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 The 
 GRAY PHANTOM
 
 The Gray Phantom 
 
 By HERMAN LANDON 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY 
 Publishers New York 
 
 Published by arraarement with W. J. Watt & Company 
 Printed in U. S. A.
 
 Copyright, 1921, by 
 W. J. WATT & COMPAKY
 
 T© 
 
 THE OTHER HELEN 
 
 213G024 '
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 A Tragic Interlude i 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 "Mr. Shei" 15 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 Helen Equivocates 34 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 Azurecrest 55 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 Perplexities 63 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 The Phantom Orchid 78 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 Mr. Shei Shows His Hand 93 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 The Voice on the Wire 11 1 
 
 vii
 
 viii CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 The House of Laughter 119 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 A Shot 129 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 An Eavesdropper 142 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 Mr. Shei Strikes 152 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 A Message from Mr. Shei 163 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 The Elusive Mr. Shei 180 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 Doctor Tagala 187 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 Checkmated 300 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 Doctor Tagala's Discovery 210 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 The Figure on the Stairs 228
 
 CONTENTS ix 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 A Futile Search 239 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 Trapped 251 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 Mr. Shei's Stratagem 269 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 The Phantom's Ruse 281 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 The End of the Gray Phantom . . . . 291
 
 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 A TRAGIC INTERLUDE 
 
 HOURS afterward, when the tragic spell had 
 broken and scraps and odds of the affair 
 began to throng the memories of those 
 present at the opening performance of "His Soul's 
 ' Master," several persons remembered that a curious 
 , hush had preceded the fateful moment. 
 
 No one could tell why, but of a sudden all sounds 
 had ceased. Subdued whispers, the creaking of seats, 
 and the froufrou of garments had stopped as abruptly 
 as if a silencing signal had gone through the little audi- 
 torium. The spectators had sat motionless, momen- 
 tarily holding their breath, and even the voices of the 
 actors had faltered for an appreciable second or two. 
 The stillness had been charged with an uneasy tension, 
 and it seemed ?s though a telepathic whisper of warn- 
 ing had been communicated to the gathering. 
 
 Vivian Tennant, as frivolous as she was delicately
 
 2 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 molded, declared the following day that the silence 
 during those few moments had been so intense that she 
 was positive she had heard a pin drop from the coiffure 
 of the woman on her left. Alex Hammond, forty and 
 cynical, would have ascribed the spell to a touch of 
 necromancy had he been a believer in such childish 
 things. Mrs. Hungerford Gather, a frail little widow 
 with a melancholy disposition, said she felt just as 
 though she were at a seance and a ghost was expected 
 to appear any moment. The others described their 
 impressions with varying degrees of vividness, but all 
 of them agreed in having felt the creeping approach of 
 a silent and invisible horror. 
 
 Only Helen Hardwick, whose fresh young charm 
 and frank brown eyes made her seem strangely out 
 of place in that motley gathering of rouged lips, 
 sophisticated banter and gowns suggestive of the 
 Parisian boulevards, was singularly uncommunicative 
 in regard to what she had experienced during the wierd 
 interlude when the Thelma Theater became the scene 
 of one of life's grimly realistic tragedies. And her 
 silence was all the more remarkable because she had 
 seen, heard and felt more than any of the others. 
 
 The Thelma, with its walls of common red brick 
 and severely plain architecture, might have suggested 
 anything but the setting of a dark and mysterious 
 crime. Outwardly the building, located in a section of 
 New York largely given over to tenements, unsoaped
 
 A TRAGIC INTERLUDE 8 
 
 children and garlicky odors, presented an air of solidity 
 and matter-of-factness that left the imagination un- 
 touched and gave no hint of the interior. The inside 
 was as colorful and fanciful as the outside was un- 
 lovely and prosaic, and it was rumored that Vincent 
 Starr, the eccentric owner, had spent a fortune on the 
 decorations. 
 
 Like many another rich man, Starr had his hobby. 
 The newspapers and the critics had scoffed and railed 
 when he opened the Thelma and dedicated it to the 
 uplift of dramatic art. He held the Broadway produc- 
 tions in lofty contempt, declaring that they catered only 
 to the vulgar tastes of the rabble. Admission to the 
 Thelma was by invitation only, and the auditorium 
 seated exactly ninety-nine persons, for it was Starr's 
 firm opinion that out of the city's five million only an 
 infinitesimal few were able to appreciate true histrionic 
 art. Members of the daily press were never admitted, 
 and the only critics present at the performances were 
 the representatives of two or three obscure journals 
 who shared Starr's esthetic views. 
 
 The owner and director of the Thelma was preju- 
 diced against music at theatrical performances, and 
 where the orchestra pit should have been was an 
 exquisite statue in marble representing Aphrodite 
 springing out of a foaming sea. Along the walls were 
 friezes picturing the nine muses, the work of a famous 
 mural painter, and the domed ceiling showed colorful
 
 4 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 glimpses of Dionysian festivals. Scattered throughout 
 the auditorium and in niches in the walls were superb 
 vases containing flowers whose fragrance filled the 
 air. 
 
 The effect of the whole was sumptuous rather than 
 harmonious, and it was characteristic of Vincent 
 Starr's freakish tastes and clashing impulses. And 
 among the audience at the premiere of "His Soul's 
 Master" there was not one but thought that the brilliant 
 and fanciful setting lent a touch of incongruity to the 
 tragic byplay enacted off stage. 
 
 The moment she stepped into the box reserved for 
 her father and herself, Helen Hardwick felt she was in 
 a strange and somewhat oppressive atmosphere. The 
 faces in the audience were unfamiliar, and everybody 
 stared at her in a way she could not understand until 
 she suddenly remembered that among these people she 
 was something of a celebrity. Vincent Starr, who 
 sneered at the biggest dramatic successes of the year, 
 had not only accepted her play for production at the 
 Thelma, but was himself playing the principal role, 
 and he was indulging in much self -flattery over having 
 discovered a budding genius in the author of "His 
 Soul's Master." That explained the curious glances 
 turned in her direction. 
 
 It was both amusing and bewildering, she thought. 
 Nothing but a whim had caused her to enter her play 
 in the prize contest conducted by Starr to obtain suit-
 
 A TRAGIC INTERLUDE 5 
 
 able material for his theater, and its acceptance had 
 been the greatest surprise of her twenty-three years. 
 Her only other serious attempt had been a sketch pro- 
 duced by a dramatic society at Barnard in her junior 
 year. "His Soul's Master" had been a slightly more 
 ambitious effort, and It had been inspired by vague 
 emotions which she herself could hardly understand, 
 but for all that it was a simple, artless thing with a 
 theme as old as the story of the Garden of Eden, It 
 was nothing more than an allegorical fantasy depicting 
 the forces of evil and good struggling for possession 
 of a man's soul. How a play of that kind could have 
 appealed to an eccentric and highly sophisticated genius 
 like Vincent Starr was beyond her. 
 
 But the curtain had been up only a few minutes 
 when she began to understand. In the part of Mariiis, 
 the mortal for whose soul the spirits of light and dark- 
 ness were contending, Starr had found a role that 
 matched his temperament to perfection. The opening 
 monologue, In which Marius revealed himself as tiring 
 of a life of refined villainy and roguish adventures, had 
 not proceeded far before she saw that the role had so 
 gripped and stirred him that he was living the part 
 rather than acting it. The lines throbbed and sparkled 
 with life and passion, and Starr was completely sub- 
 merging his own emotions In those of the hero. 
 
 It did not take Helen long to see that it was the 
 character of Marius, rather than the flimsy fancy
 
 6 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 woven around it, that had caused Starr to accept her 
 play. She had heard he was vain and egotistical, arul 
 no doubt he reveled in the opportunity for self -exalta- 
 tion that the role afforded him. As the play went on 
 from scene to scene, another impression began to take 
 root in her mind. Here and there in the lines she 
 noted an odd cynical twist or a bit of ambiguous 
 phrasing that she was sure had not been in the manu- 
 script. The tempting voices and gestures of the spirits 
 of darkness were more appealing than she had in- 
 tended, and the exhortations of the spirit of light were 
 correspondingly feebler. She thought she understood 
 why Starr had found excuses for not admitting her to 
 any of the rehearsals. 
 
 She was inclined to resent the liberties he had taken 
 with her lines, but again she was carried away by his 
 impassioned rendition of Maritis. The very lifeblood 
 of the character seemed to pulse in Starr's veins. 
 Maritis had seemed very real to her while she was 
 writing the play, but not so real by far as she now saw 
 him on the stage of the Thelma Theater. She leaned 
 forward and watched him with growing interest and 
 wonder. It was as if a being that had existed only in 
 her thoughts and in her heart had suddenly material- 
 ized in flesh and blood. 
 
 It was weird. Now and then there came a touch of 
 subtlety, an odd turn of speech, or a telling gesture that 
 she instantly recognized, although she knew it was
 
 A TRAGIC INTERLUDE 7 
 
 interpolated by the actor. She had heard and seen 
 them all in imagination, but not clearly enough to 
 reproduce them on paper. The gestures impressed her 
 most. She knew and recognized them all, from the 
 slightest to the most elaborate, although she had visual- 
 ized only a few of them clearly enough to be able to put 
 them into the play. It seemed as though the actor, in 
 expanding and vivifying his role, had made use of 
 material that had existed only in the playwright's 
 mind. 
 
 Impulsively she reached out her hand and placed it 
 over her father's. Mr. Hardwick, curator of the Cos- 
 mopolitan Museum and an authority on Assyrian 
 relics, started as if his mind had been roving among 
 prehistoric scenes. 
 
 "Why, child, your hand is cold!" he whispered 
 anxiously. "Aren't you well?" 
 
 "Yes, dad. I'm all right." Her large brown eyes 
 avoided his searching gaze. "How do you like my 
 play?" 
 
 She scarcely heard his answer. For a moment she 
 had turned her eyes from the stage and let them 
 wander over the dimly lighted auditorium, and of a 
 sudden a face in the last row of seats held her glance. 
 It was a striking face, though Helen would not have 
 called it beautiful. Somehow the curve of the 
 haughtily tilted chin repelled her. The features were 
 perfect in a cold, unalluring way, and the faint curl
 
 8 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 of the lips and the designing look in the eyes made 
 her think of a Velasquez portrait. The woman sat 
 alone, the seats to right and left of her being unoccu- 
 pied, and the heavily shaded electric light on the wall 
 at her side drew a thousand flashing tints from the 
 jewel in her hair. 
 
 It was not the face that held Helen Hardwick, but 
 rather the fixed, shrewdly scrutinizing look with which 
 the woman was regarding Vincent Starr. She fol- 
 lowed his every motion and gesture with the sly per- 
 sistence of a cat watching a mouse. Now and then 
 she bent forward, and her lips twitched in a knowing 
 way, as if she were thinking of something that pleased 
 and amused her even while it startled her a little. 
 Helen, studying her with a puzzled look, found her- 
 self wondering whether it was the man or the actor 
 that interested the woman so profoundly. 
 
 With an effort — for the woman in the rear of the 
 house had already begun to pique her imagination — 
 she once more turned her eyes to the stage. Again 
 she marveled and wondered. She had an odd feeling 
 that something was going on before her eyes which 
 her reason told her could not be quite real. Starr's 
 perfect mastery of the role seemed almost super- 
 natural. The slight, quick motions of the hands, the 
 occasional backward toss of the head, the odd habit 
 of gazing down at the finger tips when in deep thought.
 
 A TRAGIC INTERLUDE 9 
 
 the set and swing of the shoulders, the minor but char- 
 acteristic peculiarities of speech and gesture — all be- 
 longed to the Marius she had seen and known, and 
 Starr's re-creation of him struck her as uncanny. 
 
 Of a sudden she felt a little dazed. She shot a 
 quick glance over the auditorium. No one but her- 
 self and the woman in the rear seemed to have noticed 
 anything unusual. Again her eyes went back to the 
 stage; and then, as if a hazy idea in the back of her 
 mind had all at once leaped into dazzling clarity, she 
 bent abruptly toward her father. 
 
 "Dad — look!" she whispered tensely, tugging at 
 his sleeve. "Don't you see? It's " 
 
 She stopped, shrugged a little, and her hand 
 dropped limply to her knee. The fall of the curtain 
 and the flare-up of the lights seemed to have blotted 
 out an illusion. Mr. Hardwick, gray and lean and 
 looking rather uncomfortable in his full-dress suit, 
 adjusted his glasses on his thin nose, and looked at her 
 gravely. 
 
 "My goodness, child! What is the matter?" he 
 murmured. 
 
 "Nothing, dad. I forgot that — that you wouldn't 
 understand." She drew the palm of her hand across 
 her forehead. "Isn't the air stifling?" 
 
 "Too much excitement for you, I am afraid." He 
 smiled as if his practical sense had found a satisfactory
 
 10 THE GRAY PILiNTOM 
 
 answer. "Your mother was just like that. Whenever 
 she got a bit wrought up, she always said things that 
 I couldn't understand. Now " 
 
 The hangings parted and Vincent Starr stepped 
 inside the box. Helen gave him a swiftly appraising 
 glance. His face was flushed and he looked tired, as if 
 his last ounce of energy had been spent in the emo- 
 tional tempest of Marius, but a swift look of animation 
 brightened his face as she introduced her father. The 
 first thing one usually noticed about Vincent Starr was 
 his pale, placid eyes. They seemed to give the lie to 
 his magnetic smile, his vivacious manners, and his deep 
 and perfectly modulated voice. As once or twice 
 before in his presence, Helen felt fascinated and re- 
 pelled. 
 
 "You are doing my daughter a great honor," mur- 
 mured Mr. Hardwick. 
 
 "Not at all." Starr laughed softly, but Helen 
 thought she detected a slight discord that might have 
 been due to either nervousness or fatigue. "Miss 
 Hardwick has placed me under a very great obligation. 
 Her play is splendid. The last act is particularly 
 strong, as you will see in a few minutes. You must 
 give me your opinion of " 
 
 Helen heard no more. She had glanced toward the 
 rear of the house just in time to see a mysterious smile 
 on the face of the woman seated in the last row. In 
 vain Helen tried to read and interpret it. Presently
 
 A TRAGIC INTERLUDE 11 
 
 the woman took a pencil from her bag and began to 
 write on a page torn from her programme. Finally 
 she summoned an usher, handed him what she had 
 written, and nodded in the direction where Helen was 
 sitting. The attendant glided away, and a few moments 
 later he stood bowing before Starr. 
 
 "A lady sent you this, sir," he announced. 
 
 Starr murmured an apology to Helen and her father 
 and unfolded the note. His face, dark and almost 
 effeminately smooth — the face of a dreamer rather 
 than a man of action — showed a look of boredom hint- 
 ing that he was weary of receiving notes from feminine 
 admirers. Then, as he glanced at the writing, his ex- 
 pression suddenly changed. A look of fear crossed his 
 face, but it vanished so quickly that Helen could not be 
 sure she had read its meaning correctly. He crumpled 
 the note in his hand and glanced at his watch. 
 
 "It's almost time for the curtain," he murmured, 
 quite himself once more. "I hope to see both of you 
 later." 
 
 With that he was gone. Helen stole a glance at 
 the woman in the rear. Her face bore an expression of 
 amusement and sly triumph, but it afforded no clew 
 to what the note had contained. Then the lights faded 
 out and the curtain rose upon the final act. The scene 
 depended for its full effect on almost total darkness, 
 and the only illumination in the house was a smolder- 
 ing camp fire in one corner of the stage and the small
 
 12 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 red lights over the exits. Maritis stood in the center, 
 almost totally wrapped in shadows, and in the distance 
 were heard the strains of strange, wild singing. The 
 spirits of evil were creeping out of tlie darkness to 
 make their last sorcerous appeal. 
 
 Helen felt herself tingling with suspense. She did 
 not know why, unless it was due to the look of fear 
 she had seen in Starr's face as he read the note. She 
 glanced toward the rear, but the auditorium was now 
 so dark that she could no longer see the mysterious 
 woman, although she imagined her hair ornament was 
 gleaming dully in the gloom. 
 
 Of a sudden she opened her eyes wide, straining her 
 pupils against the darkness. She could not be quite 
 sure, but she thought a shadow had emerged from one 
 of the exits and was gliding silently toward the woman 
 in the rear. She sat very still while little shivers ran 
 up and down her back, and she was vaguely wondering 
 at an odd change in Starr's voice. It drooped, grew 
 hoarse and uncertain, and there were pauses between 
 the words. She felt he was trying to conquer a sense 
 of unreasoning dread. A feeling of dizziness seized 
 her, but her imagination formed a picture of a dark 
 shape steahng softly, silently toward where the 
 woman sat. 
 
 Acting on an irresistible impulse, she rose and hur- 
 ried from the box, deaf to her father's mild remon- 
 strance. Without volition on her part, her feet seemed
 
 A TRAGIC INTERLUDE 13 
 
 tso carry her swiftly up the heavily carpeted aisle. She 
 heard a jumble of noises in her head and felt a tighten- 
 ing at the throat. She rounded the last tier of seats 
 and rushed forward, guided only by a feeble red gleam 
 over one of the exits. A dim shape, a shade darker 
 than the surrounding dusk, was moving a few feet 
 ahead of her. 
 
 All at once, as if the hesitancy in Starr's voice had 
 cast a deadening spell over the actors and the audience, 
 an uneasy silence fell upon the house. Helen sensed 
 it as she sped along in the wake of the creeping 
 shadow. A few steps more, and she could make out 
 the woman's figure, vaguely outlined against the gloom, 
 and just behind it stood the shadowy shape whose 
 furtive movements Helen had followed since she left 
 the box. 
 
 The happenings of the next few moments were like 
 a swift, horrible dream. Suddenly she felt limp and ' 
 cold. Within reach of her arm a hand moved, and the 
 motion seemed to strike a hideous note through the 
 surrounding stillness. A cry rose and died in her 
 throat. She staggered back against a post and stood 
 there motionless while a dark shape brushed past her. 
 She recoiled as a hand touched hers in passing, and she 
 caught a fleeting but unforgettable glimpse of a face. 
 
 It was gone in a moment, but the swarthy features, 
 framed by coarse black hair that reached to the shoul- 
 ders, the flat, short nose, the thick and jutting lower
 
 14 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 lip, the great eyes with their lambent flames that 
 seemed to send streaks of fire into the darkness, gave 
 her a feeling that something evil and loathsome had 
 .passed.
 
 CHAPTER H 
 "MR. SHEI" 
 
 FOR a moment longer she leaned against the 
 pillar. Then she heard laughter — laughter that 
 was low and sibilant and edged with the insinu- 
 ating twang that sometimes characterizes the laughter 
 of a madman. It was soft and gentle, yet she thought 
 it was the most fearful sound she had ever heard. It 
 gripped and shook her, and she knew instinctively that 
 it came from the woman in the rear. 
 
 Something urged her forward, but her nerves and 
 limbs rebelled. Others beside herself must have heard 
 that soul-shaking laughter, for the hush that had fallen 
 over the house ended abruptly in a jumble of loud 
 sounds. The curtain descended with a rhythmic chug- 
 ging, there were exclamations of surprise and horror, 
 and the audience sprang from their seats as the lights 
 went on. With startled faces they looked to left and 
 right and rear, and several of them excitedly inquired 
 what had happened. No one seemed to know, but as 
 if moved by a single impulse, they scrambled in the 
 direction whence the laughter came. Then they 
 stopped, huddled in a half circle, and stared. 
 
 15
 
 16 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 What they saw seemed all the stranger by contrast 
 with the flowery scents in the air and the rich and bril- 
 liant hues of the surroundings. All eyes were fixed 
 on the woman whose peculiar demeanor had aroused 
 Helen's interest. Her extravagant attire and her wild, 
 gypsylike beauty seemed typical of the oddly assorted 
 characters who made up Vincent Starr's circle of 
 intimates. A filmy drapery embroidered with gold- 
 touched flowers hung like an iridescent fog over her 
 gown of silver tissue. Her bare arm was flung out 
 over the top of the next seat, and her head had fallen 
 back against the elbow. 
 
 Murmurs of awe and consternation fell from the lips 
 of the onlookers. Before their eyes the pallor of death 
 was creeping into the woman's face, and her cheeks 
 and forehead were beaded with the perspiration of the 
 death struggle. Now and then her figure writhed with 
 a slow, snakelike motion. A film of gray was gradually 
 dimming the luster of the eyes. Only the lips were still 
 red. 
 
 As if to fling a taunt in the face of approaching 
 death, the woman was laughing. It sounded wildly 
 unreal and fantastic, and the spectators stood as if 
 gripped by an unearthly enchantment. It seemed as 
 though the woman's spirit was flitting away on waves 
 of hysterical mirth. 
 
 The sounds grew husky, then ceased. The woman's 
 glazing orbs looked out over the fringe of faces. A
 
 "MR. SHEI" If 
 
 fluttering ray struggled with the blinding film before 
 her eyes, and she seemed to be looking for someone 
 who was not there. She stirred as if trying to gather 
 her waning energies. Her lips trembled, a few faint 
 sounds broke on the tense silence, and again her gaze 
 strayed gropingly over the crowd. 
 
 "Mr. — Mr. Shei," she whispered. 
 
 Those closest to her recoiled as from a physical 
 blow. The name spoken by the dying woman had con- 
 tributed the final touch of weirdness to the scene. The 
 two words went from mouth to mouth In a succession 
 of solemn whispers. Faces turned rigid and white, and 
 men and women looked at one another with mute fear 
 in their eyes. 
 
 Then someone with more presence of mind than 
 the others, suggested calling a physician. A strain of 
 drawling laughter from the dying woman mocked the 
 proposal. It rose to a shrill pitch, then died abruptly 
 in a low sing-song moan that was like a chant of death. 
 The lips were still moving, but the onlookers knew, 
 even without the sagging of the body and the broken 
 light In the eyes, that the woman was dead. A spell 
 seemed to have lifted and an oppressive essence 
 appeared to have gone out of the air. 
 
 "Awful!" wailed a woman, edging away from her 
 place In the huddled throng. "I shall hear that laugh 
 as long as I live. And what was that she said about 
 Mr. Shei?"
 
 18 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 The name and the prefix were all anyone had been 
 able to make out, but they had been enough to send a 
 thrill of fear and astonishment through the crowd. Of 
 the mysterious "Mr. Shei" little was known except 
 that he was a versatile and very elusive criminal, with 
 a penchant for deep scheming and spectacular tactics, 
 and that so far the police had matched their wits 
 against him in vain. He flashed in and out like a 
 meteor, without leaving trace or clew, and his audacity 
 and impudence were as dumfounding as the magnitude 
 of his exploits. 
 
 "Did she mean," inquired someone, "that Mr. Shei 
 was here — that she saw him?" 
 
 "What else could she have meant?" The speaker 
 cast an uncertain glance at the dead woman. The 
 grayness and the rigidity of her features clashed 
 bizarrely with the. brilliant coloring of her gown. 
 "Likely as not Mr. Shei murdered her." 
 
 "But there is no wound. And she made no outcry. 
 She only laughed. And such a laugh ! I can hear it 
 still!" 
 
 "Mr. Shei is diabolically clever," observed another, 
 "and he goes about his business in his own way. It 
 would be quite in character for him to kill without 
 inflicting a wound and to let his victim go to her death 
 
 laughing." 
 
 The group fell silent. Helen, who had remained in 
 the background, trying to control her sense of horror
 
 "MR. SHEI" 19 
 
 while she pondered what she had seen, touched the arm 
 of the woman in front. 
 
 "Who is she?" she inquired. 
 
 "Don't you know?" The woman, busying herself 
 with a vial of smelling salts, gave Helen a puzzled look. 
 "Why, she is Virginia Darrow. Never attend her 
 studio parties ? That's strange. But I forget that you 
 are something of a stranger among us, Miss Hard- 
 wick." 
 
 Helen smiled faintly, and the next moment her 
 attention was attracted to her father. Mr. Hardwick 
 had joined his daughter shortly after the lights went 
 on, and until now he had been a silent spectator. With 
 difficulty he elbowed his way through the crowd to the 
 dead woman's side, and regarded her closely. Pres- 
 ently he raised her right arm, which had hung limply 
 at her side. Just above the elbow was a small, faint 
 discoloration, not unlike the puncture made by a hypo- 
 dermic syringe. He nodded thoughtfully and seemed 
 about to speak, but just then Vincent Starr, followed 
 by several members of his company, came up the aisle 
 and wedged a path through the huddled spectators. 
 
 He seemed to take in everything at a single compre- 
 hensive glance. He was pale, and his fingers trembled, 
 but Helen noticed that he had taken pains to arrange 
 his attire before coming out to ascertain the cause of 
 the commotion. His long and glossy hair was neatly 
 combed, his cravat was carefully adjusted, and just the
 
 20 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 proper width of cuff showed beyond the edge of his 
 sleeve. She watched him narrowly while he questioned 
 those about him. Somehow she sensed that it was in 
 keeping with Vincent Starr's character to be squeamish 
 about the minor details of his appearance even when 
 face to face with a tragedy. Suddenly, as she heard 
 him issue orders to right and left, she remembered the 
 note Virginia Darrow had sent him, and she wondered, 
 without knowing exactly why, whether he would say 
 anything about it. 
 
 At the same time she was forced to admire his quick- 
 ness of wits and the ease with which he mastered his 
 feelings. In an incredibly short time the police had 
 been notified of the occurrence and the doorkeepers 
 had been given orders to allow no one to leave the 
 building. Starr, in his habitually suave tones, asked 
 his guests to be seated and expressed his regrets that 
 such an unpleasant affair should have taken place 
 under the roof of the Thelma. There would be an 
 investigation and a great deal of questioning, he ex- 
 plained, but it would be only a formality. If the 
 mysterious Mr. Shei — he smiled queerly as he spoke 
 the name — had invaded the Thelma, he would un- 
 doubtedly be caught. 
 
 The crowd scattered among the seats in the audi- 
 torium and lapsed into the small talk with which one 
 sometimes masks an inward turbulence. Helen, seated 
 beside her father on a lounge in a comer, let her glance
 
 "MR. SHEI" 21 
 
 roam aimlessly over the scene. She supposed she 
 would be questioned along with the others, and she 
 wondered how much or how little she would be able to 
 tell. Now that she tried to clarify the confusion in her 
 mind, she saw that during the evening she had received 
 two sets of impressions. Both had been equally strong 
 at the time, but now they seemed to clash and quarrel 
 with each other, and one of them had all but vanished 
 with the drop of the curtain. Yet she felt it was the 
 more important one of the two. The other had to do 
 with the face she had glimpsed in the shadows. With 
 the varicolored lights glowing on all sides, her recol- 
 lection of it seemed unreal and fanciful. It appeared 
 to be a thing of darkness and dreams. Her one re- 
 maining impression of it was a sense of malignity and 
 horror. She felt words were inadequate to describe it. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders slightly, as if to banish 
 harassing thoughts, and turned to her father. His face 
 was drawn and a trifle pale, and she remembered the 
 family physician had once said something about an 
 incipient heart ailment and the necessity of avoiding 
 excitement. She tilted her face close to his. 
 
 "Fm sorry I got you into this, dad," she said. 
 
 Mr. Hardwick drew himself up. His face brightened 
 with affection and the pride of parenthood as he gazed 
 at his daughter's figure, straight and slender and strong 
 as the trunk of a young birch. Her simple frock of 
 white taffeta with touches of coral at the waist pos-
 
 22 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 sessed that subtle individual charm which fashion 
 designers can only imitate. Her dark, loosely coiled 
 hair, with stray whisps caressing her healthily tanned 
 cheeks, seemed in constant mutiny against the petty 
 tyrannies of hairdressers. 
 
 "I might have known something was to happen." 
 Mr. Hardwick's tones were gently playful, as if he 
 were anxious to turn his daughter's thoughts from the 
 tragedy. "Something always happens where you are. 
 You are a storm petrel, my dear." 
 
 "I was born under Uranus, you know. That explains 
 everything." She smiled whimsically. There was a 
 touch of the child in the firm oval of her face and the 
 smooth curves of mouth and nose, but the deep-brown 
 eyes held a surprising store of worldly wisdom. She 
 ^quite baffled her father at times. The impulses of April 
 and June seemed to be constantly clashing within her, 
 and they filled his autumnal days with a never-ending 
 round of surprises. 
 
 "I wonder," he said, eyeing her curiously as a new 
 thought came to him, "whether Uranus had anything 
 to do with your leaving the box just before — before it 
 happened." 
 
 "It's always safe to blame Uranus," she parried. 
 "He is such a convenient scapegoat. I don't know 
 what I would do if " 
 
 She was grateful for the interruption that came just 
 then. The law was already at work, and she sat back
 
 "MR. SHEI" 23 
 
 and watched the swift precision of its mechanism. Two 
 poHcemen, one heavy and red-faced, the other lean and 
 sharp-visaged, walked into the theater and stationed 
 themselves beside the body with the air of zealots 
 guarding the coffin of Mohammed. She gathered from 
 the few words they exchanged with Starr that a cordon 
 had been thrown around the building a minute and a 
 half after the call reached the precinct station. They 
 were followed shortly by a puffy little man who let it 
 be known that he was a deputy from the office of the 
 chief medical examiner. The latter had barely begun 
 the usual inspection of the body when two other men 
 entered the auditorium. 
 
 One of them, barrel-chested and somewhat pompous 
 in his manners, seemed to be a representative of the 
 district attorney's office. The other, angular and as 
 loose-jointed as a marionette, with lazy, cinnamon- 
 colored eyes and a complexion that seemed to indicate 
 that he drank too much coffee and smoked too many 
 cigars, was recognized by Helen at first glance. 
 Uranus had brought them together once before. She 
 remembered that his name was Lieutenant Culligore, 
 and that he was attached to the homicide squad of the 
 detective bureau. As his glance flitted slowly over the 
 room, his mind seemed to register each detail without 
 slightest effort. Helen noticed that he gazed at her a 
 trifle longer than on the others, but his face betrayed no 
 recognition.
 
 «4i THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 Then began the questioning, conducted by the stout 
 tnan from the district attorney's office, while Lieuten- 
 ant Culligore made an occasional jotting in his note- 
 book. The members of the audience were interrogated 
 briefly and pointedly, and each one in turn was per- 
 mitted to depart after leaving his or her name and 
 address. Helen marveled at the matter-of-factness of 
 it all. It seemed almost ruthless, this volleying of 
 questions over a body which was scarcely cold, but she 
 recognized the brisk efficiency with which the proce- 
 dure was carried out. None of the witnesses had much 
 to tell that was significant, and the only important 
 points brought out were the dying woman's strange 
 laugh and her mention of Mr. Shei. 
 
