, the coincidenceacted as an electric shock on his nerves. He tore away the gag fromthe old man's lips and vigorously shook his arm.
"What's the matter?" he inquired.
The red eyelids quivered a little. The look of hilarity flickering inthe depths of the orbs grew a trifle more pronounced. It was almostgrewsome, but The Phantom's sense of perplexity was stronger than hisrepugnance.
"Can't you speak?" he asked sharply. "What is the meaning of this?"
Fairspeckle's chest heaved feebly. The motion was accompanied by aplucking movement of the fingers. The hands and feet strainedimpotently against the fettering cords. Then the lips fluttered,exposing a row of uneven teeth, and in the next instant a shiver randown The Phantom's spine.
Through the fluttering lips came a laugh such as he had never beforeheard. It sounded hollow and cracked and as unreal as if produced by amechanical contrivance. The Phantom had an uncanny sensation that thedead, if they were capable of producing sounds, might laugh just likethat. Then he remembered the vivid descriptions he had read of themocking laughter that had come from Virginia Darrow's dying lips, anda hazy suspicion entered his mind. He took a jack-knife from hispocket and swiftly slashed the cords around Fairspeckle's arms andlegs.
Although released from his bonds, the man in the chair scarcely moved.The feet scraped gently against the floor, and the arms fell limply tohis sides. Weird snatches of laughter were still trickling through hislips, but the expression of insane merriment in his eyes was slowlyyielding to a look of returning reason.
The Phantom looked helplessly about him, and suddenly his eyes fell ona sheet of paper lying at the old man's feet. Mechanically he pickedit up and glanced at the typewritten lines. From the smudged andindistinct type he was vaguely aware that he was gazing at a carboncopy. A word here and there attracted his attention, and presently hewas reading the communication from the beginning. It read:
Dear Friend: The poison which has been injected into your veins to-night has been accurately adjusted to produce death within seven days. You will have lucid intervals, but you will be gradually growing weaker and weaker. Consult as many high-priced specialists as you wish, and if they can help you, you are to be congratulated. There is only one antidote, and that is the secret of a confederate of mine. It will be supplied you for a consideration. The exact terms will be communicated to you in a few days. By that time you will probably have been convinced that your life is absolutely in my hands.
If misery loves company, I trust you will find consolation in the fact that six others are in precisely the same predicament as yourself.
Mr. Shei.
The sheet dropped from The Phantom's fingers. If what he had just readseemed grotesque and absurd, a glance at the man in the chairconferred a semblance of hideous reality upon it. Mr. Shei had struckthe threatened blow, and he had struck sooner than expected.
Fairspeckle's laughter had ceased and a look of reason was coming intohis waxen features. The expression of ribald mockery had left hiseyes, and now they were fixed on The Phantom's face in a dull,suspicious stare. With a start The Phantom awoke to a realization ofhis predicament. If he were caught in Fairspeckle's apartment, thepolice and the public would be firmly convinced of what they alreadysuspected--that Mr. Shei and The Phantom were one. Not even Culligore'skeen mind and generous impulses would suffice to save him from arrestand imprisonment. And there was Helen--the thought gave him a spinalchill. Perhaps at this very moment she was confronted by someterrifying peril. And if he were arrested, then his last chance ofhelping her would be gone.
His mind made up, The Phantom ran to the telephone in the adjoiningroom. He called a number, and presently he was answered by an operatorat police headquarters. His inquiry for Culligore elicited theinformation that the lieutenant was out and would probably not returnuntil morning. The Phantom hesitated for a moment, then spokehurriedly into the transmitter:
"This is important. Send a doctor and a couple of detectives at onceto the Whipple Hotel, suite 36. You will find something veryinteresting. That's all."
With that he hung up, and a few moments later he had left theapartment and was briskly walking down the stairs.
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