 Culligore, as was his habit when impressed, curled 
 up his lip under the tip of his nose when these facts 
 were stated, and the stout man raised his brows and 
 nodded grimly. 
 
 "Looks as though Mr. Shei had been up to another 
 
 of his little tricks," he muttered. 
 
 Culligore pursed his lips and chewed a dead cigar. 
 
 There was a slow twinkle in his eyes which seemed to 
 
 say that life wasn't quite so serious as it seemed. 
 
 despite the sordid and ugly affairs with which he came 
 
 in daily touch. 
 
 Helen did not know how it happened, but the house 
 
 was almost empty when her turn to be questioned came. 
 
 Her face showed no sign of the trepidation she felt as
 
 "MR. SHEI" 25 
 
 she stepped forward. She knew, as she turned her 
 face toward the stout man, that three pairs of eyes 
 were watching her with more than ordinary intentness 
 — her father's, Lieutenant Culligore's, and Vincent 
 Starr's. 
 
 The stout man gave her a listless look as he inquired 
 her name and address. She fancied he was sniffing 
 inwardly, and that after looking her over he had 
 decided that she probably could give no information 
 beside what had already been brought out. At any 
 rate, his questions were few and perfunctory and gave 
 her no opportunity to practice the evasions she had 
 mentally rehearsed while the others were being ques- 
 tioned. As she turned away, she saw a mildly reproach- 
 ful look in her father's face and one of amused under- 
 standing in Culligore's. 
 
 "Well, doctor ?" The stout man turned on the med- 
 ical examiner, whose rubicund face wore a puzzled 
 scowl. "What do you make of it?" 
 
 The examiner wagged his head. Being a man of 
 science, he was strongly averse to forming hasty con- 
 clusions. 
 
 "There is an abrasion on the right arm that might 
 have been caused by a hypodermic syringe," he an- 
 nounced. 
 
 "And the laugh — how do you account for that?" 
 
 "I am not accounting for it, but there are certain 
 drugs that produce exhilaration and laughter. Most
 
 26 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 of them have to be taken into the system by inhalation, 
 however, in order to produce such an effect." 
 
 "I see." The stout man looked a bit impatient. "In 
 plain words, then, it's a case of murder?" 
 
 "I wouldn't say that. It might prove a far-fetched 
 guess." 
 
 "All quibbling aside, don't the scratch on her arm 
 look as though somebody had shot a dose of poison 
 into her with a needle?" 
 
 The examiner pondered. "It could mean that, but 
 it doesn't necessarily follow. An autopsy will be 
 necessary to establish the exact cause of death. Why 
 should a murderer use a hypodermic injection when 
 there are so many simpler and easier ways of accom- 
 plishing the same result?" 
 
 The stout man guffawed. "Mr. Shei never picks the 
 simple and easy way. When he wants to pull off a 
 crime, he always dresses it up in flossy trimmings. 
 And he always plays safe. Now, my idea is that the 
 safest tiling in the world to kill a person with is a 
 hypodermic syringe. It makes no noise, there's no 
 smoke, no bullet, no powder marks, no anything, and 
 it don't leave any clews behind." 
 
 The examiner smiled skeptically, as if he had his 
 own views on the subject. "The autopsy will tell. 
 What I fail to understand is why you seem so certain 
 that Mr. Shei, as he calls himself, has had a hand in 
 this affair."
 
 "MR. SHEI" sat 
 
 "Miss Darrow saw him, didn't she?" 
 
 "She called out his name, if I understood the wit- 
 nesses correctly, but she did not say she had seen him. 
 It's possible she imagined she saw him. The same 
 drugs that produce exhilaration and laughter also pro- 
 duce hallucinations. However," and he pulled a cigar 
 from his pocket and lighted it carefully, "whether Miss 
 Darrow did or did not see Mr. Shei is for you gentle- 
 men to decide. Good-night." 
 
 He strode out. The stout man made a wry face 
 and stroked his chin. Evidently the medical man had 
 given him something to think about. Helen, too, had 
 found food for reflection in the doctor's statement. 
 She stood beside her father a few feet from the others. 
 She had remained for no other reason than a feeling 
 that Culligore, who had been watching her covertly 
 from time to time, might try to detain her if she 
 made a move to go. She believed the lieutenant 
 had rightly guessed that she had not told all she 
 knew. 
 
 Starr, who had unobtrusively slipped out of the 
 building while the late colloquy was in progress, 
 returned with the report that he had questioned the 
 doorkeepers and the watchman, and that they had seen 
 no suspicious looking characters about the place. They 
 were positive no one had entered or left the building 
 either before or after Miss Darrow's death. Starr 
 ended by inquiring whether it were not possible that
 
 28 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 the murderer, granting that Miss Darrow had been 
 murdered, was still hiding in the building. 
 
 The stout man rather scouted the suggestion, but he 
 instructed the two uniformed officers to make a thor- 
 ough search. 
 
 "If this is Mr. Shei's job, you can bet your sweet 
 life he's made a safe get-away," he grumbled. "He 
 probably sneaked out through one of the fire exits." 
 
 The two policemen withdrew. Starr, gliding about 
 with the softness of a panther, found a piece of 
 drapery and covered the body. Helen's lids contracted 
 as she followed his movements. It struck her as odd 
 that during the entire questioning he had made no 
 reference to the communication Miss Darrow had sent 
 him a few minutes before her death. She wondered 
 whether he had forgotten it or was deliberately with- 
 holding it. In the latter case, what could be his reason? 
 
 "How about the motive?" suggested Lieutenant 
 Culligore. It was one of the few times he had spoken 
 since the investigation began. "Know of anybody who 
 could have had a reason for getting Miss Darrow out 
 of the way, Mr. Starr?" 
 
 Starr stood for a moment with head lowered, deep 
 in thought. Then he slowly shook his finely propor- 
 tioned head. "No, I don't. I knew Miss Darrow 
 quite well. As far as I am aware, she had no enemies. 
 I can't imagine why " 
 
 He checked himself. Then he gaped, and his eyes
 
 "MR. SHEI" 29' 
 
 widened, and he looked as though an important matter 
 had just occurred to him. Finally, with a sheepish 
 smile, he began to search his pockets. 
 
 **This dreadful affair has upset me completely," he 
 murmured; and then, as if in answer to the question 
 that had flashed through Helen's mind a few moments 
 before, he produced a crumpled piece of paper. "If I 
 had not been so flustered I should have shown you this 
 at once," he added. 
 
 He smoothed out the message and handed it to the 
 stout man. The latter's face clouded as he read it 
 aloud : 
 
 Mr. Shei, like a fool, rushes in where angels might 
 fear to tread. V. D. 
 
 A pause followed the reading. Culligore's upper lip 
 brushed the tip of his nose, a sign that he had found a 
 problem to ponder. A blank expression came into the 
 stout man's face. He looked bewilderedly at Starr. 
 
 "What do you suppose she meant by that?" he asked. 
 
 "That's just what I wondered when the note was 
 brought me," explained Starr, a blend of sadness and 
 self-reproach in his tones. "Miss Darrow was a 
 strange woman, full of subtleties and queer whims. 
 The note startled me at first ; then I decided it was only 
 a jest. At any rate, it was time for the curtain, and I 
 dismissed the matter from my mind. Now, in the light
 
 80 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 of what has happened, I can see it was meant as a 
 warning." 
 
 "Warning?" echoed the stout man. 
 "Undoubtedly." Starr gazed regretfully into space. 
 "In some manner Miss Darrow must have become 
 aware that Mr. Shei was in the house, and she chose 
 this method of warning me of his presence. I was a 
 fool not to see it." 
 
 He paced back and forth, running his fingers 
 through his thick hair and muttering self-reproaches. 
 The stout man looked as if he were trying to untangle 
 a mental knot. Again he read the note. 
 
 "If Miss Darrow wanted to tip you off that Mr. 
 Shei was in the house, why didn't she say so in plain 
 words?" 
 
 "Facetiousness," said Starr grimly. "Virginia Dar- 
 row was the kind of woman you would expect to be 
 facetious at her own funeral. Why didn't I realize that 
 she was trying to warn me ? I remember now that she 
 behaved in a peculiar manner all evening. Whenever 
 I happened to look in her direction, I found her gazing 
 at me in a strange way. I didn't understand then, 
 but I suppose now that she was trying to send me an 
 ocular message. When that failed, she sent me the 
 
 note. Oh, why didn't I " 
 
 He made a gesture of distress and self-disgust. 
 Helen, watching his every movement, remembered that 
 it was Miss Darrow' s odd way of staring at Starr that
 
 "MR. SHEI" 31 
 
 had first attracted her attention to the woman. The 
 recollection started a train of new thoughts, but Culli- 
 gore's voice interrupted it. 
 
 "If Miss Darrow was right and Mr. Shei was in the 
 house," he told the fat man, "then you and I might as 
 well hand in our badges and look for new jobs." 
 
 The other jerked up his head. "You don't think 
 
 that " he began in startled tones, then broke off and 
 
 grinned complacently. "Not a chance of that. Mr. 
 Shei couldn't have been in the audience. I gave all of 
 them a pretty stiff quiz, and every one gave a good 
 account of himself. Anyhow, they're the kind that 
 get their names and pictures into the society columns 
 of the Sunday papers. A bunch of harmless nuts — 
 that's all." 
 
 He looked at Starr, as if realizing that the epithet 
 had been a trifle brusque, but the manager seemed 
 amused rather than offended. 
 
 "I think you are right," he murmured. "The audi- 
 ence was composed of invited guests. I am willing to 
 vouch for every one of them. Furthermore, you have 
 their names and addresses, and you can communicate 
 with them whenever you wish. If Mr. Shei was really 
 in the theater, he came here as an unbidden guest. In all 
 likelihood he stole in while the house was dark during 
 the first scene of the last act, and departed as soon as 
 he had accomplished his purpose." 
 - It sounded plausible enough, Helen thought ; yet her
 
 32 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 mind was heavy with a giddying whirl of suspicions 
 and contradictions. She slanted a reluctant glance 
 toward the chair containing the body. With a shiver 
 she turned away, and a look at her father's drawn and 
 tired face warned her that he should be in bed. Then 
 she glanced at the man from the district attorney's 
 office, and finally at Culligore. His face was a mask, 
 but his occasional glances in her direction troubled her. 
 The two uniformed officers had not yet returned from 
 their search, and she wondered what they would have 
 to report. 
 
 Once more her eyes flitted over the little group, and 
 then, with a suddenness that choked a cry in her throat, 
 everything was blotted from sight. In a twinkling 
 impenetrable darkness had descended upon the house. 
 Somewhere a door banged. She felt her father's 
 tightening clutch on her arm. The stout man swore. 
 Dark shapes were darting hither and thither. She heard 
 a fragmentary cry, followed by a crash and a succes- 
 sion of thuds. A thrust sent her sprawling to the floor, 
 and her mind drifted into a state of semi-stupor during 
 which she was conscious of nothing but the swift and 
 silent movements of the shadowy shapes. 
 
 Voices and the return of light jolted her mind back 
 to consciousness. She struggled to her feet and blinked 
 her eyes at the strange scene. Her father, dazed but 
 apparently unharmed, sat a short distance away, with 
 his back to the wall. The stout man, seemingly uncon-
 
 "MR. SHEI" 8S 
 
 scious, lay in a twisted heap on the floor. Culligore 
 was staring about him groggily and muttering some- 
 thing about a blow on the head. A policeman, one of 
 the pair who had been sent off to search the house, was 
 helping Starr to his feet. 
 
 With the attention to detail that comes in moments 
 of great bewilderment, Helen noticed that Starr made 
 a ludicrous picture. His attire, so faultless and im- 
 maculate a few minutes ago, was now in a sorry state 
 of disorder. A streak of crimson stained his shirt 
 front, and he held a handkerchief to his nose. He 
 wabbled drunkenly across the floor, but all at once his 
 figure stiffened and a blank look came into his face. 
 His lips formed unspoken words as he raised a finger 
 and pointed toward a seat in the last tier. 
 
 As she followed the pointing finger, things swam in 
 confusion before Helen's eyes. Starr, speechless and 
 crestfallen, was indicating the chair where the body of 
 Virginia Darrow had been. As she stared stonily 
 toward the empty chair, Helen felt an impulse to cry 
 out. She came a few steps closer, then stopped with a 
 shudder and dazedly swept her hand across her fore- 
 head. 
 
 "It's — it's gone !" she cried huskily.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 HELEN EQUIVOCATES 
 
 A CROSS the breakfast table Mr. Hardwick looked 
 Z-A anxiously at his daughter. The wild-rose 
 ■^ -^ color that usually flooded her cheeks had faded 
 a trifle since last night, and her eyes were less bright. 
 Most of the time the curator's mind browsed among 
 relics of the past, but his 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 and a half lumps of sugar and the usual 
 portion of cream. Then she stirred it for him, know- 
 ing he would be quite apt to forget to do so himself. 
 Despite the half dozen titles bestowed upon him by 
 universities and learned societies, she felt he needed 
 looking after. 
 
 "Don't forget that you have a lecture engagement 
 this afternoon," she admonished as she passed the cup 
 across the table. 
 
 Mr. Hardwick nodded and sipped. "It is a most 
 extraordinary case. The murder of that poor woman 
 — assuming that it was a case of murder — seemed 
 
 34
 
 HELEN EQUIVOCATES 35 
 
 wholly unprovoked. I gathered from the conversation 
 among the officers that no motive was in evidence. It 
 looks like a wanton, despicable crime." 
 
 Helen crumbled a piece of toast. "Professor War- 
 burton is coming to see you at three this afternoon." 
 
 "I have a memorandum of the appointment on my 
 desk." Mr. Hardwick smiled faintly. "Our minds 
 seem to be pulling in opposite directions this morning. 
 This Mr. Shei interests me. He appears to be a 
 remarkable criminal. His audacity and the originality 
 of his methods are unparalleled. I don't know that I 
 ever encountered anything quite so mystifying as the 
 circumstances surrounding the murder last night. 
 How the murderer went in and out without being seen 
 is beyond understanding, and the subsequent removal 
 of the body was the most amazing part of it all. There 
 seems to be neither method nor reason in that. One 
 thing appears certain. Mr. Shei could not have accom- 
 plished what he did unless he had been aided by accom- 
 plices. What do you think, my dear?" 
 
 Helen's head was lowered over her coffee cup. The 
 captive sunlight in her 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 care- 
 fully, and from force of habit, he folded his napkin. 
 
 "I wonder whether the police will ever learn Mr. 
 Shei's identity," he murmured musingly. "So far the
 
 36 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 scoundrel has contrived to mystify them completely, 
 but some day his egotism and love of self-glorification 
 are apt to cause his undoing. In the meantime, how- 
 ever, he is likely to do a great deal of mischief. The 
 fellow's effrontery is colossal, and his fearlessness and 
 brains render him most dangerous. In some respects 
 he bears a very close resemblance to that other notori- 
 ous rogue, now reported to be in retirement." 
 
 Helen drew a quick breath. She bent her head a 
 little lower over her cup. 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 man they used to call The 
 Gray Phantom. For several years he was regarded as 
 one of the cleverest and most dangerous criminals the 
 world has ever known." 
 
 Slowly Helen raised her head. Her eyes, as they 
 met her father's, were steady and bright. 
 
 "That was because the vv^orld didn't understand 
 him," she said with emphasis. "The Gray Phantom 
 wasn't really a criminal. He was only a — a sort of 
 human dynamo whose energ}' happened to be turned in 
 the wrong direction." 
 
 "Isn't that a distinction without a difference? A 
 Robin Hood is an enemy of society despite the glamour 
 with which he surrounds himself. However," and Mr. 
 Hardwick's face softened quickly, "I am deeply in The
 
 HELEN EQUIVOCATES ST 
 
 Gray Phantom's debt. He saved your life twice, and 
 but for him I would now be a lonely and heartbroken 
 old man." 
 
 Helen nodded eagerly. "And the Assyrian collec- 
 tion, dad. You spent most of your life gathering it, 
 and you were almost overcome with grief when it was 
 stolen. The Gray Phantom risked his life and liberty 
 in order to recover it and restore it to you. He 
 wouldn't have done that if he had been just an ordinary 
 criminal." 
 
 "True," admitted Mr. Hard wick. "I shall be under 
 obligations to The Gray Phantom as long as I live. 
 The man has a number of excellent qualities, whatever 
 may be said of his past. On the whole, it is not sur- 
 prising 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 as he looked at her. "I know just 
 how you feel," he said softly. "A man who is trying 
 to live down a dark past always exerts a strong 
 romantic appeal 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 makes me think of 
 your play, 'The Master of His Soul.' All last night, 
 until the interruption came, I was wondering whether 
 your Marius was not The Gray Phantom." 
 
 Helen sat rigidly still for a moment. Then her lips 
 began to twitch. She flashed her father a smile.
 
 S8 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 "Sometimes, daddy dear, you show a wonderful 
 understanding of things that 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 gulf between him and you. But 
 you are just as level-headed as was your mother, and 
 I have no fear that the impulses of your heart will get 
 the better of your judgment. We were discussing Mr. 
 Shei. There seems to be a striking similarity between 
 his methods and those of The Gray Phantom, except 
 that the latter was never known to stoop to murder." 
 He paused for a moment and studied her averted face. 
 "You puzzled me last night, dear. You will admit that 
 your conduct was — er, peculiar." 
 
 "It's getting late, dad," murmured Helen, a bit con- 
 fusedly glancing at her wrist watch. "You should 
 have been at your office half an hour ago. And this 
 is the first time I've known you to taken an interest in 
 a murder case." 
 
 "Once during the evening you gripped my hand and 
 tried to point out something to me," pursued Mr. 
 Hardwick, heedless of her remark. "You spoke in- 
 coherently, and I had not the faintest idea what it was 
 about. Then, a minute or so before the tragedy, you 
 left the box and hurried away. Still later, while the 
 officer was questioning you, I felt you were concealing 
 something."
 
 HELEN EQUIVOCATES 39 
 
 Helen, her fingers tightening about a fork handle, 
 shook her head. "I answered 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 something that — 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 cry-ptic statement. He seemed puzzled 
 rather than hurt by his daughter's evasive answers. 
 Suddenly she looked up, saw the troubled expression 
 in his face, and impulsively pushed back her chair and 
 ran up behind him. 
 
 "Please don't ask me any more questions, dad." She 
 put her arms around his neck and tilted her face to 
 his. "It is true I held something back, but at the time 
 I didn't know why. I merely felt that it wouldn't do 
 to tell. This morning, after lying awake most of the 
 night, 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 reasons afterward?" 
 
 "I — well, I suppose so. And what were your 
 reasons ?"
 
 40 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 "Would you be hurt if I told you I would rather not 
 explain them just now?" 
 
 "No ; I trust you. Experience has taught me that I 
 can depend upon you in spite of your mysterious little 
 ways and madcap pranks. There is one thing I wish 
 you would tell me, though." He stopped, fumbhng for 
 words. "Was your reticence last night prompted by a 
 wish to shield someone ?" 
 
 "No," was her prompt reply, and her eyes gazed 
 frankly into his. "What put such a thought into your 
 head?" 
 
 "I scarcely know. You'll think I am an old fool, but 
 it occurred to me that perhaps you had discovered 
 something that led you to think that Mr. Shei and The 
 Gray Phantom are identical." 
 
 ''And you thought I was protecting The Gray Phan- 
 tom? What an idea! But you 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 here gossiping like an 
 old woman. You have taken a load of¥ my mind, dear 
 child. 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 lead you into any more foolhardy 
 adventures."
 
 HELEN EQUIVOCATES 41 
 
 Again she laughed, but her face sobered the moment 
 he turned away and left the room. A wiser, maturer 
 expression settled over the wide-set eyes and the vivid 
 lips. It seemed as though her talk with her father had 
 left a disquieting impression in her mind. She moved 
 absently about the room, setting things in order here 
 and there, but the faraway gleam in her eyes told that 
 her mind was scarcely aware of what her hands were 
 doing. Presently she stopped before the open window 
 and looked out. A building was going up across the 
 street, and the groaning of derricks and screaming of 
 steam whistles jarred discordantly in the back of her 
 mind. Near the curb a group of laborers were mixing 
 concrete, and a powdery substance was drifting in the 
 air. 
 
 She came out of her abstraction with a little start. 
 Her eyes were on the window sill, and she spelled out 
 the characters she had written in the thin layer of dust. 
 
 "G-r-a-y P-h-a-n-t-o-m," she mumbled, puzzled and 
 somewhat annoyed with herself. The faint pencilings 
 in the dust seemed all the stranger because she had not 
 been thinking of The Gray Phantom. Instead, her 
 mind had been occupied by Mr. Shei and what the 
 morning newspapers had said about the tragedy in the 
 Thelma Theater. The accounts she had read had been 
 largely speculation and conjecture. The dying woman's 
 strange laughter and her mysterious allusion to Mr. 
 Shei had afforded material for columns of vivid and
 
 42 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 imaginative description. The medical examiner had 
 reluctantly admitted that Miss Darrow's death might 
 have been caused by a poison administered hypo- 
 dermically, but he had added that the symptoms were 
 strange to him, and that he knew of no drug producing 
 just such effects. A number of toxicologists had been 
 interviewed, but they had declared that the few facts 
 at hand were not sufficient to enable them to form an 
 opinion, and the disappearance of the body rendered it 
 doubtful whether the cause of death would ever be 
 learned definitely. 
 
 Only one thing seemed beyond dispute and that was 
 Mr. Shei's complicity in the affair. The elusive and 
 highly accomplished rogue already had a score of 
 astounding crimes to his record, and the Thelma mur- 
 der was hedged with all the mystery and baffling detail 
 with which he loved to mask his exploits. Miss Dar- 
 row's dying words were scarcely needed to turn the 
 finger of suspicion in Mr. Shei's direction. The absence 
 of clews, the uncertainty in regard to the motive, the 
 audacity that marked the crime itself as well as the sub- 
 sequent snatching away of the body, all indicated a 
 boldness and a finesse that left little doubt of Mr. 
 Shei's guilt. Even if his own hand had not executed 
 the crime, it seemed practically certain that his mind 
 had planned and conceived it. 
 
 But who was Mr. Shei? The whole train of sur- 
 mises and theories pivoted on that question. Not much
 
 HELEN EQUIVOCATES 43 
 
 was known of him save that he had a passion for 
 tantalizing the public and keeping the nerves of the 
 men at headquarters on edge, and that his achieve- 
 ments had not been equaled in scope or brilliance of 
 execution since The Gray Phantom's retirement. He 
 took a diabolical delight in flaunting his name before 
 the world while keeping his person carefully out of 
 the reach of the law's long arm, and even the name was 
 a challenge to the police and a teaser for the public 
 imagination. Someone versed in dead languages had 
 discovered that the word "shei" was the ancient equiva- 
 lent of the modern x, the symbol of the unknown 
 quantity, and it was generally agreed that the name 
 fitted the elusive individual who bore it. 
 
 Yet the name meant nothing. It was only an 
 abstraction, for it afforded no clew to its owner's 
 identity. The night before, while she sat beside her 
 father in the Thelma Theater, a vagrant flash of 
 intuition had come to Helen. She had seen the solu- 
 tion of the mystery in a swift, dazzling glimpse. The 
 revelation had stunned and nearly blinded her, and 
 thoughts had crowded upon her so thickly that she 
 would have been quite unable to clothe them in words. 
 The idea carried to her by that intuitive flash had 
 seemed clear and unquestionable. It still seemed so, 
 but her talk with her father had disturbed her a little 
 and turned her thoughts in a new direction. 
 
 Again she looked down at the tracings in the dust.
 
 44 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 A smile, faint and wistful, reflected her softened mood, 
 and a light of wonder and gentleness flooded her eyes. 
 She reached out a hand to obliterate the telltale pencil- 
 ings, but something restrained her. Besides, a freshly 
 forming layer of dust was already blotting them out. 
 
 The telephone rang in the adjoining room, and she 
 hurried away to answer. 
 
 "Miss Hardwick?" inquired a drawling voice which 
 she instantly recognized. "Lieutenant Culligore speak- 
 ing. 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 was characteristic of the man, and 
 she felt he had taken undue advantage of her by giving 
 her no chance for argument. She did not wish to see 
 him, yet she knew she could not escape him by merely 
 ignoring his request. 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 the Thelma. On the wall, at each side 
 of the entrance, were posters stating that until further 
 notice there would be no more performances of "His 
 Soul's Master." Helen viewed the announcement of 
 the withdrawal of her play without much regret. She 
 had partly anticipated it, and last night's occurrence 
 had given her weightier things to think of. As she
 
 HELEN EQUIVOCATES 45 
 
 passed through the foyer, a policeman nodded stolidly 
 and in a way that told her she was expected. She 
 passed unhindered into the auditorium. 
 
 At first she could see nothing. Every door was 
 closed, and the vast room was full of silence and vague 
 shadows. Presently, as her eyes grew accustomed to 
 the dusk, she glanced toward the chair that had been 
 occupied by Miss Darrow. She looked quickly aside, 
 and saw that she was standing not far from the pillar 
 that had supported her when the creature with the 
 loathsome face brushed past her. The scene, which 
 had seemed dim and immaterial while she was out in 
 the sunlight a few minutes ago, now recurred to her 
 with disagreeable vividness. Of a sudden the air about 
 her felt heavy and oppressive. 
 
 A figure was moving up the aisle toward where she 
 stood. The dawdling gait and the slouchy attitude told 
 her it was Culligore, and she braced her nerves for an 
 ordeal. In a few moments her quickly working wits 
 had found a way of handling the situation. 
 
 "Good-m.orning, lieutenant," she said pleasantly as 
 he came up beside her. "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 to maintain the role of questioner. 
 
 Culligore shook his head. She felt his eyes on her
 
 46 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 face, though he did not appear to be looking at her. 
 Practicing a trick cultivated by his profession, he was 
 studying her without seeming to do so. 
 
 "Don't you think it strange that the murderer should 
 go to all that risk and trouble to remove the body?" 
 she went on. 
 
 "Murderer? There must have been three or four 
 of them, at least. There was some mighty fast work 
 done when the lights went out, and one man didn't do 
 it all. Pve got a bump in the back of my head as big 
 as a hen's egg. Self kin, the man from the district 
 attorney's office, is in bed with a fractured skull, and 
 Starr looks as though somebody had hit him on the 
 nose with a brick. One of the gang must have tam- 
 pered with the switchboard back of the proscenium 
 arch just before the others swooped down on us and 
 carried away the body." 
 
 "But what was the object? Wasn't the murderer's 
 purpose accomplished with the killing of Miss Dar- 
 row?" 
 
 "Hard telling. One thing is sure. As long as the 
 body is missing there can be no autopsy, and PU bet a 
 pair of yellow socks that that's exactly what they 
 wanted. Not that I pretend to understand it all, but it 
 seems reasonable that they didn't care to have the 
 exact cause of Miss Darrow's death become known." 
 
 Helen pondered this statement for a moment. "How 
 about the motive for the murder ?"
 
 HELEN EQUIVOCATES 47 
 
 "We're pretty much in the dark there, too," 
 admitted Culligore. "I don't suppose, though, that it 
 was just by accident that Miss Darrow happened to die 
 a few minutes after she had sent Starr a note warning 
 him that Mr. Shei was in the house." 
 
 "Oh!" Helen gave a quick start. "You think she 
 was killed because she had in some manner discovered 
 Mr. Shei's identity?" 
 
 "Maybe." Culligore, with legs spread out and hands 
 in trousers pockets, 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 pretty deep. 
 Maybe you can tell me " 
 
 Again Helen interrupted him. "Have you dis- 
 covered how the murderers got in and out of the 
 building?" 
 
 "They didn't leave any tracks behind them, but there 
 is a door in the rear of the basement that they might 
 have used. It's supposed to be locked, but I satisfied 
 myself a while ago that the spring lock can be picked. 
 That the body was carried out that way is as good a 
 guess as any. But look here, Miss Hardwick," and 
 something that might have been a grin drifted across 
 his face, "you're pretty good at firing questions, but 
 it's my turn now." 
 
 She stiffened, seeing she would have to assume de- 
 fensive tactics. She sent him a quick glance, but his 
 face, always inscrutable, was even more so in the dusk.
 
 48 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 "I asked you to come here, hoping the surroundings 
 would refresh your memory of what happened last 
 night," Culligore went on in his usual placid drawl. 
 "You needn't repeat what you said then. What I'm 
 after is the things you didn't say." 
 
 "I don't believe I understand." 
 
 Culligore's chuckle sounded like a snort, though she 
 knew it was meant to be good-natured. "Oh, yes, you 
 do. I didn't do much talking last night, 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 long on brains as on looks. Though 
 you answered every question, you weren't telling any- 
 thing. All the while you were holding something back. 
 Isn't that true?" 
 
 She hesitated, having an uncomfortable feeling that 
 Culligore was seeing 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 me where you were sitting when the 
 disturbance began." 
 
 "Why, I — I wasn't sitting anywhere." 
 
 "Standing up, then?" 
 
 *T 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
 
 HELEN EQUIVOCATES 49 
 
 sitting, standing, or lying, you must have hung sus- 
 pended in the air. Was that it?" 
 
 Helen smiled engagingly. She had found time for 
 deliberation while quibbling, and now her mind was 
 made up. "I was so frightened I could neither stand 
 up nor sit down. I was leaning against that pillar over 
 there." She pointed. 
 
 "How did you happen to leave your seat?" 
 
 Helen told him of the flitting shadow that had 
 caused her to leave her father and run to the rear of 
 the house. 
 
 "And what did you see while you were leaning 
 against the pillar?" was Culligore's next question. 
 
 Helen searched her mind for words vivid enough to 
 recount her impressions during the terrible moments 
 just before the drop of the curtain, but she felt her, 
 description was both hazy and fragmentary. Her pic- 
 ture of the face that had flashed past her in the dark 
 was blurred and unreal, like one's recollection of a 
 dream. 
 
 When she had done her best, Culligore walked back 
 and forth for a time. Standing in an attitude of 
 strained tensity, she wondered what his next question i 
 would be. Suddenly he stopped squarely in front of 
 her, and again she had an uncomfortable feeling that 
 his deceptively lazy eyes were reading her thoughts. 
 
 "What else?" he demanded quietly. "What you 
 have told me so far is pretty good, but you're still hold-
 
 60 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 ing back the most Important thing — 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. The reason you didn't tell about the 
 things you saw while leaning against the post was 
 because you were afraid they would lead you on to a 
 subject you didn't want to discuss. You were afraid 
 that if you got started you might get tangled up and 
 wouldn't be able to stop." 
 
 Helen could only stare at him. He had stated the 
 truth far more clearly 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 the while wishing that he would take his 
 eyes from her. Jumbled thoughts thronged her mind, 
 and she felt her power of resistance slipping from her. 
 Finally Culligore swung round on his heels, and a sigh 
 of relief escaped her. 
 
 "The thing about you that puzzles me more than 
 anything else is that your hair isn't red," he told her. 
 "The rest I can savvy easily enough. 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 anxiety and despair. His face was expression- 
 less, but she felt he was inwardly laughing at her.
 
 HELEN EQUIVOCATES 51 
 
 "All right, then," he said, taking her silence for 
 assent. "You couldn't have had more than one reason 
 for keeping mum last night, and that reason was that 
 you wanted to shield somebody. There is only one 
 man on earth you could have wanted to shield, and that 
 man is The Gray Phantom." 
 
 "No !" she cried. "You're mistaken ! I wasn't " 
 
 "Easy now." All at once his tone changed. "There's 
 such a thing as protesting too much, you know. I 
 don't take much stock in what I read in the Sunday 
 papers, but there's a lot of talk going the rounds about 
 a 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 
 you fighting for me, I'd be willing to go through hell- 
 fire for her every day in the week. You're loyal clean 
 through and " 
 
 "But you're wrong!" she interrupted emphatically. 
 His words filled her with a great fear, but there was a 
 kind of rough tenderness in his voice that warmed 
 her. 
 
 "I knew you'd say that, but you have to hear me 
 through. I take off my hat to The Gray Phantom. 
 He always played the game according to the code, even 
 when he cut those fancy didos that put gray hairs in 
 almost every head on the force. I shouldn't say it, but 
 it goes just the same. The Phantom's been lying low
 
 52 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 now for some time. Nobody seems to know where he 
 is. He's shown himself only twice, and each time he 
 came out in a good cause. They say he's going it 
 straight, and it's rumored that a certain young lady has 
 had a lot to do with his turning over a new 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 it can't be done. The Phantom's 
 human, like the rest of us. Maybe he's got tired of the 
 straight and narrow path and gone back to his old 
 tricks under a new name. Just for the sake of 
 argument we'll say he has. And I've got a hunch that 
 last night you saw or heard something that made you 
 think that Mr. Shei is The Gray Phantom." 
 
 The assertion staggered her, though she had known 
 all the time that he was leading up to it. Using almost 
 the same words, her father had expressed the same 
 idea at the breakfast table, and it was the similarity of 
 the phrasing that startled her. 
 
 "No — no !" was all she could say. 
 
 "Then will you please tell me," said Culligore, his 
 tones both gentle and insistent, "why didn't you come 
 out with what you knew last night?" 
 
 She fell back a step, feeling suddenly weak as she 
 realized that his question was unanswerable. A con- 
 fusion of ideas churned and simmered in her mind. 
 Her lips moved, but no words came.
 
 HELEN EQUIVOCATES 53 
 
 "YouVe answered me," declared Culligore. "You 
 think Mr. Shei is The Phantom. Maybe you're right, 
 and maybe you're wrong. What I wanted to know was 
 what you thought. And let me tell you something." 
 A foolish grin, one of Lieutenant Culligore's infre- 
 quent ones, wrinkled his face. 'T hate my job less 
 whenever I meet up with one of your kind.' 
 
 Helen did not hear what he said. She felt as if the 
 swirl of thoughts and emotions within her had sud- 
 denly turned into a leaden lump. She glanced involun- 
 tarily at the chair in which Virginia Darrow had sat, 
 and of a sudden she fancied she h'^ard laughter — slow, 
 tinkling laughter that 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 slowly working its way out of the turmoil in 
 her mind. She opened her bag and counted her scant 
 supply of bills. Then she looked about her. Half a 
 block down the street she saw the sign of a district 
 messenger office. In a few moments she was inside, 
 hastily scrawling a note which she had addressed to her 
 father. A taxicab was passing as she stepped out on 
 the street. She hailed the driver, and he drew in at the 
 curb.
 
 54 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 "Erie station — West Twenty-third Street," she 
 directed breathlessly. 
 
 As the cab started she slumped back against the 
 cushions and gazed rigidly out the window. Despite 
 the bright sunlight, things blurred before 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 to find him.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 AZURECREST 
 
 IT was growing dark when she reached the end of 
 her journey, and the dusk made it easy for her to 
 elude the Httle knot of idlers on the station plat- 
 form. With frequent backward glances she hurried down 
 a path that skirted the edge of a village nestling at the 
 foot of a hill which was outlined against the horizon 
 like a great funnel-shaped cloud. On its apex was 
 Azurecrest, the hermitage of The Gray Phantom. 
 
 Helen found the motor driveway that circled its way 
 upward in spiral fashion, for the hill was too steep to 
 permit cars to reach the top by direct route. She had 
 visited the place once before, in the course of one of the 
 perilous adventures she and The Phantom had shared 
 together. The residence, a sprawling structure of 
 stone, tile and stucco, had been built by The Phantom 
 shortly after his retirement, and she had marveled at 
 the precautions he had taken to protect his privacy. 
 The inhabitants of the village understood that the place 
 was occupied by a wealthy and leisurely gentleman who 
 was spending the remainder of his life in ease and 
 solitude on the desolate hilltop. Though conswmed 
 
 u
 
 56 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 with curiosity, they never ventured near Azurecrest, 
 guessing accurately that they would not be welcomed. 
 Occasionally they saw one of the servants, but the 
 owner never permitted himself to be seen except by 
 his most intimate associates. 
 
 The tang of late autumn was in the air, and Helen's 
 head cleared as she walked briskly up the zigzagging 
 driveway. The railway journey had been long and 
 tedious and punctuated by innumerable stops, and she 
 had been too distracted to think clearly. Now she 
 began to search her mind for a plan, but she soon saw 
 that planning was impossible. Her trip to Azurecrest 
 had been prompted by one of those sudden impulses 
 that usually dictated her conduct, and she had been 
 conscious of no other motive than to put an end to her 
 fears and doubts. She had thought that a talk with 
 The Gray Phantom would quickly end the suspense. 
 
 Reaching the gate in the picket fence that encircled 
 the apex of the hill, she touched an electric button. 
 While waiting she looked about her. The Susque- 
 hanna, like a cocoon thread, wound in and out among 
 the hills and valleys in the distance. The moon, shin- 
 ing through a vapory gauze, splashed a misty sheen 
 over bowlders and trees. 
 
 She heard a dog's shrill bark, and a masculine figure 
 came down the graveled walk toward the gate. As he 
 drew nearer and the pale moonlight fell on him, she 
 saw he was stocky and coarse-featured, and she guessed
 
 AZIIRECREST S7 
 
 he was one of the sentinels that were always stationed 
 about the place. 
 
 "What do you want?" he asked ungraciously as he 
 reached the gate. 
 
 "I wish to see Mr. Vanardy," she announced, using 
 the name by which the occupant of Azurecrest had 
 been known before he became The Gray Phantom. 
 
 She thought the man repressed a start, but she 
 reflected that his evident surprise was natural enough, 
 since visitors seldom came to Azurecrest. 
 
 "Mr. Vanardy, eh?" He drew an instrument from 
 his pocket and flashed an electric gleam in her face. 
 For a long moment he studied her in silence. "You 
 mean The Gray Phantom?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He hesitated, still searching her face in the light of 
 the electric flash. It was plain that the appearance of a 
 feminine visitor at the gate of Azurecrest had aroused 
 his suspicion. 
 
 "What do you want to see him about?" he demanded 
 gruffiy. 
 
 "Tell him Miss Hardwick wishes to see him. I 
 think that will be sufficient." 
 
 She drew herself up as she spoke and regarded him 
 steadily. As if decided by her cool and level tones, the 
 man lowered the light and turned away, and in a few 
 moments he had been swallowed by the shadows cast 
 by the tall trees. Helen controlled her impatience. She
 
 58 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 understood that The Gray Phantom was obliged to 
 exercise care every moment of his life. Despite his 
 new mode of existence, he was still an outlaw in the 
 eyes of the police, and a number of outstanding charges 
 made it necessary for him to observe every precau- 
 tion. 
 
 Again the man emerged out of the shadows. This 
 time he said nothing, but peered at her furtively as he 
 opened the gate and motioned her to step through. He 
 closed and locked the gate carefully, then walked ahead 
 of her up the graveled walk. A great shaggy dog 
 slouched at his heels and wagged its tail energetically, 
 as if disturbed by the arrival of a visitor. Helen's 
 guide stopped under a portico and opened a door. A 
 dim light shone on his face as he turned and told her 
 to enter, and his expression gave her a twinge of mis- 
 giving. She tried in vain to analyze it, and the next 
 moment the disturbing impression was gone. 
 
 "Wait," he said, indicating a chair. 
 
 Helen felt relieved as soon as the door closed behind 
 him. The room was large and pleasant, and the oak- 
 paneled, cream-colored walls made an attractive back- 
 ground for the furniture and decorations. Each little 
 detail suggested The Gray Phantom's instinctive taste 
 for beauty and proportion, and it suddenly occurred to 
 her that this was the same room in which he had 
 received her on her previous visit to Azurecrest. 
 
 Footfalls sounded in the hall, and all at once she
 
 AZURECREST 59 
 
 grew confused. She wondered how she was to broach 
 the subject that had been in her thoughts constantly 
 since last night. She started to rise as the door opened, 
 but in the next instant she sat back and swallowed an 
 exclamation of surprise. She had expected to see The 
 Gray Phantom, but the person who entered was a 
 short, slightly humpbacked man of about fifty. He 
 jerked his head toward her by way of a bow, and as he 
 smiled she noticed that his mouth was crooked. 
 
 "My name is Hawkes," he announced in soft, lisping 
 accents. "I am the secretary. I understand you wish 
 to see Mr. Vanardy. Have you an appointment with 
 him?" 
 
 A faint touch of uneasiness mingled with Helen's 
 impatience. The Gray Phantom had never mentioned 
 that he had a secretary, and she doubted whether he 
 was in the habit of making appointments. 
 
 "I have no appointment," she said, mastering her 
 vexation and disquietude, "but I think Mr. Vanardy 
 will see me if you mention my name." 
 
 "Ah ! Then you are a friend of his?" 
 
 "I have met him several times." 
 
 "To be sure," said the little man. He rubbed his 
 hands, which seemed abnormally large for one of his 
 sparse stature. "But, if you know anything at all about 
 Mr. Vanardy, you must realize that he has to exercise 
 caution, particularly in regard to the people he meets." 
 
 Helen rose^ a faint flush of indignation in her
 
 60 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 cheeks. The next moment she sat down again, for she 
 realized that Hawkes' argument was reasonable. The 
 Gray Phantom's existence was precarious enough to 
 warrant every conceivable precaution. 
 
 *T know Mr. Vanardy will see me if you tell him 
 who I am," she declared, looking straight into the little 
 man's eyes. 
 
 "Quite likely. But I have orders, and I dare not 
 disregard them. Be good enough to answer one or two 
 questions. To begin with, what is the nature of your 
 business with Mr. Vanardy?" 
 
 Helen's patience was almost exhausted, but her sense 
 
 of humor came to her rescue. Her lips began to twitch, 
 
 "Tell Mr. Vanardy," she said, "that the subject I 
 
 wish to discuss with him has to do with a certain Mr. 
 
 Shei." 
 
 The little man's eyes opened wide. She fancied his 
 hand shook a trifle as he made an annotation on the 
 pad he carried. 
 
 "Quite so," he murmured, quickly controlling him- 
 self. "You have come here on business connected with 
 a certain Mr. Shei. Just one more question. Very 
 few people know there is such a place as Azurecrest. 
 How did you happen to find it?" 
 
 "Mr. Vanardy once gave me the directions. But you 
 are exerting yourself needlessly, Hawkes. I am sure 
 all that is necessary is to mention my name to Mr. 
 Vanardy."
 
 AZURECREST 61 
 
 "Perhaps so." The humpback made another annota- 
 tion on the pad, after which he put it in his pocket. 
 "I'll repeat to Mr. Vanardy what you have just told 
 me." He walked out of the room. 
 
 Helen could not tell why, but the silence that fell 
 upon the room as the door closed impressed her uncom- 
 fortably. She did her best to muffle a faint inward 
 whisper of warning, a premonition that something was 
 wrong. Hawkes' questions had left a train of disturb- 
 ing thoughts in her mind. 
 
 She waited a few minutes, then got up and began to 
 pace the floor in an effort to quell a rising nervousness. 
 She glanced at the pictures on the walls, but they did 
 not seem to be the same as those that had hung there 
 on her last visit, and they failed to interest her. 
 
 Presently she stepped to the window and looked out. 
 The trees were nodding drowsily in the gentle night 
 wind. The mist rising from the lowlands on all sides 
 of the hill gave her a curious sense of remoteness from 
 the world. 
 
 Then she drew back a step suddenly. Someone was 
 passing the window, and she caught a momentary 
 glimpse of a face. For a second or two a pair of large 
 and oddly piercing eyes were fixed on her. Then the 
 figure vanished, but the vision left her white and 
 shaken. A hoarse cry rose to her lips. Unless her 
 imagination had deceived her, the face that had just 
 passed the window was the same swarthy, loathsome
 
 62 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 face she had seen in the Thelma Theater scarcely 
 twenty-four hours ago. 
 
 Seized with a great fear, she ran across the floor and 
 opened the door. The face, with its squatty features 
 and long black hair fluttering in the breeze, had crystal- 
 lized all the vague misgivings she had felt since she 
 entered the house. For the moment she was unable to 
 think, but an unreasoning impulse to flee drove her 
 swiftly down the long hall. She felt she must escape 
 from Azurecrest at once. 
 
 She had nearly reached the end of the hall when 
 she came to a dead stop. She stood rigid, listening. 
 Somewhere a laugh sounded. The staccato accents 
 seemed to fill the house with volumes of hideous sound. 
 Each vibrant note conjured up a fearful picture before 
 her eyes. She staggered back against the wall, stopping 
 her ears to shut out a repetition of the sound, but the 
 echoes of it lingered in her imagination. She knew 
 the laugh well. It was the same kind of laugh that 
 Virginia Darrow had taken with her into eternity.
 
 CHAPTER V; 
 PERPLEXITIES 
 
 MINUTES passed, each dragging a train of 
 monstrous fancies before Helen's mental 
 vision. The tips of her fingers shut out all 
 sounds from her ears, but the laughter still dinned and 
 echoed in her imagination. It reminded her of the 
 haunting strains of glee that had come from Virginia 
 Darrow's dying lips. Somehow this laughter was dif- 
 ferent, but the difference was so subtle that she could 
 but vaguely sense it. It was loud and delirious, in con- 
 trast to the gentle, dirgelike notes that had character- 
 ized the other. 
 
 She could stand the suspense no longer. Sped on 
 by fear, she ran in the direction where she thought the 
 door was. She brought up against a stairway instead. 
 'A noise caused her to lift her head. Down the stairs, 
 lurching and sliding, came a woman. Her hair was 
 wildly tousled and her clothing in disorder, and peal 
 after peal of harsh laughter cut through the silence as 
 she scurried down the steps. 
 
 Then she saw Helen, and she stopped as abruptly as 
 
 63
 
 64 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 if she had dashed against a material barrier. Clutch- 
 ing the railing with one hand, she wagged drunkenly 
 from side to side. Her face was ashen, but her skin 
 was clear and smooth as a young girl's. The eyes, 
 unnaturally wide and bright, stared down at Helen 
 with fierce intensity. She had ceased laughing, but the 
 lips were still agape, as if suddenly frozen into rigidity. 
 
 Helen forgot her fears as she saw the strange look 
 in the woman's face. She wondered whether it meant 
 madness, terror, or intoxication. It seemed to be 
 neither, but rather a blending of all three. Slowly, 
 with the outspread fingers of one hand pressing against 
 her breast, the woman came down the remaining steps. 
 Her great eyes were still fixed on Helen, but the mad 
 flame in their depths was gradually yielding to a look 
 of sanity. 
 
 "What are you doing here?" she demanded. Her 
 voice was dry, and she spoke with little hissing sounds, 
 as if each word were exhausting her breath. 
 
 Helen winced as the woman clutched her arm. 
 Streaks of gray in the tumbled masses of her black hair 
 clashed sharply with her youthfully rounded face, and 
 Helen guessed that the contrast had been brought about 
 by some terrifying experience. 
 
 "Do you know where you are ?" the woman went on, 
 tightening her grip on Helen's arm. 
 
 "This is Azurecrest, isn't it ?" Helen's words voiced 
 an indefinite doubt that had been stirring faintly in the
 
 PERPLEXITIES 65 
 
 back of her mind since she saw the face at the window. 
 "I came here to see the Gray — to see Mr. Vanardy." 
 
 "Azurecrest?" The woman's mind seemed to be 
 slowly struggling out of a daze. "Yes — that's what 
 they call the place. But there is no Mr. Vanardy here. 
 You have been deceived, just as I was. Those mon- 
 sters ! Do you know what will happen to you if you 
 remain here?" 
 
 Helen shrugged as if to fight off a stupor that 
 seemed to be gradually infolding body and mind. 
 
 "They'll inject the fever into your veins," the 
 woman told her, without waiting for an answer. "The 
 fever that always kills. Sometimes it kills quickly, but 
 most the time very slowly, just as it is killing me. You 
 will not feel much pain. You will laugh and sing and 
 dream strange dreams. Those are always the symp- 
 toms. At first, before the fever reaches the last stage, 
 you will laugh loud and hilariously — like this." She 
 threw back her head, and then came an outburst of 
 screaming laughter that made Helen shudder. "That's 
 how it sounds at first. But later, when the fever has 
 burned out your strength and destroyed your reason, 
 the laughter will be low and soft and lilting. Then it 
 sounds like this." She gave a series of low, tinkling 
 sounds that were like a requiem set to laughter. 
 
 Helen shivered. Just so had Virginia Darrow gone 
 laughing to her death. The coincidence seemed rather 
 weird. The stark realism of the imitation gripped her^
 
 66 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 and yet she wondered whether she were dreaming or 
 whether the woman beside her were reveling in the 
 fancies of a maniac. 
 
 The other stiffened suddenly. She seemed to recall 
 something which her encounter with Helen had tem- 
 porarily blotted from her mind. Placing two fingers 
 across her lips, she cast a swift glance up the stairs. 
 For a brief space she stood tense, listening. 
 
 "The woman who watches me went to sleep and I 
 stole away from her," she whispered. "We must try 
 to get out before they begin looking for me. You must 
 come, too. It won't do for you to remain a moment 
 longer. S-sh !" 
 
 Silent as a wraith she stole down the hall. Helen, 
 scarcely knowing what she was doing, followed 
 dazedly. She did not know what to think, but there 
 was an undertow of vague dread in her jumbled 
 thoughts and emotions. What she had just heard 
 sounded wildly fantastical, like the raving of a de- 
 ranged mind. Yet she had a feeling that something 
 was dreadfully wrong. The strange laughter and the 
 face at the window appeared to give a background of 
 reality to what the woman had said. They seemed to 
 suggest, too, that there was a connecting link between 
 Azurecrest and the tragedy in the Thelma Theater. It 
 was this circumstance, bewildering and alrfiost unbe- 
 lievable, that clogged the functioning of Helen's mind 
 and rendered her willing to be led along by her guide.
 
 PERPLEXITIES 67 
 
 The door was unlocked and they passed unhindered 
 into the open. In a dull and indifferent fashion Helen 
 thought it strange that the woman's loud laughter had 
 not already betrayed them, but then it occurred to her 
 that perhaps such outbursts were common at Azure- 
 crest. After what she had already seen and heard, 
 nothing would have surprised her greatly. She won- 
 dered how her companion meant to overcome the 
 obstacles of the locked gate and the high picket fence. 
 Perhaps, in her beclouded state of mind and eagerness 
 to escape, she was not even giving them a thought. 
 Or perhaps 
 
 Her guide stopped so abruptly that Helen, who had 
 been following close behind, nearly ran into her. Out 
 of the mist and shadows came a low, rumbling growl. 
 A huge, black shape bounded toward them. 
 
 "The dog!" exclaimed the other, "I forgot — oh!" 
 
 The beast, rearing on hind legs, sprang at her throat 
 and felled her. She lay prone on the ground, the dog 
 crouching over her with jaws slavering and forefeet 
 pawing her body. Helen stood motionless in her 
 tracks. The dog's eyes and teeth gleamed menacingly 
 in the moonlight, and she knew that the slightest move 
 would precipitate an attack upon her. Her mind, clear- 
 ing rapidly under the stress of danger, was seeking a 
 way out of the predicament when hurried footsteps 
 came down the walk. 
 
 'Csesar !" called a gruff voice. 
 
 "/•
 
 68 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 The dog let go its hold as a man came running 
 toward them. He stopped and gathered the fallen 
 woman in his arms, and Helen recognized the indi- 
 vidual who had met her at the gate on her arrival. 
 With scarcely a glance in her direction, he turned and 
 walked toward the house with his burden. Helen feel- 
 ing the gleaming eyes of the beast on her face, dared 
 not move. As she stood wondering what to do, a 
 shadow fell across the graveled walk and a second man 
 came toward her. 
 
 "Back to your kennel, Caesar!" he commanded, and 
 the dog obediently slunk away. "Excellent watchdog, 
 but a bit ferocious when he is kept on half rations. 
 Won't you come inside, Miss — er, Hardwick? Hawkes 
 told me about you. I am Mr. Slade. Sorry to have 
 kept you waiting." 
 
 His manner and appearance were pleasant enough; 
 yet Helen felt an impulse to run. The things she had 
 seen and heard since coming to Azurecrest were highly 
 mystifying, and they had left a number of questions 
 and suspicions in her mind. She glanced quickly 
 toward the picket fence, then in the direction whence 
 Csesar had disappeared. Something told her that a 
 whistle would set the dog snapping and snarling at her 
 heels if she should try to break away. She decided that 
 her hope lay in diplomacy rather than flight. 
 
 As if he had read her thoughts, Slade touched her 
 arm and escorted her to the house. She sensed that a
 
 PERPLEXITIES 60 
 
 trying ordeal was ahead of her, and she was already 
 steeling her nerves for it. She had faced danger many 
 times, and her buoyant nature always responded to the 
 demands of a crisis with a quickening of wits and ris- 
 ing courage. 
 
 "I trust Miss Neville didn't annoy you," murmured 
 Slade apologetically as he opened the door and con- 
 ducted her down the hall. "A very difficult case of 
 paranoia. She gets quite violent at times, and she is 
 subject to all sorts of hallucinations. To-night she 
 broke away from her nurse and would no doubt have 
 attempted to scale the fence if Caesar hadn't interrupted 
 her." 
 
 Helen walked beside him in silence. She had already 
 wondered whether Miss Neville could be quite sane. 
 Oddly enough, Slade's words almost convinced her that 
 the woman was of sound mind, though perhaps she 
 was suffering from the effects of illness and shock. 
 Helen had conceived an immediate and instinctive dis- 
 trust of Slade, despite his smooth-flowing speech and 
 suave manners. 
 
 He ushered her into the same room she had left so 
 hurriedly upon hearing the laughter, and placed a chair 
 for her. A look at his face in the electric light gave 
 edge to her misgivings, but at first she could not tell 
 what there was about him that repelled her. According 
 to all standards, he should have attracted her and 
 inspired confidence in her. His personality contained
 
 70 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 that blend of strength and gentleness which she had 
 liked in men ever since her days of inconsequential 
 hero worship. He had the strong jaw and high fore- 
 head that often go with aggressiveness and mental 
 keenness, and he carried his tall figure with the easy- 
 grace of a man of the world. His presence would have 
 
 been quite magnetic if only But Helen could not 
 
 finish the thought. There was an unnamable some- 
 thing about him that eluded her mental grasp. 
 
 "Quite a sad case, that of Miss Neville," he con- 
 tinued. "She was once a very brilliant woman, but her 
 genius was consumed by its own fire, so to speak. I 
 might as well tell you that she is my half-sister. For 
 her own good and to avoid unpleasant notoriety, I am 
 keeping her here under the care of a physician. Her 
 friends believe that she is traveling abroad, and so far 
 I have succeeded in keeping the true state of affairs 
 secret. There is a possibility, though a very remote 
 one, that she will recover." 
 
 Helen made no comment. Though his eyes were 
 lowered seemingly on the floor, she felt he was watch- 
 ing her and wondering whether she believed him. She 
 thought it strange that he should have taken her into 
 his confidence in regard to matters which one usually 
 does not divulge to strangers. There were a number 
 of questions on the tip of her tongue, but she thought 
 it better to hold them back. 
 
 *T suppose," Slade went on in melancholy tones.
 
 PERPLEXITIES 71 
 
 "that she told you the usual story of mistreatment and 
 persecution?" 
 
 "She seemed very excited," Helen weighed her 
 words with care. "I don't remember all she told me, 
 but she said something of a fever that was gradually 
 killing her, and she seemed very anxious to get away 
 from this place." 
 
 "Yes, the fever is one of her hallucinations. She 
 imagines that she is suffering from a strange disease. 
 And not only that but she thinks everybody around her 
 afflicted with the same mysterious malady. The idea 
 is firmly rooted in her mind that the disease has been 
 deliberately communicated to her by enemies. No 
 doubt she told you of a queer kind of laughter that is 
 supposed to be one of the symptoms of the strange ail- 
 ment." 
 
 "She not only mentioned it, but she gave me a dem- 
 onstration. It sounded a bit — creepy." 
 
 "I can readily believe it. It must have been very 
 unpleasant for you. I take it that she told the story 
 convincingly enough to make an impression on you, or 
 you would not have started to run away with her." 
 
 He smiled as he spoke, and all at once Helen saw the 
 reason for her instinctive dislike of him. The smile 
 was of the lips only. There was no responsive gleam 
 in his eyes. And his eyes, she now perceived, were 
 hard and dispassionate as bits of porcelain. 
 
 "She frightened me, and I didn't know what to
 
 72 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 think," she guardedly admitted. "I suppose I followed 
 her on the impulse of the moment. I do most things 
 on impulse, you see." 
 
 "That's the privilege of youth." He laughed, but his 
 eyes were as glossy and expressionless as fish scales 
 and seemed to veto his vocal merriment. "Luckily you 
 wouldn't have got further than the gate, even if Csesar 
 hadn't intervened. It would be very embarrassing if 
 Miss Neville should escape from us some night and 
 expose her condition to the world. There is slight 
 danger of that, though. I have taken all necessary 
 precautions. However, your meeting Miss Neville here 
 and noticing the state she is in, makes the situation 
 rather awkward. I should dislike to have the matter 
 get into the newspapers. I have been frank with you, 
 hoping you would see the delicacy of the situation from 
 my point of view." 
 
 "I never gossip about people's misfortunes," de- 
 clared Helen with emphasis. 
 
 "Thank you. I know I can depend on you. Miss 
 Hardwick. I hope Caesar didn't frighten you. By the 
 way," and suddenly he seemed to remember something, 
 "my secretary told me you were inquiring for Mr. 
 Vanardy." 
 
 Helen started slightly. For an hour she had been 
 wondering why she had seen nothing of The Gray 
 Phantom and why her request to see him had been met 
 with evasions and cross-questioning.
 
 PERPLEXITIES 73 
 
 Slade regarded her with polite curiosity. "I have 
 seen your name in the newspapers, Miss Hardwick. 
 You wrote the play that Vincent Starr produced at his 
 theater. Only a little while ago I was reading of the 
 peculiar tragedy that interrupted the first performance 
 last night. I wonder whether your visit here has any- 
 thing to do with that occurrence." 
 
 It was a strange question, Helen thought. "I — I 
 would rather talk over my errand with Mr. Vanardy 
 in person," she stammered. She was chilled and con- 
 fused by his steady gaze. "Isn't he here ?" 
 
 Slade's lips twitched. "You know, of course, that 
 Mr. Vanardy is the genial rascal who used to be known 
 as The Gray Phantom. You needn't answer ; I see that 
 you do. It strikes me as rather odd that a young lady 
 of your evident refinement and culture should be asso- 
 ciated with a man of that type. Pardon my imper- 
 tinence. The fact of the matter is that Mr. Vanardy 
 is not here. He left Azurecrest some time ago." 
 
 "What?" Helen half rose from the chair. With a 
 great exertion of will power she steadied herself. "Mr. 
 Vanardy not here ? Then where is he?" 
 
 "That I don't know. I purchased Azurecrest from 
 him through a broker. I never had any dealings with 
 the man himself. In fact, at the time I bought the 
 place I didn't know that it had been occupied by The 
 Gray Phantom. You see, I had been looking for a 
 secluded spot where Miss Neville could live quietly and
 
 ?4 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 without fear of unwelcome intrusions. Azurecrest 
 seemed to answer the requirements, and so I bought 
 it." 
 
 Helen stared at him, unable to disguise her bewilder- 
 ment. Slade's statement amazed and shocked her. She 
 had not been in correspondence with The Gray Phan- 
 tom, but at their last meeting he had told her to com- 
 municate with him at Azurecrest if she should ever 
 need him. She thought it strange that he had not sent 
 her word of his removal. 
 
 Slade was sauntering leisurely back and forth across 
 the floor. Now and then, as he looked at her, his eyes 
 gave her a chill. She made a strong effort to gather 
 her thoughts and master her feelings. Something, she 
 did not know just what, told her that the occasion 
 demanded a cool head and steady nerves. 
 
 A motor horn sounded in the distance. Evidently a 
 car was winding its way up the hill. The thought gave 
 her a vague sense of comfort. She sat up straight. 
 
 "I told the m.an who met me at the gate that I wished 
 to see Mr. Vanardy," she remarked. "Later I told 
 Hawkes the same thing. Neither one intimated that 
 Mr. Vanardy was no longer here. I was asked a lot of 
 useless questions and asked to wait. Then " 
 
 "My dear Miss Hardwick," smoothly interrupted 
 Slade, "you must understand that the circumstances 
 under which my half-sister and myself are living here
 
 PERPLEXITIES 75 
 
 make it necessary for me to be very cautious with 
 regard to visitors. My servants have orders to subject 
 all callers to careful inspection and cross-examination. 
 For instance, how do I know that you are not a news- 
 paper reporter looking for a sensation ?" 
 
 Helen smiled; the suggestion seemed so absurd. 
 Once more the blare of a horn sounded in the distance. 
 
 "And that reminds me," Slade went on in slightly 
 altered tones, "that you have not yet explained your 
 presence here. I asked you a moment ago whether it 
 had anything to do with what happened at the Thelma 
 Theater." 
 
 "So you did." Helen's smile, though tantalizing, 
 was the kind with which one masks an inner turbu- 
 lence. 
 
 "I am waiting for your answer." Slade seemed as 
 sauve and urbane as before, but his eye was a trifle 
 frostier and his tone carried a peremptory note. Helen 
 glanced at the window. A glare like that of a motor 
 car's headlight was approaching the house. 
 
 "Your question is very peculiar," she replied with a 
 haughtiness which she did not quite feel, "and I see no 
 reason why I should answer it." 
 
 "No ?" Slade had ceased his pacing of the floor, and 
 Helen wondered whether it was by design or accident 
 that he had stopped with his back to the door. "Per- 
 haps the question will seem less peculiar if I word it
 
 76 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 differently. What did you mean when you told 
 Hawkes that the business you wished to discuss with 
 Vanardy had to do with Mr. Shei ?" 
 
 Helen felt a tingle of suspense. There was a sneer 
 on Slade's lips and his frigid eyes filled her with a 
 vague dread. She tried to parry the question with 
 banter, but the words would not come. She twisted in 
 her chair, and suddenly, as the door behind Slade's 
 back came open, her gaze grew rigid and a look of 
 consternation filled her eyes. She gripped the arms of 
 her chair and very slowly raised herself to her feet, all 
 the while staring intently at the figure whose arrival 
 had been heralded a few minutes ago by the headlight's 
 glare. 
 
 The newcomer seemed startled at first, then he 
 smiled. Slade stepped aside and bowed deferentially 
 to the man in the doorway. Then he noticed Helen's 
 transfigured face. 
 
 "You two seem to have met before," he remarked. 
 
 Helen advanced a step. She drew a long, trembling 
 breath. A staggering realization flashed through her 
 mind as she gazed rigidly into the newcomer's smiling 
 face. It was the same realization that had come to her 
 with such unnerving force in the Thelma Theater. It 
 had grown hazy and vague during the intervening 
 hours, and the quick succession of events had left her 
 wondering. Now she knew that her first intuitive sus-
 
 PERPLEXITIES 77 
 
 picion had been correct. Her mind seemed to reel and 
 spin. She hardly knew that her lips were moving, but 
 her voice, hoarse and scarcely audible, was uttering a 
 name : 
 
 "Mr. Shei!"
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 THE PHANTOM ORCHID 
 
 CUTHBERT VANARDY sat in his library at 
 Sea Glimpse and tried hard to fix his mind on 
 Paxton's Botanical Dictionary. Despite his 
 best efforts it was a hopeless task. His thoughts would 
 go gypsying, and every now and then the print would 
 blur and fade or dissolve into fanciful images that had 
 nothing to do with hybridization and cross-pollination 
 of orchids. 
 
 A problem had been teasing Vanardy's imagination 
 for months. He had struggled with it in idle moments, 
 while resting from more ambitious experiments. Speci- 
 mens from his gardens were shown each year at the 
 horticultural expositions in New York and Boston, 
 where they created much favorable comment among 
 experts and caused endless speculation concerning the 
 identity of the anonymous exhibitor, who had private 
 and excellent reasons for remaining unknown. The 
 problem he was now working on, however, was merely 
 a diversion from his more serious work. 
 
 He wanted to create a gray orchid. It was to be a 
 particular shade of gray — a dim, mystic gray, like the 
 
 78
 
 THE PHANTOM ORCHID 79 
 
 color of the sky just before dawn or the hue of the 
 sea in a light fog. The novelty of the idea appealed to 
 him and the task was proving difficult enough to give 
 him gentle stimulation. Furthermore, gray always had 
 been his favorite color. And he had almost decided 
 that the hybrid, when once evolved, should be known 
 as The Phantom Orchid. 
 
 It was merely a whim, of course — the vagary of a 
 mind so active that it must be working even at play. 
 For the matter of that, he often told himself that of 
 late years his life had been little else than a succession 
 of fancies and dim shades of reality. The gardens he 
 had planted and the products that gained such flattering 
 comment in the horticultural journals had been nothing 
 but a tangible expression of a passionate desire to blot 
 out the past and efface that other self whom the out- 
 side world called The Gray Phantom. 
 
 In those other days he had gone, like a rollicking 
 Robin Hood, from one stupendous adventure to an- 
 other. Without thought of sordid gain, but merely to 
 assuage an inborn craving for excitement, he had 
 dipped into a whirl of exploits that caused the public to 
 gasp and hold its breath. The police, bedeviled and 
 outwitted at every turn, had gritted their teeth and 
 muttered anathemas even while admitting that The 
 Gray Phantom always played the game fairly and that 
 his victims, more often than not, were villains of a far 
 blacker dye than he.
 
 80 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 It had been a mad carousal, and for a time it had 
 given The Phantom all the thrills his nature craved. 
 Nearly always his left hand had tossed away what his 
 right had plucked. Mysterious and untraceable con- 
 tributions had poured in upon hospitals, orphan 
 asylums, societies for the protection of animals, and 
 other philanthropic organizations. Widows, invalids, 
 and paupers were befriended in a way that caused them 
 to believe in a return of the day of miracles. Dreamers ' 
 starving in garrets and inventors struggling to keep 
 body and soul together were tided over many a trying 
 crisis. 
 
 Through it all The Gray Phantom had maintained an 
 elusiveness that confounded the keenest man hunters 
 among the police and wrapped his identity in a mys- 
 terious glamour. Simple-minded people wondered 
 whether he were a being of flesh and blood, or a shade 
 on earthly rampage. His one arrest, back in the early 
 stages of his career, had settled their doubts once for 
 all, but an astonishing escape a few days later caused 
 them to wag their heads and speak in hushed tones of 
 a rogue whose feats and juggleries bewildered them. 
 
 The Phantom laughed quietly at their perplexity. 
 The performances that awed and puzzled them seemed 
 simple enough to him. He was merely unleashing his 
 imagination and giving free sway to his boundless 
 energies of body and mind. In another age he might 
 have been a sea-roving viking or a builder of ancient
 
 THE PHANTOM ORCHID 81 
 
 empires. At times, when one of his softer moods was 
 upon him, he wondered why his restless spirit and the 
 fires within him could not have found a different and 
 more soul-satisfying outlet. Then his thoughts would 
 go back to dimly remembered days, with their shadowy 
 recollections of early orphanage and the peccadilloes of 
 street urchins, and somehow he thought he understood. 
 
 But as time passed his restless moods came back with 
 increasing frequency, and little by little he lost taste for 
 the life he was leading and the adventures that had 
 made his sobriquet known from coast to coast. Then 
 there came lapses between The Gray Phantom's ex- 
 ploits, and finally they ceased altogether. The world, 
 not knowing with what lavish hand he had flung away 
 his spoils, supposed he had collected his treasures and 
 gone into hiding, and the police grimly predicted that 
 he would reappear as soon as he had squandered his ill- 
 gotten gains. No one guessed that The Phantom had 
 built a hermitage on a desolate hilltop where, sur- 
 rounded by a few of his art treasures and a small group 
 of faithful followers, he was trying to reconstruct his 
 life in peace. 
 
 "Azurecrest" was the name he had given his 
 secluded retreat, and there he had tried to destroy the 
 links that still chained him to the past and to blot out 
 the tantalizing visions of other days. For a time he 
 had almost succeeded; then a restlessness had come 
 upon him for which the desolate hilltop afforded no
 
 82 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 relief, and he felt that his mountain retreat, with its 
 collection of reUcs and reminders of bygone times, was 
 too closely associated with the things he wanted to 
 forget. Finally he had disposed of the place through 
 a broker and purchased a narrow strip of land by the 
 sea. He could not analyze the obscure motives and 
 hidden impulse that had impelled him to seek seclusion 
 at Sea Glimpse, a slender tongue of wooded land sur- 
 rounded on three sides by jagged coast line and in the 
 rear by forest and farm land. But while at work clear- 
 ing the ground for his garden he had felt a grateful 
 remoteness from things he wished to forget, and a 
 measure of peace and satisfaction had come to him 
 while he put his unpracticed hands to strange tasks or 
 wandered among the trees and listened to the murmurs 
 of the sea. He often wondered whether he would be 
 content to spend his life in this secluded nook of the 
 world where, safely hidden and secure from intrusion, 
 he could devote himself to his hobby and his books. 
 
 The question came back to him again as he closed his 
 Paxton and got up to light the reading lamp. For 
 months he had felt that the links connecting him with 
 the past were snapping. The Gray Phantom had 
 emerged from retirement only once, and then he had 
 ventured forth in a good cause. In a little while, per- 
 haps, he would be dead and almost forgotten. The 
 gray orchid, if Vanardy should ever succeed in bring- 
 ing it out, would be the living symbol of whatever had
 
 THE PHANTOM ORCHm 83 
 
 been good in his other self. The thought more than 
 once had appealed to his imagination and the whimsical 
 strain in his nature. 
 
 He turned toward the window, but he had taken only 
 a few steps when he stopped and looked dreamily into 
 space. Memories thronged his mind and a face ap- 
 peared out of no where — a woman's face. For months 
 it had haunted him in his idle moments, inspiring him 
 with vague and exhilarant emotions. He saw it now, 
 softly radiant among the shadows, an enchanting em- 
 bodiment of the bloom and freshness of youth that 
 pursued him with the persistence of a delicate scent or 
 the strain of an ail-but- forgotten song. 
 
 "Helen !" he murmured. 
 
 The vision grew a little clearer. Now he could 
 alm.ost see her figure, slim and straight and moving 
 with the easy swing and grace of a young antelope. 
 Echoes of her voice came to him, clear and unaffected 
 and vibrant with joyous vivacity, each melodious note 
 touching an harmonious chord within him. He remem- 
 bered that her face had given him a curious impression 
 of youthful buoyancy mingling with the soberness of 
 maturity. Her quick intuition, coupled with a strain 
 of subtlety in her nature and a trace of precocious 
 sophistication that was both puzzling and enchanting, 
 had seemed to bridge the years that lay between them. 
 The vitalic sheen and the subtle aroma of her hair had 
 given him a foolish desire to see what sun and wind
 
 84 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 would do to it if she were to loosen it and romp in his 
 garden. 
 
 He sighed musingly. Months had passed since he 
 had last seen her. For a brief, unforgettable moment 
 he had held her hand, and the contact had given him a 
 gentle, all-pervading thrill and filled him with strange 
 and tender emotions. Her eyes, warm and frank, but 
 with a touch of shyness lurking in their depths, as if 
 she were still a little afraid of him, had inspired him 
 with a tingling ecstasy such as The Gray Phantom in 
 his wildest triumphs had never experienced. Twice he 
 had written her since then, once to apprise her of his 
 removal from Azurecrest and once to inquire concern- 
 ing her well-being, but he had neither expected nor 
 received an answer. He had not forgotten that in the 
 eyes of the world he was still an outlaw, a hunted 
 thing. 
 
 Again he sighed. The vision was fading, and little 
 of it remained with him save a misty picture of loveli- 
 ness. The moon was rising over the tree tops, throw- 
 ing a white sheen over the landscape and the narrow 
 wedge of water visible between the birches and hem- 
 locks. The old house, purchased by Vanardy in a 
 dilapidated condition and with difficulty rendered 
 habitable, was silent but for the creeping whispers of 
 the wind. For a time the solitary figure at the window 
 stood lost in thoughts. His deep-gray eyes, rather too 
 narrow for perfect symmetry, which had been known
 
 THE PHANTOM ORCHH) 85 
 
 to stab and sting like rapiers, were not soft and lumi- 
 nous. Small wrinkles radiated from the outer corners, 
 but the eyes themselves were animated by the slow 
 twinkling gleam that characterizes the individual who 
 sifts all the ups and downs of life through a sieve of 
 whimsical imagination. The sensitive nostrils and the 
 full arch of the lips denoted a penchant for distilling 
 the maximum of thrills and emotions from the magic 
 of existence. Here and there his face was lined and 
 scarred, and even in repose there was a tension about 
 the lean, tall figure that made one think of a cocked 
 trigger. 
 
 A knock sounded, and he turned quickly. Through 
 the door waddled a fat man with a woe-begone expres- 
 sion and a multiple chin. He groaned and puffed as if 
 the task of carrying his elephantine body through life 
 was not a light burden. The newcomer was Clifford 
 Wade, once The Gray Phantom's chief lieutenant an(t 
 now the major-domo of his little household. 
 
 "Wade," observed The Phantom, eyeing the fat man 
 with disapproval, "you are getting soft. This easy and 
 carefree existence is demoralizing you completely." 
 
 The other placed a stack of newspapers and a few 
 letters on the table, then slumped into a chair and gazed 
 ruefully down at the protruding curvature of his stom- 
 ach. 
 
 "I know, boss. I piled on two more pounds last 
 week. Pretty soon I won't be able to go for the mail
 
 86 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 any more. If you'd only say the word, I'd round up 
 the old gang, and we'd turn a few more tricks like the 
 ones we used to pull in the good old days. I'd work 
 off this fat in no time." 
 
 The Phantom shook his head. "No, Wade. You 
 will have to try some other form of fat reducer. I am 
 through with the old life for good. It was exciting 
 while it lasted, but the novelty has worn off. It was 
 only a sort of emotional eruption, anyhow." 
 
 Wade scowled, then delivered himself of a startling 
 exclamation: "Hang the women!" 
 
 The Phantom raised his brows in surprise. "What's 
 your grievance against the fair sex. Wade ? Hanging 
 is pretty serious business, you know. What atrocious 
 crime have the women perpetrated against you to de- 
 serve such cruel punishment? You don't look like a 
 man suffering the pangs of unrequited love. Your 
 heart is intact, I hope ?" 
 
 "Oh, my heart's all right," Wade complained. "It's 
 yours that I'm worrying about. Lately I haven't been 
 able to dope you out at all, boss. If I didn't know you 
 as well as I do, I'd say you've gone plumb dippy. There 
 was a time not so long ago when you went in for big 
 game — real he-man stuff. There were a lot of men on 
 the police force who used to have a funny feeling, 
 around the solar plexus whenever The Gray Phantom's 
 name was spoken. You cut some fancy didos in those 
 days, boss. Now — now you're poking seeds into the
 
 THE PHANTOM ORCHID 87 
 
 ground and talking of reforming." Wade made a ges- 
 ture of great disgust. 
 
 "Granted," said The Phantom, smiling, "but is that 
 any reason for exterminating the feminine sex?" 
 
 "You bet it is. The trouble with you is that you've 
 got too much girl on the brain, boss. You were all 
 right until that pretty little skirt with the big baby eyes 
 happened along." 
 
 "Oh, you mean Miss Hardwick?" There was an 
 odd tension in The Phantom's tones. 
 
 "That's who I mean. She's easy on the eyes and all 
 that, but she's sure raised the devil with you. The old 
 kind of life was good enough for you till she bobbed 
 up. It was then you started all this mushy talk about 
 going straight and changing your ways. I know be- 
 cause I've been watching you." 
 
 The Phantom was strangely silent. Twice he crossed 
 the floor, then paused before the window and looked 
 out into the shadowy landscape. There was a pensive 
 gleam in his eyes, as if Wade's speech had turned his 
 thoughts into new channels. Suddenly he laughed, and 
 the new expression that came into his face suggested 
 that he had seen an all-revealing flash. 
 
 "I am much obliged to you for that bit of psycho- 
 analysis," he told the fat man. "You're right. Wade — 
 absolutely right. I was a fool not to see it before." 
 
 "Not to see what?" 
 
 A faint smile flickered across The Phantom's face.
 
 88 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 "That Miss Hardwick has had a great deal to do with 
 my determination to change my ways. I hadn't reaHzed 
 it until you spoke just now. I had been inclined to 
 give myself all the credit. Thanks to your somewhat 
 crude but accurate statement of the case, I can see now 
 that all of it belongs to her." 
 
 Wade's round little eyes, imbedded in layers of flesh, 
 stared uncomprehendingly at The Phantom. "I don't 
 get you at all, boss." 
 
 "Then don't try. Your heart is in the right place, 
 Wade, but you lack imagination and there are some 
 things that you and I can't view from the same angle. 
 Miss Hardwick's influence in my life is one of them. 
 Sorry to disappoint an old pal, but my determination to 
 stay on the straight and narrow path Is stronger than 
 ever." 
 
 Wade made a wry face. "You'll suit yourself, of 
 course, but it might interest you to know that another 
 man is stealing your thunder while you're dancing to 
 the piping of a skirt." He opened one of the news- 
 papers he had placed on the table and pointed to a 
 black-face caption. The Phantom, looking over his 
 massive shoulders, read: 
 
 MR. SHEI'S NAME ON DYING LIPS 
 
 His eyes narrowed gradually as he read the highly 
 colored account of the tragedy in the Thelma Theater.
 
 THE PHANTOM ORCHH) 89 
 
 There was a pucker of perplexity on his forehead when 
 he finished. 
 
 "Wonder what Mr. Shei is up to this time," he 
 mumbled, gazing thoughtfully at the floor. "I've been 
 following the fellow's exploits for some time. This is 
 a bit out of the ordinary — eh, Wade?" 
 
 "You said it, boss. And you can bet your sweet life 
 he's getting ready for something big this time. Unless 
 I'm a poor guesser, the affair at the Thelma last night 
 was only the beginning. Mr. Shei's schemes run deep, 
 and he never strikes a blow unless he's got an object in 
 view. There's something queer about the murder of 
 that woman, boss." 
 
 The Phantom nodded. "Looks as though you were 
 right. Wade. Mr. Shei is out after big game this time, 
 and in all likelihood the Thelma affair is only the pre- 
 lude. But I don't see how " 
 
 "There's another queer thing about this Mr. Shei," 
 interrupted the fat man. "Maybe you've noticed it. I 
 don't know how many jobs he's pulled off, but every 
 one of them has shown the slickest kind of workman- 
 ship. What's more," and Wade's eyes peered cun- 
 ningly into the other's face, "most of them look as 
 though you'd had a hand in them yourself. That's 
 what I meant when I said another man is stealing your 
 thunder." 
 
 The Phantom started; then a thin smile parted his 
 lips. "Yes, I have noticed it, Wade. I have studied
 
 90 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 Mr. Shei's methods as carefully as has been possible 
 from the superficial and distorted newspaper accounts, 
 and I have observed that he has done me the question- 
 able honor of adopting some of the methods and strata- 
 gems I used to practice in the past. In a number of 
 instances he has copied my technique so closely that 
 I've often wondered whether I've been walking in my 
 sleep or whetlier my old self has come back in a new 
 form. It's been almost uncanny." He laughed mus- 
 ingly. "What do you make of it, Wade?" 
 
 "I think you'd better take another fling at the old 
 game before this Mr. Shei gets a monopoly on it." 
 
 "I didn't mean that. How do you account for the 
 similarity of methods?" 
 
 The fat man pondered. "Somebody has studied 
 your tricks and put them into practice. Somebody 
 that's been close enough to you to watch you in action. 
 Maybe," and the glow of a sudden idea lighted up his 
 face, "a member of our old crowd. Say, boss, wouldn't 
 it be a joke on you if Mr. Shei should turn out to be 
 a graduate of your own gang?" 
 
 "Worse than a joke," said The Phantom grimly. He 
 paced the floor with quick, short steps, his hands 
 clenched at his back. "I have given the mysterious 
 Mr. Shei a great deal of thought in the past few 
 months, and I fear you are right. His tactics so closely 
 resemble mine that I suspect he learned them from me 
 at firsthand. In the old days I often took a sort of
 
 THE PHANTOM ORCHH) 91 
 
 foolish pride in teaching my methods to the more 
 adaptable ones among the members of my organiza- 
 tion. It pleased me to watch their development under 
 my training. I didn't realize then what I was doing.! 
 
 Now " He shrugged as if to dismiss a futile 
 
 regret. "Yes, it's quite likely that Mr. Shei is a former 
 pupil of mine." 
 
 "Well, what are you going to do about it?" 
 
 The Phantom stopped abruptly, gazing at the fat 
 man with a far-away gleam in his eye, as if they were 
 miles apart. 
 
 "I thought The Gray Phantom was dead," he mur- 
 mured. "It appears I have been mistaken. If Mr. Shei 
 is a product of The Gray Phantom's brain, then my old 
 self is still active. For every crime committed by Mr. 
 Shei, The Gray Phantom bears responsibilit>\" He 
 gave a dismal laugh. "And I thought I had destroyed 
 most of the links connecting me with the old 
 times." 
 
 "Well," said Wade again, this time a little testily, 
 "just what are you going to do about it?" 
 
 The Phantom did not answer immediately. He was 
 staring absent-mindedly into space. Presently he 
 looked at his watch ; then he nodded thoughtfully. 
 
 "Wish you would pack my grip. Wade." 
 
 The fat man started from the chair. "Not going 
 away?" 
 
 "Yes; there's a train for New York a few minutes
 
 92 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 past midnight. In the morning, bright and early, I 
 shall start a little campaign." 
 
 "Campaign?" Wade's eyes bulged. "What kind of 
 campaign ?" 
 
 "The biggest one of my life, I think. I am going out 
 to lay The Gray Phantom's ghost. In plain words, I 
 propose to go on the warpath against the mysterious 
 Mr. Shei. I fancy it will be quite an exciting little 
 tussle, Wade."
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 MR. SHEI SHOWS HIS HAND 
 
 IN the dusk of the following morning a tall, gray- 
 clad figure alighted from a train in the Grand 
 Central terminal, glanced cautiously to right and 
 left among the thin scattering of passengers, and with 
 a furtive air traversed the vast concourse and gained 
 the street by one of the side exits. With the habitual 
 vigilance of a hunted man, he paused for a few 
 moments under the canopy and scanned the face of 
 each loiterer and passer-by. A dull, discordant din 
 testified that the city was awakening, and a pale shim- 
 mer of dawn was shattering the mists hanging like a 
 gauzy veil over Manhattan. Finally the gray-clad 
 figure moved on, walked a block and a half to the west 
 and, selecting an unpretentious restaurant, stepped in 
 and ordered breakfast. 
 
 The Gray Phantom's campaign was on. 
 
 Perils lurked everywhere. Though he had changed 
 his ways, he had not yet paid off his old scores. He 
 still had the law to reckon with, for the outstanding 
 charges against him were grave and numerous enough 
 to send him to prison for the rest of his life. The 
 
 93
 
 94 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 capture of The Gray Phantom, once one of the most 
 celebrated of rogues, would create a profound sensa- 
 tion and confer great fame on the captor. Once it 
 became known that he had emerged from his hiding 
 place, the entire city would be converted into a huge 
 man-trap with claws set to catch the celebrated outlaw. 
 
 That was not all. The newspaper accounts of the 
 police inquiry into the Thelma tragedy, which The 
 Phantom had carefully perused on the train, had hinted 
 rather broadly that Mr. Shei and The Gray Phantom 
 were identical. It was pointed out that Mr. Shei's 
 exploits were the only ones in recent years that had 
 equaled The Phantom's as to magnitude and daring, 
 and that there were many points of similarity in the 
 methods of the two rogues. To be sure, The Phantom 
 had never been known to stoop to murder, but this did 
 not necessarily eliminate him as an object of suspicion, 
 and it was significant that the commission of the crime 
 had been hedged in with all the subtlety and mysteri- 
 ousness that characterized The Gray Phantom's tactics. 
 It was predicted that if The Phantom were appre- 
 hended, the mystery surrounding the identity and the 
 movements of Mr. Shei would be cleared up auto- 
 matically. 
 
 The Phantom smiled faintly as he finished his break- 
 fast and walked out. His step was elastic, and his eye 
 held the steely gleam which his former associates had 
 learned to interpret as a sign that their leader was bent
 
 MR. SHEI SHOWS HIS HAND 95 
 
 on some stupendous adventure. It was still early, and 
 there was only a thin sprinkling of traffic in the streets, 
 and the chances of his being recognized were corre- 
 spondingly slight. 
 
 As yet he had no definite plan in mind. His decision 
 to make war on Mr. Shei had been made suddenly and 
 largely on the impulse of the moment. It was in keep- 
 ing with his determination to blot out that part of him- 
 self which the world knew as The Gray Phantom. The 
 realization had come to him in a flash that the work of 
 his other self was being carried on vicariously by the 
 person known as Mr. Shei. If his suspicions were 
 correct, and if the latter was indeed a disciple of his, 
 then Mr. Shei was a part of the past he had vowed to 
 uproot and destroy. His regeneration would not be 
 complete until this object had been accomplished. 
 
 He chuckled a little as he walked along. It was odd, 
 he thought, that Wade should have guessed the motive 
 for his determination to tear his past to shreds. 
 Throughout his striving and reaching for something 
 higher and better, The Phantom had vaguely and in- 
 stinctively felt that the bright, brown eyes of Helen 
 Hardwick were his lodestars, but Wade's crudely 
 phrased remark had been needed to make the impres- 
 sion clear. He knew it was largely because of Helen's 
 faith in him that he was now attacking the hardest and 
 most perilous task of his career. Vaguely he wondered 
 what she would think when she heard of his latest
 
 96 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 adventure, and he felt a fleeting temptation to tell her 
 of his decision. He rejected it, however, resolving it 
 would be time enough to make his plans known to her 
 when they were in a more mature shape. 
 
 The sight of a knot of curious idlers outside a drug 
 store in Times Square caused him to quicken his steps. 
 He knew the psychology of city crowds and that the 
 merest trifle is sufficient to attract a throng, but this 
 gathering seemed to have been drawn together by 
 something out of the ordinary. As unobtrusively as 
 he could, he wedged his way through the little crowd, 
 consisting mostly of homeward-bound night workers 
 and belated pleasure seekers, and now he saw the 
 object of their interest was a small square of paper 
 pasted to the pane of the show window. A flicker of 
 surprise crossed The Phantom's face as he read the 
 typewritten inscription : 
 
 For the diversion of the public and the edification 
 of the police, I beg to announce that my next, and so 
 far, greatest, coup will be directed against the seven 
 wealthiest men in New York City, whose names I 
 shall take a pleasure in announcing in a day or two. By 
 a unique and sensational method of persuasion these 
 gentlemen will be induced to transfer half of their 
 respective fortunes to me. Mr. Shei. 
 
 A grin tugged at The Phantom's lips as he read the 
 announcement a second time. Mr. Shei, in flaunting 
 his intentions before the eyes of the public and the
 
 MR. SHEI SHOWS HIS HAND 97 
 
 police, was living up to time-honored traditions of 
 melodrama. It was of a piece with the rascal's erratic 
 and extravagant nature, and the boastful phrasing of 
 the announcement, as well as the incidental taunt flung 
 at the police, was quite characteristic of him. Yet, 
 despite the pompous claptrap with which Mr. Shei was 
 adorning his project, the magnitude of it appealed to 
 The Phantom's imagination. It was fully as great and 
 daring an enterprise as The Phantom himself had ever 
 attempted. If the scheme succeeded — and Mr. Shei's 
 undertakings invariably did — the loot would run well 
 into ten figures. 
 
 From remarks dropped by the bystanders he 
 gathered that stickers bearing the same boastful an- 
 nouncements had been distributed during the early 
 morning hours at various points throughout the city. 
 Mr. Shei seemed to have spared no pains in his effort 
 to startle the metropolis. The Phantom was edging 
 away from the throng when a few words, spoken in 
 low and drawling tones, caused him to look quickly 
 aside. 
 
 "Pardon, but haven't we met before ?" 
 The Phantom felt a faint thrill of apprehension. 
 Recognition at this point might prove disastrous to his 
 plans. Beside him, with tired and red-lidded eyes peer- 
 ing into his face, stood a tall, gaunt man whose some- 
 what ludicrous appearance was accentuated by full 
 evening dress.
 
 98 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 "I think not," he said hastily, and started to walk 
 away. The other, refusing to be squelched, fell into 
 step beside him. 
 
 "Now, isn't that queer ?" he remarked with a wheezy 
 chuckle. "The moment I saw you it occurred to me 
 that your face seemed familiar. By the way, what do 
 you think of Mr. Shei's latest?" 
 
 "Quite ambitious." The Phantom gave his uninvited 
 companion a keen glance, and the covert scrutiny 
 stirred several shadowy recollections in his mind. The 
 curious individual seemed well past middle age, and his 
 sallow complexion and furrowed face indicated de- 
 crepit health. He walked with a shuffling gait and a 
 catarrhal affection of the nose necessitated frequent 
 use of his handkerchief. The Phantom was trying to 
 recall when and under what circumstances they had 
 met before, but his face indicated nothing but annoy- 
 ance at an unwelcome intrusion. 
 
 "Ambitious is the word," assented the man in even- 
 ing dress. "Do you know, my dear sir, that if Mr. 
 Shei carries out his threat and annexes fifty per cent 
 of the seven biggest fortunes in town, his net gain will 
 run into the billions? I can only hope that I am not 
 one of the seven selected for shearing." 
 
 The Phantom gave him another quick glance. A 
 gleam of humor relieved the woe-begone expression of 
 the man's face. Again The Phantom searched his 
 memory. The last remark had carried a strong hint
 
 MR. SHEI SHOWS HIS HAND 99 
 
 to the effect tkat his companion was a man of great 
 wealth. 
 
 "My name, as you probably know, although you pre- 
 tend to have forgotten it, is W. Rufus Fairspeckle," 
 continued the other, taking The Phantom's arm and 
 turning into a side street. "I don't know how many 
 millions I have, but I have enough to make me a shin- 
 ing mark for Mr. Shei's latest offensive. Ah, I see 
 you remember me now !" 
 
 The Phantom's involuntary start had betrayed him. 
 The mere mention of Mr. Fairspeckle's name had 
 instantly clarified his hazy recollections. He recalled 
 now that, some five or six years ago, he had had a brief 
 and casual encounter with the man. It had occurred in 
 the course of one of The Phantom's spectacular ad- 
 ventures, and he had almost forgotten the incident that 
 brought them together. Now, as the memory of it 
 flashed back into his mind, he gazed more intently at 
 his companion. 
 
 As the man himself had intimated, W. Rufus Fair- 
 speckle was one of the wealthiest men in New York 
 City. Mostly through luck and partly through an 
 inborn genius for speculation, he had amassed a huge 
 fortune. At fifty he had retired from business, declar- 
 ing that he had worked hard all his life and was en- 
 titled to a rest and a little diversion. Then he had 
 promptly proceeded to the enjoyment of the pleasures 
 that had been denied him in his youth, and he had gone
 
 100 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 about it with an avidity that created a great deal of 
 jocular comment and made him known as a very eccen- 
 tric individual. 
 
 "You have a long memory," observed The Phantom, 
 glancing uneasily at Mr. Fairspeckle's formal attire. 
 It drew many amused glances from pedestrians, and 
 The Phantom did not care to attract unnecessary atten- 
 tion. "Now, if you will excuse me, I think I will wish 
 you good morning. I have a busy day ahead of me." 
 
 "Not so fast," protested Mr. Fairspeckle, clutching 
 The Phantom's sleeve with his long, bony fingers. 
 "You are coming with me." 
 
 The words had a peremptory sound. The Phantom 
 knitted his brows. 
 
 "Why, if I may ask?" 
 
 "See that cop?" Mr. Fairspeckle pointed to a blue- 
 coated figure half a block ahead. "He's a hard-work- 
 ing soul and presumably he is ambitious to obtain pro- 
 motion. The capture of The Gray Phantom would be 
 quite an event in his humdrum life." 
 
 The Phantom sensed a threat. He glanced about 
 him quickly. The streets were rapidly filling with 
 traffic, and to break away might not prove easy. Be- 
 sides, he was curious to know the reason for Mr. Fair- 
 speckle's evident determination to detain him. Decid- 
 ing to adopt the safer course, he simulated an affable 
 smile. 
 
 "Suppose we let the hard-working cop earn his pro-
 
 MR. SHEI SHOWS HIS HAND 101 
 
 motion some other way," he suggested. "Where to, 
 Mr. Fairspeckle ?" 
 
 "My apartment at the Whipple Hotel. We're almost 
 there. Glad you are going to be reasonable, Mr. Van- 
 ardy. I need someone to talk to. Ever suffer from 
 insomnia?" 
 
 "Never." 
 
 "Lucky dog! Insomnia is the bane of my existence. 
 At times, when I can't sleep, I sit at the club and bore 
 my friends to death. When I have no friends to talk 
 to, I walk. Last night I walked from one end of Man- 
 hattan Island to the other and halfway back again. 
 Oh, yes, I'm more chipper than you would think from 
 looking at me. Well, my rambles last night explain 
 why you see me in these togs. I was just about tired 
 enough to fall asleep standing on my feet when I saw 
 Mr. Shei's notice. In an instant I was wide awake 
 again. Confound the fellow's impudence! Here we 
 are." 
 
 The Phantom was conducted through the chastely 
 carved portals of one of the quieter hotels in the upper 
 Forties, and a few moments later they were facing each 
 other across the redwood table in Mr. Fairspeckle's 
 library. The apartment, though luxuriously appointed, 
 was a faithful reflection of the eccentric nature of its 
 occupant. 
 
 "You are careless, Mr. Vanardy," said Mr. Fair- 
 speckle musingly. The partly drawn shades admitted
 
 102 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 only a vague half-dawn into the room, and the shadows 
 lent an air of mysteriousness to his appearance. "It 
 isn't safe for a man in your position to walk about 
 without disguise." 
 
 "Disguises are treacherous things. I have used 
 them now and then, but ordinarily I feel safer without 
 them. Anyhow, no one but you is aware of my pres- 
 ence in New York." 
 
 Mr. Fairspeckle drew a palm across his chin. His 
 red-lidded eyes regarded The Phantom shrewdly. "I 
 wonder what brings you to New York at this particular 
 time — at the very time when Mr. Shei is launching his 
 most ambitious scheme. You will admit the coinci- 
 dence is rather striking?" 
 
 "Some people might deduce from it that I am Mr. 
 Shei," suggested The Phantom, smiling. "They would 
 be wrong." 
 
 There was a cjulver at the corners of Mr. Fair- 
 speckle's thin lips. His eyes held a suspicious twinkle. 
 "Perhaps," he commented dryly. Then he fell to 
 drumming the table with his finger tips. "What I 
 would like to know for certain is whether I am one of 
 the seven. You see, I wouldn't object to being mur- 
 dered by this Mr. Shei. Most people think I'm leading 
 a useless life and ought to be dead, anyhow. It won't 
 be long until an undertaker pumps my carcass full of 
 formaldehyde. What I object to is the idea of being 
 swindled out of my money. No man ever got the best
 
 MR. SHEI SHOWS HIS HAND 103 
 
 of me yet, and I don't intend that Mr. Shei shall make 
 a fool of me. He can kill me, but I won't hand him a 
 cent. I'll be hanged if I will !" 
 
 He thumped the table with his fist. There was some- 
 thing so ludicrous about his grim earnestness that The 
 Phantom could scarcely repress a smile. At the same 
 time he was conscious of a suspicion for which he could 
 not quite account. Mr. Fairspeckle's indignation 
 seemed not quite natural. Even the vehement thump 
 of his fist against the table had an artificial sound. An 
 intuition, flashing into his mind out of nowhere, held 
 The Phantom spellbound for a moment. In the next 
 instant he laughed inwardly at the absurdity of it, tell- 
 ing himxself that he must hold his imagination in leash. 
 
 "It will be interesting to see how Mr. Shei intends to 
 proceed," he casually remarked. 
 
 "It will," spluttered Mr. Fairspeckle. "You can 
 trust him to work some devilishly clever scheme. He 
 always does. Do you suppose," and he bent his bony 
 frame over the table and gazed searchingly at The 
 Phantom, "that the murder at the Thelma Theater 
 night before last was the first episode in this latest 
 enterprise of Mr. Shei's?" 
 
 "You mean the murder of Miss Darrow? There 
 seems to be no doubt but that Mr. Shei had a hand in 
 it. Everything points to " 
 
 He paused of a sudden. All at once it occurred to 
 him that there was something odd about Mr. Fair-
 
 104 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 speckle's question. Immediately upon reading of the 
 Thelma murder, The Phantom had suspected that it 
 was the prelude to another of Mr. Shei's spectacular 
 adventures, but the suspicion had been wholly intuitive. 
 As far as outward appearances went, there was nothing 
 in the murder of Virginia Darrow to suggest that it 
 was anything more than an isolated incident. It was 
 curious, therefore, that Mr. Fairspeckle should look for 
 a connecting link between the crime at the Thelma and 
 Mr. Shei's threat. 
 
 "Everything points to Mr. Shei as the perpetrator of 
 the murder," he guardedly went on, "but whether the 
 crime has any bearing on Mr. Shei's new venture is 
 hard to tell. It doesn't seem likely. How could he 
 possibly further his scheme by an act of that kind ? His 
 plan is to separate seven of New York's richest men 
 from half of their wealth. How is the death of Miss 
 Darrow going to help him in an undertaking of that 
 kind?" 
 
 A sly smile twitched the corners of Mr. Fairspeckle's 
 lips. "Nevertheless," he observed, "I think that you 
 and I agree. I am a pretty good judge of faces, and 
 your expression a moment ago betrayed you, Mr. 
 Vanardy. My question seemed innocent enough at 
 first, but on second thought it startled you. Suppose 
 we be frank. Both of us believe that the Thelma affair 
 was the beginning of Mr. Shei's latest move. We
 
 MR. SHEI SHOWS HIS HAND 105 
 
 can't see how or why just now, but we know that his 
 schemes run deep. Isn't it so?" 
 
 The Phantom, momentarily baffled by the older 
 man's shrewd deductions, gazed pensively at the ceil- 
 ing. A jumble of thoughts and questions shot back 
 and forth through his mind. Did Mr. Fairspeckle sus- 
 pect that Mr. Shei and The Gray Phantom were iden- 
 tical? Or was it possible that He did not finish 
 
 the thought. The suspicion that had come to him sev- 
 eral times during the interview seemed just as un- 
 reasonable as it was startling, and it had no firmer 
 foundation than two or three puzzling circumstances 
 and a tantalizing touch of mysteriousness in Mr. Fair- 
 speckle's attitude. 
 
 "It's an interesting theory, and I've given quite a 
 little thought to it," he finally admitted. "Strange that 
 the same idea should have come to both of us, isn't it? 
 Especially since there seems to be neither reason nor 
 logic behind it. How did you happen to think of it, 
 Mr. Fairspeckle?" 
 
 The other man stroked his lean chin with a self- 
 satisfied air. "What's that old saw about great minds 
 traveling in the same channel ? I don't know just how 
 the idea came to me, but I'm glad we understand each 
 other. Now we can talk without quibbling. But first 
 I want a cup of cofifee. Hope you will join me. 
 Haiuto!"
 
 106 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 He fairly shouted the last word, but The Phantom 
 doubted whether his thin and rasping voice went far- 
 ther than the walls. 
 
 "Haiuto !" Again Mr. Fairspeckle's voice rose to a 
 shrill but inadequate crescendo. "That confounded 
 Jap's pretending he is deaf again. Excuse me, will 
 your 
 
 He strode irately from the room and slammed the 
 door. A wrinkle of deep perplexity appeared on The 
 Phantom's brow. Mr. Fairspeckle puzzled and in- 
 trigued him. Either he was a very slippery individ- 
 ual, or else ingenuousness itself. When he returned 
 and announced that Haiuto would serve their coffee 
 in a few minutes, The Phantom searched his face in vain 
 for a sign of guile. If anything, he was a little more 
 affable than on leaving the room. 
 
 "That fool doctor of mine tells me I mustn't drink 
 coffee," he confided. "Tells me it's bad for my nerves 
 and keeps me awake. But my nerves are worn to a 
 frazzle, anyhow, and I never can sleep except when I 
 want to stay awake. What were we talking about? 
 Oh, yes— Mr. Shei." 
 
 He clasped his hands across his diaphragm. A queer 
 smile, at once beatific and diabolical, came over his 
 face. 
 
 "Do you know," he went on in confidential tones, 
 "that I don't care a rap if Mr. Shei carries out his 
 scheme as far as the other six are concerned. Of
 
 MR. SHEI SHOWS HIS HAND 107 
 
 course, I don't know for certain who they are, but it's 
 a safe bet that they are no friends of mine. I have a 
 hunch that every one of them belongs to the old ring 
 that fought me tooth and nail while I was climbing up 
 in the world. It's a long story, and I'm not going to 
 bore you with it, but you can see why I have no love 
 for them. I could die happy to-morrov^r if I could see 
 them hck the dust to-day. I feel different toward you, 
 Vanardy. We had a tilt once, but you fought fairly. 
 The others tried to knife me in the back. They can go 
 to blazes for all I care." 
 
 "Then you and Mr. Shei seem to have at least one 
 aim in common," The Phantom pointed out. He smiled 
 genially, but his eyes were studying every shifting ex- 
 pression in Mr. Fairspcckle's face. For once he felt 
 certain that the older man was not dissembling. The 
 glint of v/rath lurking in the depths of his weak eyes 
 and the vindictive sneer about his lips told that he had 
 spoken in all sincerity. 
 
 "We have," he declared grimly. "I hope he sends 
 the other six to the poorhouse. But I have no inten- 
 tion of letting him pluck me, you understand. That's 
 where our aims clash. He can go as far as he likes 
 with the others, but I'll fight like a drunken Indian 
 before I give him a red cent. I'll see myself in Hades 
 before I " 
 
 A knock and the opening of the door interrupted 
 him. A Japanese with a face as expressionless as
 
 108 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 mahogany entered with a tray and served them 
 coffee. 
 
 "Queer character, Haiuto," observed Mr. Fair- 
 speckle when the servant, silent as a wraith, had 
 retired. "I think he would cheerfully commit hara- 
 kiri if I asked him to do such a senseless thing." He 
 sipped his coffee with an air of keen enjoyment. 
 "Great bracer for fagged nerves, eh? Would you be- 
 lieve that for days at a time I live on nothing but 
 coffee? But let's get back to the subject. What shall 
 we do with this pestiferous Mr. Sliei ?" 
 
 "What would you suggest ?" cautiously inquired The 
 Phantom, lifting the cup to his lips. 
 
 A beam insinuated itself in the creases of Mr. Fair- 
 speckle's face. "Now we're getting down to essentials. 
 As I said, Mr. Shei can fleece the other six to his 
 heart's content, but he's got to keep hands off me. 
 When I saw you standing in front of the drug store 
 reading Mr. Shei's announcement, I was turning a 
 little plan over in my mind. Then I didn't quite see 
 how to work it, but I do now." 
 
 Again The Phantom brought the cup to his lips. He 
 regarded his companion inquiringly. 
 
 "You and I are going to handle Mr. Shei together," 
 declared Mr. Fairspeckle. His face glowed as if a 
 pleasing prospect were warming his soul. "We will 
 put a crimp in his scheme and show him — why, what's 
 the matter, Vanardy?"
 
 MR. SHEI SHOWS HIS HAND 109 
 
 The Phantom had slouched down in his chair, and 
 now his head began to wag from side to side. 
 
 "Nothing," he murmured dazedly. "1 just feel a 
 bit drowsy. Would you mind opening the window? 
 The — the coffee " 
 
 His eyes rolled, then the lids fluttered and closed, 
 and he sagged limply in the chair. With a gratified 
 chuckle Mr. Fairspeckle stepped to the other side of the 
 table and regarded him gloatingly. 
 
 "The Gray Phantom isn't half so clever as he's 
 supposed to be," he mumbled. Then his hand went out 
 and touched a button. A moment later Haiuto stood 
 at attention in the doorway. 
 
 "Haiuto," inquired Mr, Fairspeckle, "how much 
 chloral did you mix in Mr. Vanardy's cup of coffee?" 
 
 "Plenty," said the servant, and this time the ghost 
 of a grin flickered across his face. "He sleep long 
 time." 
 
 Mr. Fairspeckle nodded elatedly. "Take him to my 
 bedroom," he instructed, "and make him comfortable." 
 
 With an ease which showed that he possessed all the 
 agile strength of his race, Haiuto carried The Phantom 
 into one of the adjoining rooms in the suite, placed 
 him on the bed, and adjusted a pillow under his head. 
 For a few moments he stood peering down into the 
 motionless man's face. Then he silently left the room 
 and closed the door behind him. 
 
 A minute later The Phantom raised himself to a
 
 110 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 sitting posture and blinked his eyes at the sunlight 
 streaming in beneath the drawn window shades. 
 
 "You are fairly clever, Mr. Fairspeckle," he said 
 half aloud, ''but you ought to modernize your methods. 
 Drugged coffee has gone out of fashion. Hope I 
 didn't kill the potted fern at the window behind my 
 chair."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 THE VOICE ON THE WIRE 
 
 THE GRAY PHANTOM lay on his back in 
 W. Ruftis Fairspeckle's ample bed and tried to 
 grasp the meaning of what had happened. 
 His host's attempt to drug him savored strongly of 
 melodrama, and it seemed somewhat grotesque in view 
 of the fact that it had occurred in an up-to-date and 
 centrally located hotel. What puzzled him most was 
 the motive behind the attempt. If Mr. Fairspeckle 
 suspected that he was Mr. Shei, why had he not handed 
 
 his guest over to the police? On the other hand 
 
 But his conjectures in that direction brought The 
 Phantom face to face with a theory that made his 
 thoughts whirl. 
 
 His eyes flitted over the room. The color combina- 
 tion was restful, but the decorations, and especially the 
 pictures, bespoke rather extreme tastes. He had 
 gathered, from what little he had seen of the surround- 
 ings, that Mr. Fairspeckle was occupying a luxurious 
 apartment consisting of several rooms and that it had 
 been fitted up to suit his individual requirements. 
 
 Ill
 
 112 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 Haiuto, the rat- footed Japanese servan":, seemed to be 
 his only companion. 
 
 An hour passed, and The Phantom's cogitations 
 brought him back to the starting point. Nothing 
 seemed certain beyond the indubitable fact that Mr. 
 Fairspeckle was a highly mysterious individual. The 
 rest was full of vague and hazy surmises. The Phan- 
 tom waited patiently, wondering what his host's next 
 move would be, for he had decided to play a passive 
 role for the present. He explored his pockets and was 
 thankful that his automatic had not been taken from 
 him. Evidently his jailer was depending on the drug 
 to keep him in a harmless condition. 
 
 His keen ears detected footsteps approaching the 
 door, and in a twinkling he was lying prone on the bed, 
 simulating the complete insensibility that comes with 
 drug-induced sleep. The door came open, then furtive 
 steps crossed the floor, and The Phantom felt a pair 
 of sharp eyes on his face. His regular breathing 
 seemed to satisfy the silent watcher, for after a little he 
 turned away. As he reached the door, The Phantom 
 flicked open an eyelid and saw Haiuto. Evidently the 
 servant had entered the room to make sure that the 
 effects of the drug were not wearing off. 
 
 The door closed almost noiselessly. Again The 
 Phantom sat up. A glance at his watch told him it 
 •was a few minutes after two. He slid his feet from 
 the bed and tiptoed cautiously to a window and raised
 
 THE VOICE ON THE WHIE 113 
 
 the shade. As he looked out, an undersized figure on 
 the opposite sidewalk instantly caught his eye. As 
 far as appearances went, the man might have been only 
 an idler engaged in the pastime of ogling the feminine 
 passers-by, but The Phantom's practiced eyes saw at 
 once that he was there for a purpose. The stealthy 
 glances which he occasionally leveled at the windows 
 of Mr. Fairspeckle's apartment gave an unmistakable 
 clew to his mission. 
 
 The Phantom's brows contracted as he quickly 
 lowered the shade. Was it possible someone had 
 seen and recognized him on his way from the station 
 and later trailed him to Mr. Fairspeckle's apartment. 
 The thought was annoying, for he disliked having his 
 movements hampered by spies. Then, as he turned 
 away from the window, another possibility suggested 
 itself. Perhaps Mr. Fairspeckle, and not himself, was 
 being kept under surveillance of the fellow on the side- 
 walk. The theory was startling and rather improb- 
 able ; yet it coincided with the suspicion that had kept 
 flashing in and out of The Phantom's mind. 
 
 He examined the mechanism of his automatic and 
 made sure the cartridge chamber was loaded. He 
 sensed a hint in the air that before long he might have 
 occasion to use the weapon. He was in the act of 
 returning it to his hip pocket when of a sudden he 
 pricked up his ears. From somewhere in the apart- 
 ment came a series of faint, clicking sounds. At first
 
 114 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 he tried In vain to identify them, but finally it came to 
 him that someone was using a typewriter. 
 
 "Typewriter?" he mumbled. The word seemed to 
 hold a hidden significance, but for a while his mind 
 was unable to grasp it. He did not believe that either 
 Mr. Fairspeckle or Haiuto had occasion to use such 
 an instrument, yet he was almost certain that the 
 sounds were coming from one of the adjoining rooms. 
 The clicks were slow and irregular, he observed, indi- 
 cating that the writer was unfamiliar with the machine 
 and was having some difficulty picking out the char- 
 acters on the keyboard. 
 
 He stole to the door and opened it a crack. The 
 sounds became louder, and the writer's awkward grop- 
 ing for the keys was more noticeable now. For a 
 moment The Phantom stood listening; then his figure 
 grew suddenly tense. A thin smile hovered about his 
 lips as he recalled that the announcements which Mr. 
 Shei had distributed throughout the city had been 
 written on a typewriter. 
 
 It might mean little or nothing, but there v/as a keen 
 glitter in The Phantom's eyes. In itself the clicking of 
 the machine signified scarcely anything, but in conjunc- 
 tion with other circumstances it was fairly suggestive. 
 With noiseless tread The Phantom tiptoed in the direc- 
 tion whence the sounds were coming. Now and then 
 he darted a quick glance about him, as if expecting a 
 rear attack from the Japanese servant, but Haiuto was
 
 THE VOICE ON THE WHIE 115 
 
 nowhere in sight. He traversed several rooms before 
 he came to a dead stop in a doorway. 
 
 At a table near the window, with his back to The 
 Phantom, sat Mr. Fairspeckle. He was hunched over 
 a typewriter, laboriously poking at the keys with the 
 index finger of each hand. Silently The Phantom 
 approached until he stood directly at the older man's 
 back. Mr. Fairspeckle, all his energies centered on his 
 difficult task, noticed nothing. Leaning slightly for- 
 ward, The Phantom cast a swift, comprehensive glance 
 at the paper in the machine. Then his twinkling eyes 
 looked downward. On the desk, at Mr. Fairspeckle's 
 elbow, lay a little pile of papers. The topmost one was 
 partly covered with typewriting, and the wording was 
 precisely the same as that on the paper in the machine. 
 
 The Phantom had seen enough. He drew his auto- 
 matic from his pocket, then waited until Mr. Fair- 
 speckle stopped writing and pulled the sheet from the 
 machine. 
 
 "You seem to be fairly busy, Mr. Shei," he observed 
 in soft tones. 
 
 Mr. Fairspeckle jerked up his shoulders, then sat as 
 rigid as if suddenly turned into a statue. Finally, with 
 slow and spasmodic motions, he turned his head and 
 looked into the muzzle of The Phantom's automatic. 
 A startled look leaped into his eyes and his sallow face 
 turned a shade paler. 
 
 "You !" he exclaimed.
 
 116 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 "I watered one of your ferns with the coffee Haiuto 
 handed me," The Phantom explained. "A cruel way 
 to treat an inoffensive plant, I'll admit, but there was 
 nothing else handy. Mind if I have a look?" 
 
 Lowering the weapon a trifle, he picked up the sheet 
 of paper Mr. Fairspeckle had just drawn from the 
 machine. Watching the older man out of the tail of 
 an eye, he read the typewritten lines : 
 
 In accordance with my promise, I herewith announce 
 the names of the seven gentlemen whom by certain 
 means at my disposal I shall persuade to hand over 
 half of their respective fortunes to me. 
 
 Then followed a list of seven names, each one sug- 
 gestive of untold wealth and vast influence in the finan- 
 cial world, and The Phantom smiled as he noticed that 
 W. Rufus Fairspeckle was one of them. By way of 
 signature Mr. Shei's name was typed at the bottom of 
 the announcement. 
 
 "Not bad," commented The Phantom. "By includ- 
 ing yourself among the seven victims you make sure 
 that no suspicion becomes attached to the fair name of 
 W. Rufus Fairspeckle. Anyhow, since you are one of 
 the richest men in town, it would look rather odd if 
 your name were omitted. Congratulations, Mr. Shei." 
 
 The other looked stolidly into the muzzle of the 
 automatic. The Phantom's sudden and unexpected 
 appearance seemed to have paralyzed his tongue.
 
 THE V©ICE ON THE WHIE 117 
 
 "You could save a lot of time by taking carbon 
 copies," suggested The Phantom, riffling the sheets 
 lying beside the machine. You will need a hundred oi- 
 more to plaster the town effectively. I understand 
 now why you took that long walk this morning. 
 There's nothing like having a pleasant pastime when 
 one can't sleep. What I don't understand is how you 
 meant to put your plan into effect." 
 
 A sickly smile cruised about Mr., Fairspeckle's blood- 
 less lips. 
 
 "Oh, I don't expect you to let me in on the secret," 
 The Phantom went on. "With your past performances 
 in mind, I have no doubt you would have executed 
 your threat in a manner becoming your genius. There's 
 only one thing about your achievements that has dis- 
 appointed me. I don't see why you had to copy my 
 methods so slavishly. For a while I was almost cer- 
 tain that Mr. Shei was one of my former associates, 
 
 and that's why " He checked himself on the point 
 
 of explaining why he had come out of hiding. 
 "Couldn't you have shown a little more originality?" 
 
 An inarticulate mumble came from Mr. Fairspeckle's 
 lips. His fingers fidgeted nervously over his knees. 
 
 "Well don't try to explain. I suppose the police will 
 attend to that part. There will be quite a sensation 
 when it becomes known that W. Rufus Fairspeckle is 
 the mysterious Mr. Shei. I wonder what drove you to 
 it. You were bored with the life of a gentleman of
 
 113 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 leisure, I suppose, and then you had a goose to pick 
 with your old enemies. I take it that was your chief 
 motive. Well, Mr. Shei " 
 
 A dulcet tinkle interrupted him, and he glanced 
 quickly at the telephone on Mr. Fairspeckle's desk. 
 
 *'You may answer," he said after a moment's hesi- 
 tation. 
 
 Mr. Fairspeckle reached out a trembling hand for 
 the instrument. He put the receiver to his ear and 
 spoke a feeble "Hello" into the transmitter. In the 
 next instant his face went blank. "It's for you," he 
 announced, gazing dazedly at The Phantom. 
 
 "For mcf" The Phantom stared incredulously at 
 the instrument. To the best of his knowledge, his 
 whereabouts was known to nobody but Mr. Fairspeckle 
 and the Japanese servant. Quickly gathering himself, 
 he placed the automatic within easy reach and took the 
 telephone from Mr. Fairspeckle's hand. He started as 
 a voice came over the wire. 
 
 "Mr. Shei speaking," it announced in level tones. "If 
 you value Miss Hardwick's life, I would advise you to 
 abandon your present plans. That is all." 
 
 Then a click, and the connection was broken.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 THE HOUSE OF LAUGHTER 
 
 M 
 
 " T^ jr R. SHEI !" 
 
 Time and again through the night fol- 
 lowing her arrival at Azurecrest, Helen's 
 lips soundlessly formed the name she had involuntarily 
 spoken upon seeing the man in the doorway. She tossed 
 restlessly on her bed, her mind in that curious state on 
 the boundary line between slumber and wakefulness 
 when the imagination forms shadowy images and one's 
 thoughts reach for elusive realities. 
 
 Now and then, as a wild strain of laughter shattered 
 the silence, she sat up and stared into the darkness. A 
 cold tingle would trickle down her spine as the sounds 
 rose to a hysterical crescendo, then fell to a gentle 
 tinkle that made her flesh quiver, and finally died down 
 to a haunting echo. Then, her sense of horror en- 
 gulfed by overwhelming drowsiness, she would fall 
 back against the pillow and drift into a state of sooth- 
 ing stupor. 
 
 Finally dawn broke. Flickering wisps of sunlight 
 fell on the floor, lighting up the dark corners and dis- 
 
 119
 
 120 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 persing the evil host with which her imagination had 
 peopled the gloom. A fresh breeze caressed her hot 
 forehead and cooled the fever in her blood. She sat up 
 and rubbed her eyes. Outside, the sun was glimmering 
 on treetops and long stretches of lawn. The bright, 
 pleasant room afforded a sharp contrast to the strident 
 discords and monstrous visions that had distressed her 
 throughout the night. 
 
 Her recollections were still vague. Gradually a train 
 of memories swept upon her. It all came back to her 
 now — her arrival at Azurecrest, her failure to find The 
 Gray Phantom, the strange laughter and the hideous 
 face she had seen at the window, Miss Neville's amaz- 
 ing story and the intercepted flight, and finally the 
 appearance of the man at the sight of whom she had 
 cried out the name of Mr. Shei. 
 
 Again her recollections grew dim. Things had gone 
 dark before her eyes as soon as she had spoken the 
 name. She had heard a jumble of voices, and she 
 believed someone had forced a drink down her throat. 
 A sedative, perhaps, for after that she had known noth- 
 ing but the intermittent outbursts of laughter and their 
 accompaniment of strange fancies. She shuddered as 
 she remembered them. Several voices, she felt sure, 
 had joined in the chorus of unnatural laughter. It 
 could mean only one thing — that more than one inmate 
 of the house was afflicted with the mysterious fever so 
 vividly described by Miss Neville.
 
 THE HOUSE OF LAUGHTER lei 
 
 Her mind was clearing rapidly now. She realized 
 she was surrounded by dangers which she could neither 
 gauge nor understand. Of one thing only could she 
 be certain. Her eyes, while resting on the man in the 
 doorway, had pierced the veil of mystery which had 
 concealed the identity of the mysterious Mr. Shei. The 
 discovery, confirming a suspicion that had first come to 
 her in the Thelma Theater, had shocked and bewildered 
 her, and on the impulse of the moment she had heed- 
 lessly called out his name. 
 
 Now, in a calmer mood, she reproached herself for 
 her indiscretion. She wondered whether Mr. Shei 
 would dare let her live, now that she had penetrated his 
 secret. If he were as ruthless and unscrupulous as she 
 supposed him to be, he would in all likelihood seal her 
 lips forever. She might promise not to betray him, but 
 Mr. Shei was too shrewd and cautious to rely on prom- 
 ises. He would be more apt to adopt the only course 
 consistent with his safety. 
 
 She shivered a little. Physical fear she had never 
 known, for there was a strain of recklessness and 
 audacity in her nature that blinded her eyes to dangers, 
 but the thought of death gave her a chill. She did not 
 know exactly why, but never before had life seemed as 
 enticing as now. A determination to live spurred her 
 mind to frantic effort. She would outwit Mr. Shei by 
 her woman's weapons. She had done some skillful 
 fencing with them on several occasions in the past, and
 
 122 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 she could use them again. Already she was casting 
 about for a plan. Perhaps, by a little clever acting, she 
 could convince Mr. Shei that her calling of his name 
 had been nothing but a hysterical outburst and without 
 significance. If she succeeded in this, he would have 
 no reason for taking her life. 
 
 The thought buoyed her. She turned a smiling face 
 to the door as it opened and admitted a woman carry- 
 ing a tray. She was thin and slatternly, and she sighed 
 repeatedly while transferring the breakfast dishes to a 
 table which she placed beside Helen's bed. 
 
 "Eat, you poor thing," she admonished, a world of 
 melancholy in her tones. 
 
 Helen sipped the coffee. It was strong and fragrant 
 and gave her a needed stimulus. 
 
 "Why do you call me 'poor thing' ?" she inquired. 
 
 The woman heaved another sigh. "I'm not saying. 
 I can hold my tongue when I want to. That's how I 
 keep my job in this place. It's a shame, though — really 
 it is." 
 
 "What is a shame?" Helen, looking into the slat- 
 tern's saturnine face, with its ludicrously doleful ex- 
 pression, felt an impulse to laugh in spite of her mis- 
 givings. 
 
 "You're so young and pretty. That's why I call It 
 a shame. Oh, well, we all have to go that way sooner 
 or later." 
 
 Helen, unpleasantly impressed by the innuendo.
 
 THE HOUSE OF LAUGHTER 123 
 
 tasted the toast. "Which way?" she asked in casual 
 tones. 
 
 "That would be telling." A long sigh racked the 
 woman's scrawny chest. "I hear a lot of things around 
 this place that I never tell. Better eat hearty, dear. It 
 might be your last Gosh ! I almost said some- 
 thing that time, didn't I ?" 
 
 Helen, conquering her forebodings, ate in silence for 
 a time. The slattern's funereal face and dismal insin- 
 uations were casting a spell of gloom over her which 
 she found hard to shake off. Finally she tried a direct 
 question. 
 
 "Do you mean that they are going to kill me?" 
 
 The woman clasped her hands across her chest and 
 raised mournful eyes to the ceiling. "You mustn't ask 
 questions, poor dear. You'll find out soon enough. 
 Anyhow, there's a better world than this." 
 
 With this piece of doubtful consolation she gathered 
 the dishes and, with another disconsolate sigh, walked 
 out of the room. Helen tried to tell herself that the 
 woman had merely been exercising her imagination 
 and that her doleful hints had come out of thin air. 
 The meal had refreshed her, and her spirits rose while 
 she bathed her face in cold water and arranged her 
 attire. Having finished, she viewed herself with satis- 
 faction in the mirror. Her elastic health and strength 
 had obliterated nearly every trace of her distressing 
 night.
 
 124 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 A knock sounded on the door, and Mr. Slade walked 
 in. Helen instantly steeled herself for an ordeal. 
 Slade, she had already guessed, was Mr. Shei's right- 
 hand man. He was smiling affably, but something told 
 her that her life depended on the outcome of the inter- 
 view. 
 
 "I trust you had a restful night. Miss Hardwick?" 
 he sauvely inquired after seating himself. 
 
 "I slept like a top," Helen assured him with a smile 
 that belied her real emotion. "You see, I was all fagged 
 out when I retired. I have a faint recollection that I 
 was a bit hysterical, too. I suppose it was on account 
 of that affair at the Thelma Theater the other night. I 
 received quite a shock." 
 
 ''Naturally," assented Slade, regarding her with a 
 mingling of admiration and doubt. "Yes, you seemed 
 somewhat upset last night. You probably have no 
 recollection of it, but you fainted completely away, and 
 one of the maids put you to bed after the physician in 
 attendance upon Miss Neville had administered a 
 sedative. I don't suppose you remember any of that?" 
 
 "It's all news to me," declared Helen innocently. 
 "I'm sorry to have been so much trouble." 
 
 Slade made a deprecatory gesture. He edged his 
 chair a little closer to the small table at which Helen 
 was seated. She felt his cold gaze searching her face, 
 and to hide her confusion she began tracing figures in
 
 THE HOUSE OF LAUGHTER 125 
 
 the dust that had accumulated on the surface of the 
 table. 
 
 "Last night we were discussing The Gray Phan- 
 tom," Slade remarked, and she started a trifle at the 
 mention of the name. 'T regret I can give you no 
 inkling as to his whereabouts. I suppose you are very 
 anxious to find him?" 
 
 "Rather." 
 
 "Isn't it strange that he did not give you his new 
 address?" 
 
 "He may have written and the letter gone astray/* 
 suggested Helen. A flush had tinged the healthy tan 
 of her cheeks the moment Slade introduced the subject 
 of The Gray Phantom. Looking down at the table, she 
 noticed confusedly that her hand had been influenced 
 by the thoughts that were uppermost in her mind. In 
 the thin layer of dust she had absently traced The Gray 
 Phantom's initials. It was a habit of hers, cultivated 
 since childhood, to sketch figures and designs on what- 
 ever surface was handy, and she had often told herself 
 she must overcome it. 
 
 "Perhaps," was Slade's comment. He looked at her 
 in a way that caused her to wonder whether he had 
 noticed the pencilings in the dust, and she erased them 
 with a quick sweep of her hand. "By the way," he 
 went on, "our conversation last night was interrupted 
 by a — a certain person. Remember ?"
 
 126 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 Helen knew that the critical moment had come. She 
 made a pretense of searching her memory. 
 
 "1 was very tired," she said, carefully choosing her 
 words, "and I recall very little of what happened. I 
 seem to remember, though, that a motor horn sounded 
 while we were talking." 
 
 "Yes, and then ?" Slade bent eagerly forward. 
 
 Helen's strained face indicated intense mental effort. 
 "Then Isn't it odd that I don't seem able to re- 
 member a thing after that?" 
 
 "It is," admitted Slade, and there was a subtle 
 change in the quality of his voice. "Perhaps I can 
 refresh your memory. Suddenly a man's figure ap- 
 peared in the doorway. You stared at him in a way 
 signifying that you had seen him before. Then you 
 spoke a name." 
 
 "A name ?" echoed Helen. "What name ?" 
 
 "A name that has been on a great many lips of late 
 —Mr. Shei's." 
 
 "Isn't that strange?" murmured Helen. "I wonder 
 what on earth made me mention that name. I suppose, 
 though," she added quickly, "that it was because Mr. 
 Shei's name had been in my mind off and on ever since 
 that terrible occurrence in the Thelma Theater. Yes, 
 that must be the reason." 
 
 "The only reason, Miss Hardwick?" 
 
 "What other reason could there be?"
 
 THE HOUSE OF LAUGHTER 127 
 
 Slade smiled in a way that awoke Helen's dislike. 
 **Well, it's conceivable that you were under the im- 
 pression that the man in the doorway was Mr. Shei. 
 That would not only have explained your excitement, 
 but also give ample reason for uttering his name." 
 
 Helen opened her eyes wide. "But — but I don't 
 even remember seeing the man,'' she protested artlessly, 
 **so why should I suppose him to be Mr. Shei?" 
 
 "The fact remains that you spoke Mr. Shei's name 
 just before you fainted away. Let's get at the subject 
 from a different angle. Miss Hardwick. Do you know 
 who Mr. Shei is?" 
 
 Helen, having a curious feeling that her life was 
 trembling in the balance, shook her head. 
 
 ''You don't know his other name — the name by 
 which he is known to the world at large?" 
 
 Again Helen made a negative gesture, and in the 
 same instant she became aware that Slade's frosty gaze 
 was following the movements of her right hand. Be- 
 fore she realized what was happening, he had left his- 
 chair and stepped up behind her, and now he was lean- 
 ing over her shoulder and looking down at the table. 
 
 "So, you lied," he muttered in tones that sent a 
 shiver through her body, at the same time pointing to 
 the table. 
 
 Helen looked down. She gave a violent start. While 
 she had been fencing verbally with Slade, her hand had
 
 128 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 betrayed her. In her preoccupation she had not realized 
 that another couplet of initials had appeared in the 
 dust. With a sensation of defeat and despair she 
 stared down at the telltale characters — the first letters 
 in Mr. Shei's other name.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 A SHOT 
 
 A T noon of the same day a scene equally tense, but 
 
 /\ of quite a different character, was being en- 
 
 -^ -^ acted in the library of W. Rufus Fairspeckle. 
 
 Dazedly The Gray Phantom set the telephone down. 
 In tones too low for the older man to catch, he mum- 
 blingly repeated the startling message that had just 
 come to him over the wire: "Mr. Shei speaking. H 
 you value Miss Hardwick's life, I would advise you to 
 abandon your present plans." 
 
 One by one, and in the order in which they had been 
 spoken, the words trickled into his benumbed con- 
 sciousness. He had heard Mr. Shei's voice over the 
 wire. He had been mistaken, then, and the shrunken 
 and wizened man seated before him with eyes staring 
 and mouth agape could not be Mr. Shei. Even the 
 evidence of the typewritten slips lying on the desk 
 seemed to mean nothing against the fact that the 
 notorious rogue had just communicated with him by 
 telephone. 
 
 "What — what's the matter?" stammered Mr. Fair- 
 speckle, who, not having the faintest inkling as to the 
 
 199
 
 130 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 nature of the message received by The Phantom, was 
 at a loss to understand the latter's demeanor. "Any- 
 thing wrong?" 
 
 The Phantom scarcely heard him. The significance 
 of the last part of Mr. Shei's message came to him in a 
 flash. In a twinkling his mind was functioning again. 
 His eyes were threatening, like miniature thunder 
 clouds. A new and dynamic impulse seemed to dom- 
 inate his whole being. He snatched up the telephone 
 directory and found a number. Then he fairly hurled 
 himself at the telephone, frantically jigged the hook up 
 and down, shouted a number into the transmitter, and 
 waited breathlessly till the connection was established. 
 
 A woman's voice, evidently that of a servant, 
 answered. Miss Hardwick was not in, she explained, 
 and when pressed for further information admitted 
 that she had not been seen since breakfast the previous 
 day. Mr. Hardwick, ill at ease because of his daugh- 
 ter's absence, was instituting inquiries for her in vari- 
 ous directions, and the servant did not know where he 
 could be reached. 
 
 The Phantom's eyes blazed as he set the instrument 
 down with a slam. Mr. Fairspeckle, a flabbergasted 
 look in his bulging eyes, seemed utterly at a loss to 
 comprehend what was going on. For a moment The 
 Phantom eyed him narrowly, then cast a bewildered 
 glance at the typewritten slips, and finally turned 
 abruptly on his heels and dashed from the room.
 
 A SHOT 131 
 
 No one Interrupted him. He suspected that Haiuto 
 was lurking somewhere in the background, but he saw 
 nothing of the sly-footed servant as he rushed from the 
 apartment and, forgetting the existence of the elevator, 
 scurried down three flights of stairs. The ferret-eyed 
 individual whom he had seen from the window was 
 still standing at the opposite curb, but he did not deign 
 a single glance in The Phantom's direction. Block 
 after block, spurred on by a medley of anguishing 
 doubts and suspicions, The Phantom continued his 
 heedless progress, conscious only of the one agonizing 
 thought that something had happened to Helen Hard- 
 wick. 
 
 Presently he awoke to a realization of the futility and 
 recklessness of his conduct. His fears for Helen Hard- 
 wick had blunted his wits and stultified his reason, mak- 
 ing him forget his old-time caution and nimbleness of 
 mind. To no purpose he was rushing blindly into a net 
 of dangers. With a mutter of disgust at his childish 
 impetuosity, he drew in his steps and turned into a 
 convenient doorway. A glance up and down the street 
 assured him that, thanks to luck alone, his headlong 
 course seemed to have attracted no attention. He 
 scanned the crowd on all sides, but there was no sign 
 of either espionage or pursuit. He had vaguely ex- 
 pected to be followed by the keen-eyed watcher he had 
 seen on the sidewalk outside the Whipple Hotel, but 
 the man was nowhere in sight. For the present, at
 
 132 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 least, The Phantom was safe. Now he must think 
 clearly and act coolly. 
 
 He could not rid himself of the suspicion that 
 Helen's volatile nature and venturesome disposition 
 had led her into some fearful predicament. He knew 
 she had an infinite capacity for handling difficult situa- 
 tions, but the knowledge gave him scant comfort. He 
 revolved the problem of her disappearance in his mind. 
 She had been missing for more than twenty- four hours. 
 He sensed a dim significance in the fact that she had 
 passed out of sight the morning following the tragedy 
 at the Thelma Theater, and of a sudden he asked him- 
 self whether there could be any possible connection 
 between her disappearance and the death of Virginia 
 Darrow. 
 
 Several circumstances lent plausibility to the theory. 
 Chief among them was the mysterious warning The 
 Phantom had received from Mr. Shei, the man who 
 was generally believed to have been implicated in Miss 
 Darrow's death. The Phantom's mind was working 
 swiftly now, leaping barriers and rushing straight to 
 conclusions. It was Helen's play, he remembered, that 
 had been produced on the night of the tragedy, and it 
 was very probable that she had been present at the 
 preyniere performance. Knowing her as he did, he 
 thought it conceivable that she had come into posses- 
 sion of some vital facts bearing on the tragedy. Her 
 inquisitive mind, though untainted by vulgar curiosity,
 
 A SHOT 133 
 
 was always dipping into mysteries of one sort or 
 another, and it was possible that on this occasion her 
 natural bent had led her into conflict with Mr. Shei. 
 
 Almost before he realized what he was doing, The 
 Phantom was in a taxicab, shouting to the chauffeur to 
 drive him to the Thelma Theater. It seemed the 
 logical starting point in his search ; at least, he did not 
 know where else to begin, and by visiting the scene of 
 Miss Darrow's death, he might be able to pick up some 
 clew to Helen's movements. 
 
 The doors were open, and he thought this somewhat 
 strange in view of the fact that a poster on the outer 
 wall announced that the performances of "His Soul's 
 Master" had been discontinued, but the circumstance 
 did not linger long in his mind. The box office and 
 lobby being empty, he passed unchallenged into the 
 auditorium. For a few moments, while his eyes grew 
 accustomed to the dusk, he stood just inside the door, 
 trying to call back to mind each detail of the tragedy 
 as it had been narrated in the newspapers, and pres- 
 ently there came to him a conviction that he was not 
 alone, but that someone was watching him intently. 
 
 He could not account for the impression, for no 
 sound reached his ears, and the interior was only a 
 mass of gently undulating shadows in which he saw no 
 indication of another's presence. The atmosphere was 
 somewhat oppressive, and a multitude of faint scents 
 lingered in the air, hinting that the theater had not
 
 134 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 been ventilated since the last performance. Glancing 
 sharply into the gloom about him. The Phantom 
 groped his way down the center aisle, then explored the 
 passageways at each side of the house, and finally 
 looked into each of the boxes. His search availed him 
 nothing, and at length he was forced to admit that his 
 imagination had tricked him. 
 
 Walking to the rear of the house, he stood with his 
 back against a pillar, and gazed toward the last row of 
 seats to the left. It was there, according to the dia- 
 gram he had seen in one of the papers, that Virginia 
 Darrow had sat when seized with the strange fit of 
 laughter. Again he wondered what bearing the 
 woman's death might have on Mr. Shei's latest venture. 
 The connection, if there was one, seemed so remote 
 that he came to the conclusion that Mr. Shei must be at 
 work on a very intricate and deep-laid scheme. Then 
 it occurred to him that his speculations, founded on 
 insufficient facts, were a waste of time. They were 
 not helping him to solve the mystery of Helen Hard- 
 wick's disappearance. 
 
 As was his habit when he wished to concentrate his 
 mind on a problem, he took a cigarette from his case, 
 then struck a match against the sole of his shoe. 
 Absently he held the fluttering light to the tip of the 
 cigarette, and inhaled. Suddenly he sprang aside, for 
 a sound, all but too faint for his ears to detect, had 
 warned him of danger, and in the same instant a sharp
 
 A SHOT 135 
 
 crack and a flash of fire leaped out of the darkness. 
 Then an object whizzed past his head and with a 
 thudding sound imbedded itself in the pillar against 
 which he had been leaning. 
 
 In a moment he had extinguished his cigarette. He 
 could see now that its glowing point, together with the 
 match, had made him a target for the person who had 
 fired the shot. The bullet had passed so close to his 
 head that, but for his quick and agile backward spring, 
 it would undoubtedly have killed him. His narrow 
 escape had an exhilarating effect, and he dashed toward 
 the point where he had seen the flash of fire, deter- 
 mined to capture the would-be murderer. It was his 
 impression that the shot had been fired only a dozen 
 feet away, and he did not think the man could have 
 escaped. 
 
 In the gloom he could not distinguish objects clfearly, 
 and he dashed headlong against a post. The compact 
 sent a stinging sensation through his head, and in the 
 same moment a figure glided silently past him and was 
 swallowed by the shadows at the other side of the 
 house. Again The Phantom rushed forward. A 
 swiftly moving object, a shade darker than the sur- 
 rounding dusk, was discernible down the aisle leading 
 to the boxes at the right. The Phantom darted after it, 
 but when he reached the point his quarry had disap- 
 peared. For an instant he stopped, uncertain whicli
 
 136 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 way to turn, and in the midst of his perplexity the vari- 
 colored lights along the walls were flashed on. 
 
 The Phantom whirled round. Near one of the exits 
 in the rear of the house stood a tall, slenderly propor- 
 tioned man. His long, glossy hair was rumpled, and 
 even at a distance The Phantom could see that his fea- 
 tures, so regularly molded as to give an impression of 
 effeminacy, were intensely pale. He approached 
 swiftly. The two men eyed each other intently before 
 either spoke. 
 
 "You are Mr. Starr, I believe?" began The Phan- 
 tom, recognizing the other from photographs he had 
 seen in the newspapers. 
 
 Starr nodded. His right hand was clutching a 
 revolver. Coming closer. The Phantom noticed that 
 his nose was discolored and swollen, probably the result 
 of the attack that had preceded the disappearance of 
 Virginia Darrow's body. 
 
 "I owe you an apology for intruding like this," he 
 went on, "but the formalities can wait. There was a 
 shot fired here a few moments ago, and I believe it was 
 meant for me." 
 
 'T was at work in my office upstairs when I heard 
 something that sounded like a revolver shot," explained 
 Starr. "I armed myself and came down to investi- 
 gate." His voice, at other times perfectly modulated, 
 was a little husky, and he seemed unduly conscious of 
 his disfigured nose. He maintained a tight grip on his
 
 A SHOT 187 
 
 pistol while regarding The Phantom with a look of 
 suspicion. 
 
 "We ought to search the house at once," suggested 
 The Phantom. "The scoundrel can't have gone far." 
 
 Starr readily acquiesced, but from time to time while 
 they went on with the search The Phantom felt the 
 other's stealthy gaze searching his face, and each time 
 he saw a look of dawning recognition in Starr's eyes. 
 He thought nothing of it, for the capture of the man 
 who had fired the shot seemed of far greater importance. 
 Deep in his mind was a faint and remote hope that the 
 fellow, if caught, might be persuaded to tell something 
 of what had happened to Helen Hardwick. 
 
 They searched every conceivable space in the audi- 
 torium, back of the stage, and finally in the storerooms 
 and dressing rooms down below, but without avail. As 
 they abandoned their quest The Phantom thought he 
 saw signs of increasing nervousness on Starr's part. 
 
 "Strange how the scoundrel disappeared," he re- 
 marked when once more they stood in the back of the 
 auditorium. 
 
 "No stranger than what happened here night before 
 last." Starr spoke with a touch of petulance in his 
 voice and manner. "Mr. Shei and his henchmen seem 
 to have a knack of walking through solid walls. What 
 I object to most is his evident determination to make 
 my theater the scene of his diabolical activities. By 
 the way," and he fixed The Phantom with a look of
 
 138 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 mingled perplexity and suspicion, "haven't you and I 
 met before?" 
 
 "Not in person, unless I am mistaken." The Phan- 
 tom, alert against the slightest threatening move on the 
 other's part, smiled faintly. "The newspapers have 
 been kind enough to give me some publicity from time 
 to time, and you may have seen my photograph. Sup- 
 pose we let it go at that." 
 
 "As you wish, of course," murmured Starr, his lips 
 twitching, "but we shall be able to talk to better advan- 
 tage if we first complete the introductions. I was 
 almost certain I recognized you at first glance. You 
 are The Gray Phantom. But don't get startled," he 
 quickly added as The Phantom suddenly stiffened. 
 "My interest in life is purely esthetic. I am trying, in 
 my small and humble way, to uplift the drama from 
 the sordid depths into which it has fallen through the 
 stupidity and avarice of managers. The capture and 
 punishment of criminals interest me not at all. To be 
 perfectly frank with you, as between the police and a 
 fascinating rogue like yourself, my sympathies are 
 with the latter." 
 
 He made an expressive gesture, and The Phantom 
 watched with interest the slight, quick and marvelously 
 impressive motions of his hands. Though this was his 
 first meeting with the man himself, the gestures, as 
 well as the characteristic backward toss of the head, 
 seemed oddly familiar.
 
 A SHOT 139 
 
 "I think you are mistaken about one thing," Starr 
 went on, his nervousness returning. "Is there any 
 reason why anyone should wish to put you out of the 
 way? 
 
 "None that I know of," repHed The Phantom 
 thoughtfully. "I suppose I have enemies, but it didn't 
 occur to me that anyone was after my life until that 
 shot was fired." 
 
 "And weren't you a bit precipitate in jumping at the 
 conclusion that the bullet was intended for you ? Sup- 
 pose you give me the details." 
 
 The Phantom told him the meager facts of the firing 
 of the shot. 
 
 "There you are !" exclaimed Starr when he had fin- 
 ished. "The fellow couldn't see your face. All he 
 saw was the match, and he used that as a target, know- 
 ing you were holding it directly in front of your face 
 while lighting the cigarette." He took a few quick, 
 nervous steps back and forth. He clenched and un- 
 clenched his hands as if trying to quell a rising trepida- 
 tion. Suddenly he paused directly in front of The 
 Phantom. "That bullet was not intended for you, but 
 for me," he declared emphatically. 
 
 "Are you sure ?" 
 
 "Not sure, but I have the best of reasons for sup- 
 posing that such is the fact. I have had several intima- 
 tions of danger in the past few weeks, but it isn't neces-
 
 140 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 sary to go into details. Since night before last I have 
 wondered what prompted Miss Darrow to send me the 
 facetiously worded note hinting that Mr. Shei was in 
 the house. If she were alive I am sure she could tell us 
 
 several interesting things about But what's the 
 
 good of supposing? Miss Darrow will never be able to 
 tell what was in her mind when she wrote me that note. 
 Only one thing is certain. She was killed because she 
 had, in some unexplained manner, learned Mr. Shei's 
 identity." 
 
 The Phantom regarded him narrowly. "Some 
 people seem to be of the opinion that I am Mr. 
 Shei." 
 
 "Rot ! The similarity between your tactics and those 
 of Mr. Shei is only superficial. The essential difference 
 ought to be plain even to a stupid headquarters detect- 
 ive. Besides, you never took life or But the idea 
 
 is too absurd to waste breath on. Let us be practical. 
 You have not yet explained why you are honoring the 
 Thelma Theater with this visit." 
 
 The Phantom was about to reply when one of the 
 doors in front was pushed open and the shadow of a 
 masculine figure fell across the floor. After a glance 
 into the face of the newcomer, The Phantom sensed 
 danger and tried to retreat into a corner where the dim 
 light held out a faint hope of brief security. But it 
 was too late.
 
 A SHOT 14r 
 
 "Stay right where you are," commanded the man 
 who had just entered. "Didn't know The Gray Phan- 
 tom was back in town. Step out here where I can look 
 at you."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 AN EAVESDROPPER 
 
 THE PHANTOM shrugged his shoulders and 
 stepped forward, concealing his misgivings 
 behind a smiling and carefree exterior. He 
 knew Lieutenant Culligore from past encounters with 
 the man, and he had learned to respect him for his 
 shrewdness as well as his sense of fairness. Now he 
 looked straight into the muddy and deceptively lazy 
 eyes of the man from headquarters. Once The Phan- 
 tom had assisted him in solving a singularly perplexing 
 mystery, but he knew that Culligore was not the kind 
 of man to let sentiment interfere with duty. 
 
 There were times when it was difficult for The Gray 
 Phantom to realize that he was still an outlaw and that 
 several prison sentences were hanging over his head. 
 The poignant fact came back to him now as he gazed 
 into the eyes of one of the keenest man hunters of the 
 detective bureau. 
 
 "You sure have nerve," observed Culligore, a trace 
 of reluctant admiration in his tones. "Don't you know 
 there's a warrant out for your arrest ?" 
 
 142
 
 AN EAVESDROPPER 143 
 
 "Several of them, I believe," calmly replied The 
 Phantom. 
 
 Lieutenant Culligore took a cigar from his vest 
 pocket and lighted it with elaborate care. Then he 
 turned to Starr. , 
 
 "Mr. Shei's gang certainly handed you an awful 
 wallop the other night," he observed, gazing frown- 
 ingly at the disfigured organ. "That's a peach of a 
 nose you've got." 
 
 Starr flushed angrily, but controlled himself. 
 
 "I've got a few words to say to this gentleman 
 privately," Culligore went on, inclining his head 
 toward The Phantom. Starr, accepting his dismissal 
 as gracefully as his indignation permitted, walked out. 
 Culligore's small eyes, twinkling humorously through 
 a cloud of tobacco smoke, followed his progress till the 
 door closed behind him, then he slowly turned toward 
 The Phantom. 
 
 "Starr is my idea of a perfect gentleman," he 
 musingly observed. "He can get mad clean through 
 and still keep his coat on. Was the shot fired at you 
 or at him?" 
 
 "Shot?" For a moment The Phantom stared be- 
 wilderedly. "How did you know ?" 
 
 "My sense of smell is fairly good," said Culligore, 
 sniffing. "I noticed there was powder smoke in the 
 air the moment I walked in. What became of the 
 bullet?"
 
 144 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 The Phantom explained. With a Hstless air the lieu- 
 tenant examined the point where the leaden slug had 
 entered the pillar. "I'll bet a pair of pink socks that 
 the rascal who fired the shot is a safe distance from 
 here by this time. What I'd like to know is whether 
 he was aiming at you or at Starr." 
 
 "Starr thinks the bullet was meant for him," said 
 The Phantom thoughtfully. "He may be right, but I 
 have my doubts. He is the imaginative type that be- 
 lieves he is being pursued by secret enemies and all that 
 sort of thing. On the other hand, I can't see why any- 
 body should waste a chunk of good lead on me, 
 
 unless " He stopped short as an idea suddenly 
 
 occurred to him. 
 
 "Unless Mr. Shei should have a goose to pick with 
 you," Culligore filled in, and The Phantom marveled at 
 the way the detective had read his unspoken thought. 
 "It's always safe to look for a shower of bullets when- 
 ever The Gray Phantom bobs up. By the way," and 
 Culligore frowned disapprovingly, "what's the idea? 
 Don't you know the climate in this town is mighty 
 unhealthy for a man like you?" 
 
 "I am aware of it." The Phantom's lips tightened 
 into a grim line. "But I had to risk it, Culligore. I 
 
 couldn't sit idle while But first let me ask you 
 
 one question. Some people seem to think that I am 
 Mr. Shei. Do you agree with them ?" 
 
 Culligore pulled thoughtfully at his cigar. His eyes
 
 AN EAVESDROPPER 145 
 
 seemed to be searching every remote corner of The 
 Phantom's mind. "No," he said finally, "I don't. And 
 I don't see it makes any difference. You're The 
 Gray Phantom, and that's reason enough for me to 
 pinch you. There are times when I hate my job, but 
 duty is duty. I wish you hadn't shown up just at this 
 time. Some of the higher-ups are dead sure you are 
 Mr, Shei, and the whole town is on tenter hooks on 
 account of the notices posted last night. Everybody 
 expects Mr. Shei to strike, but nobody knows where 
 the blow is going to fall. You can see how things are. 
 Why the devil didn't you stay where you belong?" 
 
 *T couldn't," replied The Phantom. Then he re- 
 garded the lieutenant with a slow, carefully measuring 
 glance. Culligore was one of the few men he had met 
 whom he could instinctively trust. There had been 
 clashes between them in the past, but the lieutenant had 
 always fought fairly. Choosing his words with great 
 deliberation. The Phantom explained why he had come 
 out of hiding to cross swords with Mr. Shei. 
 
 "That's just like The Gray Phantom," was Culli- 
 gore's comment when he had finished. "You stick 
 your head in the noose just because somebody else is 
 copying your tricks. Well, anyhow, I admire your 
 nerve. Too bad you and I belong to opposite camps. 
 We could have a lot of fun tracking Mr. Shei to- 
 gether." He shook his head as if to banish a pleasing 
 but impossible hope. "No use wishing things were
 
 146 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 different, though. I don't exactly hke the idea, but I've 
 got to take you along to headquarters." 
 
 "You will have to take me in an ambulance, then." 
 There was a note of challenge in The Phantom's tones 
 and his figure tensed perceptibly. "You'll never take 
 me alive, Culligore. It simply can't be done. And you 
 will have the scrap of your life before you take me 
 dead. I am going to see this thing through if I have to 
 fight the whole police department of New York City. 
 The fact that Mr. Shei is stealing my tactics isn't the 
 only reason. I learned something this morning that is 
 of vastly more importance. By the way/' and The 
 Phantom fairly jabbed the question at the lieutenant, 
 "have you seen anything of Miss Helen Hardwick?" 
 
 Culligore's lazy eyes opened a little wider. "Not 
 since yesterday morning. She and I had quite an argu- 
 ment about' Mr. Shei. We were standing almost 
 exactly where you and I are standing now. She knows 
 how to fence with words. I haven't made up my mind . 
 yet whether she or I got the best of the argument." 
 
 The Phantom smiled despite his impatience. "What 
 did she think of Mr. Shei?" 
 
 "How can anybody tell what a woman thinks ? You 
 can make a guess, of course, but the chances are either 
 that you are wrong or that yoiuare making just exactly 
 the kind of guess she wants you to make. Miss Hard- 
 wick left me pretty much up in the air, but I have a
 
 AN EAVESDROPPER 147 
 
 feeling all the time that she had discovered something 
 that led her to think that you were Mr. Shei." 
 
 "Oh," mumbled the Phantom; then he stood silent 
 for a few moments. "Where did Miss Hardwick go 
 from here?" 
 
 Culligore shrugged. "Ask me something easy. She 
 walked out of that door, and that's all I'm sure of. 
 There was another question or two I wanted to ask 
 her, and that's why I dropped around here to-day, 
 thinking she might show up again. She seemed very 
 much wrought up over Mr. Shei." 
 
 With an impetuous gesture The Phantom placed his 
 hand on the lieutenant's arm. 
 
 "Miss Hardwick has disappeared," he announced 
 quickly, "and I fear she has blundered into the clutches 
 of Mr. Shei." 
 
 "Eh?" The mask of listlessness dropped in a 
 twinkling from Culligore's face. He was instantly 
 tense and alert. "What's that?" 
 
 "I called up her home this morning. Nobody seems to 
 know what has become of her. A little later I received 
 
 a telephone message warning me that But I see 
 
 I shall have to tell you the whole story in order to make 
 things clear." Briefly The Phantom related his en- 
 counter with Mr. Fairspeckle, the events that had 
 occurred at the apartment of the retired financier, and 
 finally the warning message that had come over the 
 wire. "Now you can understand," he concluded, "why
 
 148 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 I don't intend to submit to arrest until Miss Hardwick 
 has been found." 
 
 Culligore's cigar had gone out while The Phantom 
 was speaking. Now he lighted it again, sent a few 
 clouds of smoke curling toward the ceiling, then peered 
 intently into The Phantom's face. Finally he jerked 
 his head up and down as if he had seen a light. 
 
 "The thing to do," he declared, "is to take the short- 
 est route and go direct to Mr. Shei and ask him what 
 he has done with Miss Hardwick." 
 
 The Phantom laughed bitterly. "Beautifully simple! 
 The only difficulty is that we haven't the slightest idea 
 who Mr. Shei is or where to find him. Otherwise your 
 suggestion is capital." 
 
 A queer smile curled Culligore's lips. "Sometimes 
 The Gray Phantom isn't playing in very good form. 
 But then every man gets a bit foolish when he has a 
 girl on the brain. Your thinking cap isn't on straight 
 to-day, or you wouldn't have let Fairspeckle pull the 
 wool over your eyes the way he did." 
 
 "Fairspeckle? You don't think " 
 
 "He acted queer all morning, didn't he?" 
 
 "Yes, but " 
 
 "And didn't he try to put you to sleep by drugging 
 your coffee ?" 
 
 "True, but he " 
 
 "And didn't you see him typing the notices with Mr. 
 Shei's name at the bottom ?"
 
 AN EAVESDROPPER 149 
 
 "But the telephone message?" ^ 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Culligore patiently. "That's 
 where he duped you to a brown finish. You would 
 have seen the trick at once if your thinking machinery 
 had been in good condition. I don't know Fairspeckle, 
 but from what you have told me he must be a sharp 
 one. My experience has taught me never to trust a 
 man who can't sleep nights. It's a bad conscience that 
 keeps him awake in the first place, and a man suffering 
 from loss of sleep is likely to go in for any kind of 
 deviltry. Maybe that's what happened to Fairspeckle. 
 Anyhow, the way he pulled the wool over your eyes 
 proves he is a slick one." 
 
 "Then you think Fairspeckle is Mr. Shei ?" 
 "If he isn't, why should he be typing those notices ? 
 Just look at it this way. Fairspeckle saw that you sus- 
 pected him. He didn't like that a bit. To throw you 
 off your guard, he pretended to suspect you. You 
 caught him with the goods when you saw him typing 
 the notices. Right away you started in denouncing 
 him as Mr. Shei. Then, right in the midst of a 
 dramatic moment, the telephone rings. The voice at 
 the other end asks for you. You're told that Mr. 
 Shei is speaking and that Miss Hardwick will suffer 
 unless you keep hands off. That gives you a jolt, of 
 course, and all you can think of is the girl. You don't 
 stop to question whether the man at the other end is 
 really Mr. Shei. For all you know he might be Tom
 
 150 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 Brown or Bill Jones, but you're too excited to think of 
 that. I don't blame you. I'd been just as easy if I had 
 been in your place." 
 
 A blank look crossed The Phantom's face while 
 Culligore was speaking. It was quickly followed by an 
 expression of mingling comprehension and self-dis- 
 gust. 
 
 "I see it now. I've been as gullible as a ten-year-old. 
 The message purporting to come from Mr. Shei was 
 meant to divert my suspicions from Fairspeckle. He 
 might have been prepared for some such emergency, or 
 else he signaled Haiuto while I wasn't looking. The 
 Japanese could easily have gotten in touch with one of 
 the members of Fairspeckle's gang and instructed him 
 to call me up and give me the prearranged message. 
 But just how it was done doesn't matter. The impor- 
 tant point is that I was taken in. I am wondering now 
 whether the threat in regard to Miss Hardwick was 
 pure bluff, or whether she is really in danger." 
 
 'T wouldn't take chances," cautioned Culligore. "If 
 I were you I would call on Mr. Fairspeckle to-night 
 and have a confidential chat with him. He may not 
 want to talk, but maybe you can persuade him. Of 
 course, as an officer of the law, I must warn you there 
 mustn't be any rough stuff." Culligore's twinkling 
 eyes gazed toward the ceiling. 
 
 "Then you have abandoned your intention of drag- 
 ging me over to headquarters?"
 
 AN EAVESDROPPER 151 
 
 Culligore did not answer directly, but the faint grin 
 on his hps was eloquent. "I would advise you to watch 
 your step," he said softly. "The moment it becomes 
 known that The Gray Phantom is in town, there will 
 be the niftiest little man hunt you ever saw. I wish 
 you luck. In the meantime, I'm going to tackle the 
 case from another angle. I'd give a pair of pink socks 
 to know just when, where, and how Mr. Shei is going 
 to strike." 
 
 He tilted his chin against his hand and lapsed into 
 deep thought. When he looked up, several minutes 
 later, The Phantom was gone. Very softly, with a 
 twinkle in his eyes, he stepped to a recess in the wall 
 toward which he had cast an occasional furtive glance 
 during his talk with The Phantom. On a marble shelf 
 extended across the niche were a number of potted 
 ferns, and behind them was a small window, artistically 
 decorated to render it opaque. Culligore, noticing that 
 it stood open a crack, pricked up his ears and listened. 
 From the other side came a faint, scraping sound, as 
 if someone were hiding there. 
 
 Culligore nodded elatedly as he tiptoed away. He 
 seemed immensely gratified at having verified his sus- 
 picion that his interview with The Gray Phantom had 
 been overheard.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 MR. SHEI STRIKES 
 
 FINE drizzle was in the air and the street lights 
 emitted a blurred and languid sheen. For 
 an hour The Gray Phantom had been pacing 
 the sidewalk across the street from the Whipple Hotel, 
 impatiently waiting for the lights in Mr. Fairspeckle's 
 suite to go out. His coat collar was turned up and the 
 brim of his soft hat was pulled low over his forehead. 
 Taking Culligore's warning to heart, he had resolved 
 not to endanger his project by running unnecessary 
 risks. 
 
 The passing pedestrians gave him scarcely a glance, 
 and he told himself that the inclement weather was a 
 point in his favor. Evidently neither Culligore nor 
 Starr had mentioned his presence in the city, for he 
 could see no signs of accelerated activity on the part of 
 the police, as there would have been if the news had 
 leaked out that The Gray Phantom had come out of 
 hiding. The solitary watcher whom he had seen from 
 the window of Mr. Fairspeckle's bedroom earlier in 
 
 152
 
 MR. SHEI STRIKES 155 
 
 the day had evidently quitted his task, for he was no- 
 where in sight. 
 
 Throughout the late afternoon and early evening. 
 The Phantom had been harassed by fears for Helen's 
 safety. At times he had scarcely been able to control 
 his impatience, but his eagerness had been cooled by the 
 knowledge that a headlong rush into danger would 
 only render the situation worse. His interview with 
 Culligore had not only helped to clarify his mind, but it 
 had left him with a renewed conviction that the 
 emaciated and dour-looking ex-financier was Mr. Shei. 
 
 Again he cast a speculative glance at tlie windows of 
 Mr. Fairspeckle's apartment. All the lights but one 
 had been extinguished since he last looked in that direc- 
 tion, and he guessed that the occupant had retired to 
 his bedroom. His imagination pictured the old man 
 sleeplessly pacing the floor, chuckling softly to himself 
 while his mind evolved nefarious schemes. It was The 
 Phantom's plan to take him completely by surprise and 
 if possible wring a confession from him. But above all 
 else he was determined to ascertain whether Fair- 
 speckle knew anything about Helen's whereabouts. 
 
 He waited fifteen minutes longer, then adjusted his 
 hat and collar and walked briskly across the street. 
 With the air of one belonging on the premises he 
 entered the hotel and, not thinking it safe to use the 
 elevator, walked toward the stairway in the rear. A 
 few drowsy loungers sat in chairs in the lobby, and the
 
 154 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 clerk was engaged with a late arrival, so no one noticed 
 him. The long, heavily carpeted hallways were silent 
 and deserted, for the Whipple was catering chiefly to 
 the staid and respectable element that retires early and 
 sleeps soundly. 
 
 The Phantom ascended three flights of stairs, then 
 turned down the corridor toward Mr. Fairspeckle's 
 apartment. Reaching the door, he stopped and lis- 
 tened, but no sound came from the interior. After a 
 cautious glance behind him, he took from his pocket a 
 compact case which he always carried when engaged in 
 enterprises like the present, and from its silk-lined 
 grooves extracted a small metallic tool. In a few 
 moments the lock had yielded to his deft manipulation, 
 and he stepped inside. 
 
 Again he stopped and listened. The hallway in 
 which he stood was lighted only by a tiny electric bulb 
 in the ceiling, and its glow was so faint that the sur- 
 rounding objects were scarcely distinguishable. At 
 first he could not hear the slightest sound, and he was 
 about to proceed when a curious impression caused him 
 to draw in his steps. Perhaps his imagination was 
 deceiving him, but he thought someone was sobbing, 
 and he had a distinct impression that the sounds were 
 coming from the door at his left. 
 
 In an instant he had pressed his ear against the key- 
 hole. Now he could heard the sounds quite clearly, but 
 the soblike effect was gone, and instead they made him
 
 MR. SHEI STRIKES 155 
 
 think of someone gasping and spluttering. Mystified, 
 he tried the lock and pushed the door open. The room 
 was dark, and he ran his hand along the wall until he 
 found the electric switch. As the light flashed on, a 
 mutter of amazement fell from his lips. 
 
 On a bed at the farther end of the room, with hands 
 and feet bound and a gag firmly adjusted to his 
 mouth, lay Haiuto. The servant, a look of mute plead- 
 ing in his bulging eyes, was tugging impotently at the 
 ropes around his ankles and wrists. 
 
 "What's happened?" sharply inquired The Phantom, 
 but renewed splutterings called his attention to the fact 
 that the gag prevented Haiuto from speaking. He 
 removed the cloth while repeating the question. 
 Haiuto, breathing hard, licked the bruised portion of 
 his mouth. 
 
 "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 of lyeyasu. I get awful 
 crack on head. Then sleep again. Don't know any- 
 thing else." 
 
 With a moan Haiuto sank back against the pillow. 
 A startling suspicion flashed through The Phantom's- 
 mind. Without troubling to release the servant's limbs, 
 he ran from the room and opened a door at the farther 
 end of the hall. He had thought it led into Fair- 
 speckle's bedroom, but his sense of direction had 
 hec-ome somewhat confused, and he found himself in.
 
 156 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 the library Instead. Faintly through the darkness he 
 glimpsed the bright nickel trimmings of the typewriter 
 at which the ex-financier had been at work earlier in 
 the day. He groped his way across the floor, turning 
 in the direction where he thought Fairspeckle's bed- 
 room was. A soft tinkle brought him to a dead stop. 
 
 The telephone was ringing! Acting on impulse, he 
 fumbled about in the dark till he found the instrument, 
 then lifted the receiver to his ear and spoke a low 
 response into the transmitter. The answering voice 
 sent a quiver through his being. He recognized it at 
 once, for he had heard it before. 
 
 "Mr. Shei speaking," it was saying, and the cold, 
 precise tones were edged with a taunt. 'T perceive you 
 have chosen to disregard the warning I gave you a few 
 hours ago. Unless you abandon your plans at once. 
 Miss Hardwick will die. That is absolutely final." 
 
 A faint click signified that the connection was 
 broken. For a few moments The Phantom stood rigid, 
 scarcely able to comprehend the import of the message. 
 It had been spoken in tones so emphatic and sinister 
 that he was left in no doubt regarding the speaker's 
 sincerity. But how had the man at the other end of 
 the wire learned that The Phantom was in Fair- 
 speckle's apartment? The telephone call, coming a 
 few minutes after The Phantom's arrival, had been so 
 accurately timed as to indicate that he had been fol- 
 lowed to the Whipple. Yet that did not seem quite
 
 MR. SHEI STRIKES 157 
 
 possible, for he had been particularly alert against that 
 very thing. 
 
 Finally he put the telephone down. He tried to stifle 
 the new and poignant misgivings with which the voice 
 had inspired him. He remembered the other message 
 he had received from the person purporting to be Mr. 
 Shei. He had been deceived then, unless his own and 
 Culligore's deductions were all wrong, and he would 
 not be so easily imposed upon again. Doubtless the 
 second message, like the first, was only a clever hoax 
 on Fairspeckle's part. Well, in a few moments he 
 would probably know the truth. 
 
 His fears and doubts were only partly quieted when 
 he stepped softly from the room. Time and again 
 there flashed through his mind a suspicion that some- 
 thing was wrong with the theory Culligore had im- 
 planted in his mind, but his thoughts in this direction 
 were hazy. The binding and gagging of Haiuto was a 
 disquieting and perplexing circumstance that did not 
 seem to fit into the woof of the lieutenant's ideas in 
 regard to Fairspeckle. 
 
 The Phantom passed through another door, then 
 stopped short and stared in astonishment at the scene 
 that met his eyes. 
 
 He was in Mr. Fairspeckle's bedroom. A single 
 electric light, the one he had seen while standing on the 
 sidewalk opposite the hotel, glowed softly in a wall 
 fixture. In a morris chair in the middle of the room.
 
 158 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 with the folds of a dressing gown hanging loosely over 
 his bony frame, sat W. Rufiis Fairspeckle. He sat so 
 still that, if his eyes had been closed, The Phantom 
 would have suspected that he was either asleep or dead. 
 He was bound and gagged in the same manner as 
 Haiuto had been, but it struck The Phantom as vaguely 
 significant that his right arm was bared to the elbow. 
 
 As he stepped closer, he became oddly impressed by 
 the strange expression in the old man's eyes. They 
 looked straight ahead in a fixed, unseeing way, and 
 there was a gleam of merriment in their dim depths 
 that clashed sharply with the pallor on the shrunken 
 cheeks. It seemed as though Fairspeckle's soul was 
 indulging in fancies of which his physical self was 
 unaware, and the whole effect impressed The Phantom 
 as uncanny. 
 
 He leaned forward and examined the exposed arm. 
 Just below the muscles of the elbow, and directly over 
 one of the smaller veins, was a puncture and a con- 
 gealed drop of blood. The puncture was so small that 
 it might have been inflicted with a needle prick. In 
 a roundabout way The Phantom's mind went back to 
 the scene in the Thelma Theater as it had been pictured 
 in the newspapers, and with an inward start he remem- 
 bered that just such a puncture had been found on the 
 right arm of Virginia Darrow. 
 
 Though as yet he could not grasp the meaning of it, 
 the coincidence acted as an electric shock on his nerves.
 
 MR. SHEI STRIKES 159 
 
 He tore away the gag from the 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 in the depths of the orbs grew a 
 trifle more pronounced. It was almost grewsome, but 
 The Phantom's sense of perplexity was stronger than 
 his repugnance. 
 
 "Can't you speak?" he asked sharply. "What is the 
 meaning of this?" 
 
 Fairspeckle's chest heaved feebly. The motion was 
 accompanied by a plucking movement of the fingers. 
 The hands and feet strained impotently against the 
 fettering cords. Then the lips fluttered, exposing a 
 row of uneven teeth, and in the next instant a shiver 
 ran down The Phantom's spine. 
 
 Through the fluttering lips came a laugh such as he 
 had never before heard. It sounded hollow and 
 cracked and as unreal as if produced by a mechanical 
 contrivance. The Phantom had an uncanny sensation 
 that the dead, if they were capable of producing 
 sounds, might laugh just like that. Then he remem- 
 bered the vivid descriptions he had read of the mocking 
 laughter that had come from Virginia Darrow's dying 
 lips, and a hazy suspicion entered his mind. He took 
 a jack-knife from his pocket and swiftly slashed the 
 cords around Fairspeckle's arms and legs. 
 
 Although released from his bonds, the man in the
 
 160 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 chair scarcely moved. The feet scraped gently against 
 the floor, and the arms fell limply to his sides. Weird 
 snatches of laughter were still trickling through his 
 lips, but the expression of insane merriment in his eyes 
 was slowly yielding to a look of returning reason. 
 
 The Phantom looked helplessly about him, and sud- 
 denly his eyes fell on a sheet of paper lying at the 
 old man's feet. Mechanically he picked it up and 
 glanced at the typewritten lines. From the smudged 
 and indistinct type he was vaguely aware that he was 
 gazing at a carbon copy. A word here and there 
 attracted his attention, and presently he was 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 corn- 
 municated to you in a few days. By that time you will 
 probably have been convinced that your life is abso- 
 lutely in my hands. 
 
 If misery loves company, I trust you will find con- 
 solation in the fact that six others are in precisely the 
 
 same predicament as yourself. 
 
 Mr. Shei.
 
 IVIR. SHEI STRIKES 161 
 
 The sheet dropped from The Phantom's fingers. If 
 what he had just read seemed grotesque and absurd, a 
 glance at the man in the chair conferred a semblance of 
 hideous reality upon it. Mr. Shei had struck the 
 threatened blow, and he had struck sooner than ex- 
 pected. 
 
 Fairspeckle's laughter had ceased and a look of 
 reason was coming into his waxen features. The ex- 
 pression of ribald mockery had left his eyes, and now 
 they w^ere fixed on The Phantom's face in a dull, sus- 
 picious stare. With a start The Phantom awoke to 
 a realization of his predicament. If he were caught in 
 Fairspeckle's apartment, the police and the public 
 would be firmly convinced of what they already sus- 
 pected — that Mr. Shei and The Phantom were one. 
 Not even CuUigore's keen mind and generous impulses 
 would suffice to save him from arrest and imprison- 
 ment. And there was Helen — the thought gave him a 
 spinal chill. Perhaps at this very moment she was 
 confronted by some terrifying peril. And if he were 
 arrested, then his last chance of helping her would be 
 gone. 
 
 His mind made up, The Phantom ran to the tele- 
 phone in the adjoining room. He called a number, and 
 presently he was answered by an operator at police 
 headquarters. His inquiry for Culligore elicited the 
 information that the heutenant was out and would 
 probably not return until morning. The Phantom
 
 162 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 hesitated for a moment, then spoke hurriedly Into the 
 transmitter : 
 
 "This is important. Send a doctor and a couple of 
 detectives at once to the Whipple Hotel, suite 36. You 
 will find something very interesting. That's all." 
 
 With that he hung up, and a few moments later he 
 had left the apartment and was briskly walking down 
 the stairs.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 A MESSAGE FROM MR. SHEI 
 
 THE city, consuming the news of Mr. Shei's ' 
 amazing coup along with its coffee and toast 
 the following morning, reacted to the sensation 
 much as a child might react to the sight of a fabled 
 monster. The whole affair seemed monstrous, un- 
 believable — and yet the facts could not be reasoned 
 away. Seven of the city's wealthiest men had been 
 inoculated with a malady of such a mysterious nature 
 that the most celebrated physicians in New York City 
 had admitted they were unable to diagnose it. 
 
 An air of bafflement and suspense hung over the city. 
 Mr. Shei's name was on every tongue, and the blow he 
 had struck was discussed by groups that gathered on 
 street comers, in cafes, and in public squares. Among 
 the seven victims were several of the most important 
 capitalists in the country, so the effect of Mr. Shei's 
 astounding maneuver was an assault on the financial 
 nerve center of the nation. 
 
 The name that, next to Mr. Shei's, was most often 
 spoken in the street corner discussions, was that of The 
 
 163
 
 164 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 Gray Phantom. The spectacular nature of the coup, 
 as well as the daring and resourcefulness exhibited by 
 its perpetrator, seemed ample proof that The Gray 
 Phantom had returned to his old ways under the nom 
 de guerre of Mr. Shei. No one else, it was argued, 
 could have engineered an achievement of such magni- 
 tude without bungling and falling into the clutches of 
 the police. Already wagers were being placed on The 
 Phantom's ability to evade capture until he should have 
 consummated his plans. \ 
 
 At ten o'clock, just as newsboys were raucously cry- 
 ing the latest extras, a taxicab stopped before a dingy 
 establishment in a squalid and disreputable section of 
 the lower East Side. The Gray Phantom alighted, 
 hurriedly tossed the driver a bill, then disappeared in a 
 basement entrance. The door was opened by a surly- 
 looking man wearing a soiled apron, and The Phantom 
 took a seat at one of the tables in the rear. He looked 
 nervously at his watch. Lieutenant Culligore, whom 
 he had reached by telephone at police headquarters, had 
 promised to meet him at ten sharp, and he had sug- 
 gested Lefty Joe's place as a reasonably safe rendez- 
 vous. 
 
 The Phantom cast a slanting glance at the rough- 
 looking customers scattered about the place, and just 
 then the door opened and Culligore walked in and took 
 a seat beside him. 
 
 "Any luck?" inquired the lieutenant, though the
 
 A MESSAGE FROM INIR. SHEI 165 
 
 question seemed superfluous in view of The Phantom's 
 dejected appearance. 
 
 "None. That's why I wanted a talk with you. How 
 is Fairspeckle ?" 
 
 The lieutenant, a little bleary-eyed and with a trace 
 of diffidence in his manners, looked queerly at the ques- 
 tioner. "Why single out Fairspeckle? He's in the 
 same boat with the six others. Neither better nor 
 worse, though the doctors say his age and poor health 
 will weigh against him." 
 
 "You still think that Fairspeckle is Mr. Shei ?" 
 
 Culligore hesitated. A thin, inscrutable smile hov- 
 ered above his lips. 
 
 "If he is, he gave himself a dose of his own medi- 
 cine," was his final comment. 
 
 "And that's precisely what I think he did." The 
 Phantom, speaking in low tones, gave the table a 
 resounding thwack. "Being one of the city's richest 
 men, he knew suspicion was apt to turn in his direction, 
 unless he was inoculated along with the others. He 
 is easily one of the seven wealthiest men in town, and 
 it would have looked queer if he had been omitted. 
 And so, to ward off suspicion, he had a dose of the 
 poison injected into his own veins, though T suppose 
 the amount was carefully adjusted so it would produce 
 the characteristic symptoms without causing death." 
 
 Culligore appeared to ponder. "Not bad reasoning," 
 he remarked. "That would be on a par with the trick
 
 166 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 he played on you yesterday. Falrspeckle seems to be 
 a shrewd old fox, the kind that isn't overlooking any 
 bets. Maybe you're right. In that case, of course, the 
 binding and gagging of the Jap was a blind." 
 
 The Phantom nodded. 
 
 "Well, whoever Mr. Shei is, he certainly put one 
 over last night," was Culligore's rueful comment. "He 
 seems to have a gang of highly trained followers who 
 do exactly as he tells them without batting an eyelid. 
 Last night, between ten o'clock and two in the morn- 
 ing, he sent one or more of his men to the homes of 
 each of the seven victims. In two or three instances 
 the servants were bribed, I understand. Anyhow, Mr. 
 Shei's men got in by some hook or crook. Four of the 
 seven were caught in bed and trussed up before they 
 could say Jack Robinson. Two of the others were 
 » tapped on the back of the head when they returned 
 home from the theater, and one got his in a taxicab. 
 Mr. Shei made a clean sweep." 
 
 "What do the doctors say?" 
 
 "Most of them are doing some fnncy stalling to 
 cover up what they don't know. The high muckamucks 
 of the profession are holding a consultation this morn- 
 ing to decide what's to be done. One of them let slip 
 the information that the symptoms look something like 
 a combination of rabies and delirium tremens, but he 
 believes the disease is produced by one of the ancient 
 poisons that were known to the Asiatics. The fact that
 
 A MESSAGE FROM MR. SHEI 167 
 
 the doctors are keeping mum is a bad sign. It will be 
 interesting to see how many of the patients will cough 
 up Mr. Shei's price for the antidote. If all of them 
 come across, Mr. Shei will rake in a good many 
 millions." 
 
 "Billions, rather, I should say." The Phantom 
 smiled wearily. "If successful, the experiment will be 
 unique in that it will demonstrate just how much a 
 billionaire considers his life to be worth. But that isn't 
 what I wanted to talk with you about. Culligore, I 
 still think that Fairspeckle knows where Miss Hard- 
 wick can be found." 
 
 "Well?" Culligore gazed noncommittally into space. 
 
 "I wonder if some sort of pressure couldn't be 
 brought to bear on him to make him divulge what he 
 knows. Last night he was in no condition to be ques- 
 tioned, and to-day, I can hardly make a move without 
 running the risk of being arrested." 
 
 "I should say you can't!" declared Culligore ex- 
 plosively. "It's as much as my job is worth to be seen 
 here talking with you. The Gray Phantom is a marked 
 man, if ever there was one. Fairspeckle and the Jap 
 swear you were in the apartment late last night, and 
 Fairspeckle believes — or pretends to believe, which 
 amounts to the same thing — that it was you who 
 squirted the poison into his veins. Of course, he 
 doesn't pretend to know just how it happened, but he 
 remembers seeing you just as he was recovering his
 
 168 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 senses. You'd better take my advice and lie low for a 
 while. I'll see what I can do with Fairspeckle, though 
 I haven't any high hopes. I'll have him watched, and 
 it's just possible that we can squeeze some information 
 out of him. But look here. Aren't you starting this 
 thing from the wrong end?" 
 
 The Phantom gave him a puzzled glance. 
 
 "When Miss Hardwick left the Thelma Theater day 
 before yesterday," pursued Culligore, "I could have 
 sworn she was on her way to see you. She didn't say 
 anything about her plans, but that was the idea I got 
 from her actions." 
 
 The Phantom shook his head. "If she started for 
 my place, she never got there. I called up on the long 
 distance this morning, and was told that nothing has 
 been seen of her. Of course, something may have 
 happened to her on the way." 
 
 "Well, I wouldn't worry just yet. The young lady 
 has a lot of spunk, and I'll bet a pair of pink socks she 
 knows how to take care of herself. It mightn't be a 
 bad idea to get in touch with her father. He may have 
 had some news from her since yesterday. I must be on 
 my way. Mr. Shei is putting gray hairs on my head." 
 
 Culligore rose, and the two men shook hands. They 
 parted after the lieutenant had once more admonished 
 The Phantom against exposing himself to arrest. For 
 a moment or two after the detective had left the place,
 
 A MESSAGE FROM IMR. SHEI 169 
 
 The Phantom looked dubiously at the door through 
 which he had departed. 
 
 "There's something queer about Culligore," he 
 mumbled. "I wonder if he " 
 
 He did not finish the thought, but with a shrug of the 
 shoulders he stepped out and looked warily up and 
 down the sidewalk. Culligore's warning had not been 
 needed to impress upon him that caution was necessary. 
 He sniffed danger in the very air he breathed as he 
 slunk across the street, walked a block to the east, then 
 ducked into a deserted -^loorway. A taxicab appeared, 
 and he signaled the driver. For a moment he hesitated 
 as to his next move, then Culligore's parting advice 
 occurred to him and, after consulting the small note- 
 book he carried, he gave the chauffeur the address of 
 the Hardwick residence. 
 
 The cab started. The Phantom glanced sharply 
 through the windows. A familiar and yet intangible 
 sensation had been with him constantly for the past 
 hour. Now and then, at long intervals, he had had a 
 fleeting impression that he was being watched. Now, as 
 the cab chugged its way down the avenue, a sixth sense 
 told him he was being followed, yet he could detect no 
 sign of pursuit in the welter of traffic. He tried to 
 dismiss the impression, knowing that in his present 
 state of high mental tension his senses were not to be 
 trusted. 
 
 He alighted in front of a mod«et bro«instone house,
 
 170 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 Its rigid exterior relieved by sprawling vines and 
 flowers in the window boxes. The female servant who 
 opened the door announced that Mr. Hard wick was at 
 home, and The Phantom gently pushed past her. In 
 the room he entered, a thin, stoop-shouldered man was 
 pacing back and forth with hands clasped at his back. 
 He stopped abruptly at sight of The Phantom and 
 peered blankly into the visitor's face. 
 
 "You know me?" inquired The Phantom. 
 
 "It's — it can't be — The Gray Phantom ?" A startled 
 look appeared in Mr. Hardwick's deeply furrowed 
 face. He came a few steps nearer. "But you are The 
 Gray Phantom, I see. I recognize you from your 
 photographs. Where is my daughter?" 
 
 The Phantom was a trifle taken aback by the sharply 
 spoken question. "Then you have received no word 
 from her? I telephoned your house shortly after my 
 arrival in the city and was told she had been missing 
 for twenty-four hours. I was in hopes you might have 
 heard from her this morning. That's why I called." 
 
 "I have not seen my daughter since breakfast day 
 before yesterday," explained Mr. Hardwick in quaver- 
 ing tones. "In the afternoon I received a brief mes- 
 sage from her announcing she did not expect to be 
 home for dinner and telling me not to worry. She is 
 an impetuous child, and it isn't the first time she has 
 caused me anxiety. Her message made me very un-
 
 A MESSAGE FROM MR. SHEI 171 
 
 easy, for she had been acting strangely ever since — 
 since " 
 
 "Since the affair at the Thelma Theater," guessed 
 The Phantom. "Listen, Mr. Hardwiclc. I am as 
 deeply concerned in what has happened to her as you 
 can possibly be. I intend to find her, no matter where 
 she may be. Can you trust me ?" 
 
 Mr. Hardwick's dim eyes searched the Phantom's 
 face for a long time. At first there was a look of 
 doubt and suspicion in the old man's countenance, but 
 it faded gradually away. 
 
 'T believe I can," he declared. "I know what your 
 past has been, and I confess I have disapproved 
 strongly of the friendship between you and my daugh- 
 ter. She is still impressionable and there are romantic 
 notions in her head, and you will forgive me if I say 
 that you did not seem quite the proper person for her 
 to associate with." 
 
 "I can understand that," murmured The Phantom. 
 "Your attitude was quite natural in view of the circum- 
 stances." 
 
 "And so," continued Mr. Hardwick, "when your 
 letters came I did not feel justified in giving them to 
 her. I was not unappreciative of what you had done 
 for her and me, but I feared she might form an unsuit- 
 able attachment. In short, I destroyed the letters after 
 a glance at the handwriting on the envelope." 
 
 The Phantom smiled faintly. "I know you acted
 
 172 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 for what you thought your daughter's best interests. 
 It is not for me to criticise your conduct in the matter. 
 
 I can readily see But wait." The Phantom's 
 
 brow suddenly clouded. *'How many letters did you 
 intercept ?" 
 
 'T think there were two. One came in the spring; 
 the other late in the summer. Yes, I am quite sure 
 there were only two." 
 
 The Phantom's narrowing gaze swept the older 
 man's face. His lips tightened into a grim line. ''The 
 letter I mailed in the spring was the one in which I told 
 your daughter of my removal from Azurecrest to Sea 
 Glimpse," he explained in tense tones. 'T had prom- 
 ised to keep her informed of my movements so that she 
 could communicate with me if she should ever need 
 me." He paused for a moment. "Have you any idea 
 where your daughter might have gone? Didn't she 
 say anything that suggested what her plans were." 
 
 "She talked rather incoherently at breakfast, but 
 said nothing about intending to go away. When I 
 received her message later in the day, it occurred to me 
 that she might have gone in search of you. You had 
 been mentioned several times in our talks together, and 
 I thought that " 
 
 "If her intention was to find me, she probably went 
 to the wrong place," gravely interrupted The Phantom. 
 "Not knowing of my removal to Sea Glimpse, she 
 naturally would look for me at Azurecrest. I sold the
 
 A MESSAGE FROM MR. SHEI 173 
 
 place through a broker and never even learned the 
 name of the present owner. But her going to Azure- 
 crest doesn't explain her absence for the past twenty- 
 four hours. She would naturally return at once upon 
 learning that I was not there. The trip by train takes 
 only two or three hours. I fear something must have 
 happened to her on the way. Well, we shall soon 
 learn " 
 
 He dashed across the room, snatched up the tele- 
 phone from its stand in a corner, and, after being con- 
 nected with the long-distance operator, gave his old 
 number at Azurecrest. A wait followed. The Phantom 
 stood tense and rigid, while Mr. Hardwick dazedly 
 drew his palm across his forehead. He gazed ex- 
 pectantly at The Phantom while the latter spoke briefly 
 into the transmitter. Finally, with a puzzled look in 
 his face, The Phantom hung up. 
 
 "The present owner of Azurecrest is a Mr. Slade," 
 he announced. "I just had him on the wire. He tells 
 me nothing has been seen of Miss Hardwick, or of any 
 person resembling her." 
 
 Mr. Hardwick looked as if he did not quite know 
 whether to feel relieved or discouraged. The Phan- 
 tom grasped his hand. 
 
 "Don't worry," he said in a tone of hopefulness 
 which he was far from feeling. "We will find your 
 daughter. I shall communicate with you as soon as I 
 learn something."
 
 174 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 He squeezed the older man's hand and walked out. 
 Though he could not understand why, his interview 
 with Hard wick and his brief talk with Slade had in- 
 tensified his fears and misgivings. It seemed as though 
 the mystery of Helen's disappearance had become 
 darker and deeper. Suddenly, as he stood irresolute on 
 the doorstep, he heard someone call his name. A 
 limousine had silently drawn up at the curb, its sides of 
 burnt sienna flashing brilliantly in the sunlight, and at 
 the window, beckoning him with a smile and a nod, he 
 saw a woman's face. He stepped forward, and the 
 woman leaned slightly from the window. 
 
 "li you will step in," she whispered, "you may learn 
 something of interest concerning the young person you 
 are looking for." 
 
 The door opened invitingly. The words had exerted 
 a magical effect on The Phantom, and without a 
 moment's hesitation he entered. As the car glided 
 away, he noticed that the woman had a young, dark 
 face, a figure almost serpentine in its slenderness, and 
 that there was an air of gay insouciance about her 
 smartly embroidered frock and rakish picture hat that 
 seemed to clash with the subtlety and craftiness ex- 
 pressed by her pale-green eyes. 
 
 "You are very reckless, my dear Phantom," she 
 murmured. "Please don't ask to what happy circum- 
 stance you owe the invitation to ride with me. I abhor 
 ceremonious speeches. I am Fay Dale, though that
 
 A MESSAGE FROM MR. SHEI 175 
 
 probably don't interest you, and I have a message for 
 you from Mr. Shei." 
 
 The bluntness of the statement made The Phantom 
 catch his breath. He wondered whether it was the 
 vivacious eyes of Fay Dale that had been following 
 him all morning and giving him the haunting impres- 
 sion of being watched. 
 
 "As I said, you are very reckless," Miss Dale went 
 on. "Twice within the last two days you have been 
 warned to abandon the course you are pursuing, and 
 you have paid no heed whatever. There's such a thing 
 as carrying audacity to a fault, you know. Doesn't the 
 safety of a certain young lady mean anything to you 
 at all?" 
 
 "Everything!"' exclaimed The Phantom impulsively. 
 "You said you had something to tell me about her." 
 
 "I have, but you mustn't be impatient. I have some- 
 thing very important to tell you. You have seen fit to 
 meddle in an affair that doesn't concern you in the 
 least. You have been warned that your conduct is 
 endangering the life of the young lady, but evidently 
 you have not taken the warnings seriously. I can 
 assure you that Mr. Shei never makes idle threats. It 
 is his wish that you leave New York at once." 
 
 A taunting laugh was on The Phantom's lips, but 
 he held it back. "Why?" he demanded. 
 
 "Because Mr. Shei doesn't care to have you inter- 
 fere with him. He is now engaged in the most impor-
 
 176 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 tant enterprise of his life, and he would rather not be 
 opposed by such a formidable enemy as yourself. I 
 shall be perfectly frank with you, even at the risk of 
 inflating your vanity. You are the only man of whom 
 Mr. Shei stands in fear. He has a profound respect 
 for your genius. He laughs at the police and snaps his 
 fingers at public opinion, but he knows The Gray Phan- 
 tom is a dangerous adversary. At this particular time 
 he can brook no opposition. That's why he requests 
 you to leave New York immediately." 
 
 *T am flattered," murmured The Phantom, gazing 
 reflectively out of the car window. "What I cannot 
 understand is how Mr. Shei learned of my plans." 
 
 Miss Dale gave an amused laugh. "One of Mr. 
 Shei's agents saw you in Times Square the morning 
 you arrived. You have been watched ever since. Mr. 
 Shei has sources of information that would amaze you 
 if I were to tell you about them. And he is just as 
 resourceful in other ways. Don't you think you had 
 better swallow your pride and comply with his 
 wishes?" 
 
 "Suppose I were to refuse?" The Phantom tem- 
 porized, trying hard to restrain his impatience. 
 
 Miss Dale looked straight into his eyes. There was 
 a hint of cruelty in her tightly compressed lips. 
 
 "There are ways of breaking even such a stubborn 
 will as yours," she coldly declared. "The young lady 
 is absolutely in Mr. Shei's power. That gives him a
 
 A MESSAGE FROM MR. SHEI 177 
 
 means of persuasion that ought to impress even you. 
 Nothing in the world can save her if you disobey his 
 wishes." 
 
 Her tones carried an emphasis that caused The 
 Phantom to give her a sharp glance. There was a curl 
 to her lips and a gleam in her eyes that impressed him 
 even more strongly than her words. His mind worked 
 quickly. 
 
 "If Mr. Shei will return Miss Hardwick safely to 
 her home, I will leave New York on the next train," 
 he promised. 
 
 She laughed frigidly. "You must think Mr. Shei is 
 a fool. He would lose his hold over you the moment 
 he released Miss Hardwick, and what guarantee would 
 he have that you would carry out your promise?" 
 
 "My word of honor." 
 
 "It would be enough under ordinary circumstances, 
 but not in this case. Evidently you do not realize the 
 gravity of Miss Hardwick's position, or you would not 
 quarrel with Mr. Shei's terms." She shrugged her 
 slight shoulders. "Well, you shall soon be convinced 
 that Mr. Shei is not to be trifled with. From Miss 
 Hardwick's own lips you shall learn what a desperate 
 predicament she is in. After that, my dear Phantom, I 
 think you will be more amenable to reason." 
 
 There was a question on The Phantom's tongue, but 
 just then the car drew up in front of an apartment 
 house facing Central Park, and Miss Dale conducted
 
 178 THE GRAY PIL\NTOM 
 
 him through an ornate entrance, then up three flights 
 in the elevator, and a httle gasp of admiration escaped 
 Tlie Phantom as they passed into an exquisitely fur- 
 nished apartment. Save for the prevalence of the 
 feminine touch, exemplified in gorgeous but meaning- 
 less trifles and gewgaws, it met the emphatic approval 
 of The Phantom's discriminating eye. 
 
 Miss Dale excused herself and entered an adjoining 
 room, and he was left alone for a few minutes. He 
 strained his ears and listened. From faint sounds com- 
 ing through the closed door he imagined she was at the 
 telephone. The cold gleam in her eyes as he had helped 
 her from the car was still haunting him, and he won- 
 dered what she had meant when she promised that 
 from Helen's own lips should he learn the nature of 
 her predicament. 
 
 The frigid, insinuating smile was still on her lips 
 when she returned to the room in which she had left 
 him. 
 
 "Your curiosity shall be gratified in a few moments," 
 she announced, seating herself and regarding him with 
 a coid, impersonal gaze. There was an air of quiet 
 self-reliance and efficiency about her that enabled him 
 to understand how she could be a valuable assistant to 
 Mr. Shei. Neither spoke, and presently the silence was 
 interrupted by the ringing of the telephone in the other 
 room. 
 
 "Answer, please," she said lightly, the faintest trace
 
 A MESSAGE FROM MR. SHEI 179 
 
 of malignant satisfaction in her tones. "I think Miss 
 Hardwick is on the wire." 
 
 Puzzled and tormented by vague suspicions, The 
 Phantom passed to the telephone. The woman fol- 
 lowed a short distance behind. 
 
 "Hello," he said tensely. 
 
 He started violently as he recognized the answering 
 voice. He would have known it among a million 
 voices despite the hysterical catch and the staccato 
 accents that tended to disguise it. It spoke a few jum- 
 bled and disconnected phrases, then broke into a stream 
 of loud and wild laughing in which he detected the 
 same note of maniacal glee that had characterized the 
 ghastly laughter of W. Rufus Fairspeckle.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 THE ELUSIVE MR. SHEI 
 
 SPASMODICALLY The Gray Phantom pressed 
 the receiver closer to his ear. The laughter at 
 the other end of the wire rose to a shrill cres- 
 cendo, then ended abruptly in a harsh and discordant 
 twang. 
 
 "Helen!" shouted The Phantom. 
 
 No answer came; nothing but a muffled thud that 
 sounded as if the person at the other end had suddenly 
 dropped the receiver. His face white, The Phantom 
 turned to Miss Dale. 
 
 "Are you convinced now?" she murmured, a silken 
 smile hovering about her lips. "And don't you think 
 you had better obey Mr. Shei's wishes and leave the 
 city immediately?" 
 
 The Phantom mopped the clammy perspiration from 
 his forehead. A moment ago his face had been dis- 
 torted from horror; now a look of rage glittered 
 menacingly in his eyes. "Mr. Shei will pay for this," 
 he muttered thickly. "When I have finished with him, 
 he will wish he had never been born." 
 
 i8o
 
 THE ELUSIVE MR. SHEI 181 
 
 "And just what do you propose to do?" Miss Dale 
 airily waved her slim, white hand. "As a measure of 
 self-protection, knowing that he could not control you 
 by any other means, Mr. Sliei has caused Miss Hard- 
 wick to be inoculated with the same malady that killed 
 Miss Darrow, and which will kill seven of the city's 
 wealthiest men unless they comply with his wishes. 
 There is only one thing which can save her, and that is 
 the antidote. It is in the possession of a Malayan 
 scientist, one of Mr. Shei's most devoted followers, and 
 it will be administered only when you have carried out 
 the terms I have explained to you." 
 
 The Phantom stood silent while trying to fight down 
 the surge of emotions that threatened to swamp his 
 reason. Suddenly his roving gaze was fixed on the 
 numbered tag above the mouthpiece of the telephone 
 instrument. His lids contracted a little. 
 
 "Brilliant idea, my dear Phantom," drawled Miss 
 Dale. "For once you are quite transparent. It is your 
 intention, as soon as you leave my apartment, to call up 
 the telephone exchange and trace the call, thus learning 
 Miss Hardwick's whereabouts. It would be simple, 
 for it was a long-distance connection, and such calls are 
 always recorded. I will save you the trouble, however. 
 Miss Hardwick is at Azurecrest." 
 
 "Azurecrest ?" echoed The Phantom, momentarily 
 a trifle dazed. 
 
 Miss Dale seemed to find his perplexity highly amus- •
 
 182 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 mg. "When Mr. She! learned the place was for sale, 
 he bought it anonymously through an agent. It seemed 
 an ideal spot for certain experiments he ha?d in mind. 
 Hoping to find you there, Miss Hardwick went to 
 Azurecrest the day after Miss Darrow's death, and for 
 divers reasons it was thought best to detain her." 
 
 The Phantom muttered an exclamation. Slade had 
 lied to him, then, when The Phantom had called up 
 Azurecrest earlier in the day and inquired for Miss 
 Hardwick. Slade, he now suspected, was one of Mr. 
 Shei's agents, and under the circumstances it was not 
 surprising that he had disclaimed all knowledge of 
 Helen. The Phantom might not have accepted his 
 denial so readily if he had had the faintest inkling that 
 Mr. Shei was the present owner of his former retreat. 
 
 Suddenly he whirled round on his heels and started 
 abruptly from the room. 
 
 "Wait a moment," commanded Miss Dale as he 
 reached the door, and a subtle quality in her tone 
 caused him to stop. "How impulsive you are, my dear 
 Phantom. I suppose you mean to rush madly off to 
 Azurecrest and rescue the fair damsel. Stop and think 
 for a moment. Surely you don't imagine I would have 
 told you Miss Hardwick's whereabouts unless I had 
 been absolutely certain that you were powerless to act." 
 
 The Phantom saw the weight of the argument at 
 once. He moved away from the door. 
 
 "Glad you are willing to listen to reason," murmured
 
 THE ELUSIVE MR. SHEI 183 
 
 Miss Dale. "You see, you could accomplish nothing at 
 all by going to Azurecrest alone. The place is very 
 carefully guarded by a little army of picked men, not to 
 mention a few savage dogs. Of course, you might ask 
 the police for assistance, supposing that you were on 
 good terms with them, but what would be the result? 
 If Mr. Shei and his followers are put in jail, Miss 
 Hardwick will die, and so will the seven others. In 
 fact, if anything at all happens to Mr. Shei and the 
 members of his organization, the antidote will be irre- 
 vocably lost. I believe you grasp the idea, don't you ?" 
 
 The Phantom's expression showed that he did. 
 There was a baffled look in his eye that testified to his 
 thorough appreciation of Mr. Shei's ingenious precau- 
 tions. 
 
 *Tn other words," Miss Dale went on, her tones now 
 soft and purring, "you have the best reasons in the 
 world for not wishing the police to annoy Mr. Shei. 
 In a way, Mr. Shei has compelled you to become an ally 
 of his as a result of having Miss Hardwick in his 
 power. It is really an excellent arrangement. And the 
 police, when they understand the situation, will not be 
 inclined to risk the lives of the seven wealthy men by 
 forcing Mr. Shei to take extreme measures. Ah, you 
 are beginning to understand at last that Mr. Shei is 
 practically invulnerable." 
 
 "So it would seem," mumbled The Phantom, at last 
 finding his voice.
 
 184 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 "And don't you think you had better be reasonable 
 and accept Mr. Shei's conditions? If you decide to be 
 sensible, the antidote will be administered to Miss 
 Hardwick as soon as Mr. Shei's plans are consum- 
 mated, and she will not be one whit the worse off for 
 her experience. On the other hand, if you choose to 
 be disagreeable " Miss Dale paused significantly. 
 
 The Phantom's tense face bespoke a great mental 
 effort. One by one he reveiwed the details of Mr. 
 Shei's brilliant precautions. He could not see a loop- 
 hole anywhere. As far as his imagination could 
 stretch, the only result of obstinacy would be certain 
 death for Helen. Yet the cup of defeat was a bitter 
 draft. Never before had The Gray Phantom surren- 
 dered to any man ; but now the life of one dear to him 
 was in danger. He made his decision promptly. 
 
 "Mr. Shei wins," he announced with a bow. Then 
 he walked out, oblivious of the triumphant smile that 
 curled Miss Dale's lips. His brow was clouded as he 
 descended in the elevator and walked out on the side- 
 walk. He was aware that the dragnet was thrown out 
 and that he was endangering his liberty by going about 
 so boldly, but arrest and imprisonment seemed a minor 
 matter now. For the first time in his life he was a 
 defeated man. Worse still, he could not rid himself of 
 fears concerning Helen's safety. 
 
 Presently he paused as a new and even more disturb- 
 ing thought flashed through his mind. He had accepted
 
 THE ELUSIVE MR. SHEI 185 
 
 Mr. Shei's terms in the hope that by doing so he would 
 insure Hclea's safety. He wondered if he had been 
 too gulHble, and he dodged into a doorway while con- 
 sidering the question. He had been under a terrific 
 tension the past few days, and his mind had not been 
 working with its customary agility. Now it occurred 
 to him that he had nothing but Miss Dale's word for it 
 that Helen's life would be spared if he yielded to Mr. 
 Shei's terms. He had relied on her promise, not be- 
 cause of blind faith in her, but rather because Mr. Shei 
 would gain nothing by killing Helen. He was merely 
 using her as a means of suasion whereby to hold The 
 Phantom in leash and prevent interference with his 
 plans, and once she had served his purpose there was 
 no reason why he should do her harm. 
 
 But The Phantom was far from satisfied. At Azure- 
 crest, Helen must have heard and seen things that if 
 divulged would constitute a great danger to Mr. Shei 
 and his organization. Her keen perceptions and in- 
 quisitive nature were always delving into whatever 
 was strange and mysterious. Would Mr. Shei dare let 
 her live after her usefulness to him was past? Again, 
 as he repeatedly asked himself the question, a cold 
 perspiration broke out on The Phantom's brow. 
 
 Once more he made a quick decision, completely 
 reversing the one he had made in Miss Dale's presence. 
 He glanced quickly at his watch. If he remembered 
 correctly, there would be a train for Azurecrest inside
 
 186 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 twenty minutes. Single-handed, relying only on his 
 quick wits and agile strength, he would beard the lion 
 in his den. 
 
 But first he was anxious to learn whether Culligore 
 had made any progress toward clearing up the other 
 phases of the mystery, particularly m regard to Mr. 
 Fairspeckle. He entered a convenient telephone booth 
 and called up the police department. Luck was with 
 him, for after a brief delay he heard Culligore's voice 
 over the wire. 
 
 "Oh, Fairspeckle! Why, he's vamoosed. Slipped 
 away right from under the eyes of a doctor and a 
 nurse. Can you beat it ?" 
 
 The Phantom's veins tingled as he hung up. Fair- 
 speckle's disappearance was final proof that he had 
 correctly guessed the identity of Mr. Shei.
 
 CHAPTER XV; 
 
 « 
 
 DR. TAGALA 
 
 HELEN'S little wrist watch showed a quarter 
 past four. 
 Getting up from the chair, she roamed aim- 
 lessly about the room. Presently she stopped at the 
 table and gazed down. The initials she had heedlessly 
 scrawled in the dust were still there. The faint 
 tracings that had betrayed her knowledge of Mr. Shei's 
 identity seemed fraught with fate now. With a few 
 idle strokes of the hand she had signed her own death 
 warrant. 
 
 She could not have mistaken the sinister gleam she 
 had seen in Slade's eyes as he looked down at the 
 letters in the dust. His eyes had spelled her doom just 
 as surely as the tracings on the table spelled the name 
 by which Mr. Shei was known to the world at large. 
 And the slam with which he had closed the door told 
 even more eloquently than words that her life was for- 
 feit. 
 
 Suddenly she felt a little hysterical. The fatal secret 
 she had learned, the spectacular intrigues of Mr. Shei, 
 
 187
 
 188 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 even the scrawl in the dust seemed so trivial now that 
 she felt an impulse to laugh. It was grotesque, she 
 thought, that such a little thing as a couple of initials 
 traced on the surface of a table should mean the blot- 
 ting out of her life. 
 
 The house was very silent. No one had entered the 
 room since Slade's departure, and she had spent the 
 intervening hours in a state of musing detachment. 
 Her thoughts and fancies flitted about in circles, and 
 she had a curious impression that only her mind was 
 functioning and that her emotions were numb. The 
 slanting rays of the sun glimmered pleasantly on the 
 furniture and she wondered abstractedly whether she 
 should ever see the sunlight of another day. She 
 glanced down at her dress, trimmed with delicate 
 touches of red, and the thought struck her that perhaps 
 she was wearing it for the last time. It was odd, she 
 mused, that the prospect held no terror for her, and 
 that her only feeling was a sense of dull, aching void. 
 
 Voices in the hall outside started her out of her rev- 
 erie. The Gray Phantom's name, spoken in excited 
 tones, sent an emotional quiver through her being and 
 awoke her from her letharg}'. Sensations, gentle and 
 stimulating ones, stirred in the depths of her conscious- 
 ness. 
 
 "The Gray Phantom," she whispered, looking pen- 
 sively at the door. He had inspired her with emotions 
 that she had never been quite able to understand. A't
 
 DOCTOR TAGALA 189 
 
 times they had terrified her by their strangeness and 
 power, for she had felt as if they were rousing new 
 impulses within her and sweeping her along toward an 
 unknown destiny. His career, bright and swift as the 
 flash of a meteor, had intrigued her imagination even 
 while she felt awed and a little frightened at the stories 
 she heard about him. Of late he had tried to 
 throw off the shackles of the past and start a new life, 
 and she had watched his efforts with a strange and be- 
 wildering sense of sponsorship. 
 
 The voices in the hall had ceased now, but the name 
 that had been spoken was still echoing in her ears and 
 vibrating against hidden cords in her consciousness. 
 Of a sudden the prospect of death, which a few min- 
 utes before she had contemplated without fear, filled 
 her with dread and poignant regrets. The mere men- 
 tion of a name had inspired in her a vehement desire to 
 live. 
 
 She tiptoed to the door. It did not surprise her that 
 Slade had left it unlocked. The picket fence, the 
 ferocious Caesar, and the attendants made such a pre- 
 caution unnecessary. She stepped out in the hall, then 
 looked hesitantly about her, but she could see nothing 
 of the men whose voices she had heard a few moments 
 ago. At the end of the hall a door stood open, and she 
 moved silently in that direction. Entering, she ran her 
 eyes over long white benches on which were bottles, 
 jars, and queer-looking apparatus. There was a reek of
 
 190 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 chemicals in the air, and she guessed it was a labora- 
 tory of some sort. It all seemed a little strange to her, 
 but in the next moment her attention was engaged by 
 voices coming through a partly open door at one side 
 of the large room. 
 
 "Oh, it's serious enough," one of them was saying, 
 and she instantly knew that the speaker was Slade. 
 "The Gray Phantom is the only man alive who can 
 queer Mr. Shei's game." 
 
 The words were spoken in a tone of reluctant respect 
 that gave Helen a thrill. Coming from an enemy, it 
 was a striking tribute to The Phantom's genius and 
 power. 
 
 "Ah, The Gray Phantom ! I have heard the name. 
 One of your fascinating master criminals, is he not?" 
 The second man spoke with the exaggerated precision 
 that characterizes the educated foreigner. "But why 
 does The Gray Phantom interfere in the affairs of Mr. 
 Shei?" 
 
 Slade chuckled grimly. "That's hard to tell, Doctor 
 Tagala. Perhaps for a number of reasons. Maybe he 
 dislikes to see another man excel him at his own 
 game. There's such a thing as professional jealousy 
 even among crooks, you know. All we know for cer- 
 tain Is that he arrived in New York the day Mr. Shei's 
 notices were posted. One of our men saw him, and he 
 was watched almost from the moment of his arrival. 
 His actions indicated plainly that he had gone on the
 
 DOCTOR TAGALA 191 
 
 warpath against Mr. Shei. Confound the infernal 
 meddler !" 
 
 "But Mr. Shei is a resourceful man," observed Doc- 
 tor Tagala. "He surely can devise some means 
 whereby this impudent fellow may be restrained." 
 
 "He has already done so. As you know, he motored 
 back to New York early this morning, but I had a long- 
 distance telephone conversation with him a few min- 
 utes ago. He made a very good suggestion, but the 
 execution of it will have to be left to you." 
 
 "Tome?" 
 
 "You remember hearing me speak of the young lady 
 who came here looking for The Gray Phantom. Her 
 name is Helen Hardwick, and she is much too astute 
 for her own good. She's learned a number of things 
 that won't bear repeating, and among them is the 
 identity of Mr. Shei. Of course, as soon as I found 
 out how much she knew, I saw that she would have to 
 be put out of the way, and I told Mr Shei so over the 
 telephone. He over-ruled my plan ; or, rather, he sug- 
 gested an improvement." 
 
 "What was it?" 
 
 "To let the young lady remain on earth five or six 
 days longer ; in other words, until Mr. Shei had cashed 
 in his chips. You see, doctor, The Gray Phantom has 
 quite a crush on the young lady, and he would rather 
 go through hell fire than have a single hair on her head 
 hurt."
 
 192 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 Helen felt the blood rushing to her head. 
 
 "I am begining to comprehend," remarked Doctor 
 Tagala. "It is Mr. Shei's plan to keep The Gray Phan- 
 tom in check by threatening to inflict harm on the 
 young lady. An excellent idea, but a trifle vague." 
 
 "Oh, there's nothing vague about it, and it involves 
 something far more substantial than mere threats. 
 Can't you guess, doctor?" 
 
 There came an interval of silence. Evidently Doctor 
 Tagala was exercising his imagination. Helen crept a 
 little closer, then peered through the narrow crack be- 
 tween the door and the jamb. Only two or three feet 
 from her, with his lips curled into a leer, sat Slade. 
 Her eyes traveled a little farther until she saw Doctor 
 Tagala, and suddenly she caught her breath. It 
 required all her self-control to keep from betraying her 
 presence. She had seen the face twice before, first in 
 the Thelma Theater and later at the window of the 
 room in which Slade had interviewed her shortly after 
 her arrival at Azurecrest, and on each occasion the 
 sight had given her a chill. The coarse and brutal 
 features, framed by black hair that reached almost to 
 the shoulders, stood out in sharp contrast to the man's 
 cultured speech and polished manners. Again, as she 
 saw the brutish lips and the flaming eyes, she received 
 an impression of something evil and loathsome. She 
 leaned weakly against the wall, and then she heard 
 again Doctor Tagala's voice.
 
 DOCTOR TAGALA 193 
 
 <n 
 
 'I am very poor at making conjectures. You will 
 have to enlighten me." 
 
 "Well, then, Mr. Shei's orders are that you are to 
 inoculate the young lady with the laughing fever. You 
 will calculate the dose just as you did in the cases of the 
 seven millionaires. The Phantom will be told that the 
 antidotes will be administered on the one condition that 
 he goes back to his bailiwick and keeps his hands out of 
 Mr. Shei's affairs. That will keep him on his good 
 behavior for a week, and by that time Mr. Shei will 
 have cleaned up." 
 
 "And the young lady ?" 
 
 Slade laughed unpleasantly. "She knows too much, 
 as I have already told you. A little knowledge is a 
 dangerous thing. Much knowledge is apt to prove 
 fatal. You will merely forget to administer the anti- 
 dote when the time comes." 
 
 Doctor Tagala gave a rumbling laugh. Helen felt 
 a sudden chill. She leaned weakly against the wall. 
 Inoculation with what Slade had called the laughing 
 fever seemed far more dreadful than death itself. 
 
 "By the way, doctor," Slade went on, "I hope the 
 antidote is safely hidden?" 
 
 "You may rest assured on that point," Tagala de- 
 clared. "I have hidden it so securely that not even Mr. 
 Shei knows where to find it." 
 
 "Good. That being the case, our seven millionaire
 
 194 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 friends would be in a bad fix if a sudden misfortune 
 shmild befall you." 
 
 "Nothing on earth could save them," said Tagala 
 emphatically. "The secret is in my exclusive posses- 
 sion. No other man could diagnose the malady, much 
 less prescribe a remedy. The lives of the seven gentle- 
 men are absolutely in my hand." 
 
 "Then there isn't the slightest chance of Mr. Shei's 
 plans falling through?" 
 
 "Not the slightest. The seven gentlemen will pay 
 Mr. Shei's price, and within a week we shall all be rich 
 beyond the dreams of avarice." The gloating tones 
 hinted that Doctor Tagala's imagination was luxuriat- 
 ing in enchanting visions. "By the way, when do we 
 inoculate the young lady ?" 
 
 "Better wait till evening," suggested Slade. "There 
 will be less danger of interruption then." 
 
 Helen turned away. She feared an involuntary cry 
 of horror would betray her if she remained longer. 
 Steadying herself with great difficulty, she stole out of 
 the laboratory and slipped back into her room. Her 
 watch showed half past five, and the inoculation would 
 probably not take place for an hour or two. In the 
 meantime she wanted to think and if possible find a way 
 of escape, but the fierce pounding of the blood against 
 her temples seemed to preclude clear thinking. 
 
 Her only distinct thought was that she must flee 
 from Azurecrest no matter what dangers and difii-
 
 DOCTOR TAGALA 195 
 
 culties she might encounter. She felt that The Gray- 
 Phantom would gladly fling his life away in order to 
 protect her, but in this instance his hands were tied. 
 He could not make a single move without rendering 
 her predicament worse, and that fact would restrain 
 him, much as he might rebel against his enforced in- 
 action. Mr. Shei's men would point out to him that 
 her safety depended on an unresisting attitude on his 
 part. He could not know what she had just learned 
 from the conversation between Slade and Tagala, that 
 it was their mtention to take her life, anyway. 
 
 Somehow, she told herself, she must manage to 
 escape from the horrors awaiting her at Azurecrest. 
 Even being clawed and torn by the savage dog seemed 
 preferable to the slightest touch of Doctor Tagala's 
 hand. She shuddered whenever her imagination con- 
 jured up a vision of his repelling features, and a hoarse 
 cry rose in her throat at thought of being inoculated 
 with the fearful malady. Miss Neville's maniacal out- 
 brusts were still ringing in her ears, and she remem- 
 bered the hideous strains that had poured from the lips 
 of the dying woman in the Thelma Theater. 
 
 The recollections filled her with sickening terror. 
 With ghastly visions floating before her eyes, she 
 rushed blindly from the room. The hall was deserted, 
 and she scurried down the stairs as if pursued by a 
 monster. She reached the outer door without hin- 
 drance, and a flickering hope began to stir within her
 
 196 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 as she scanned the wide stretch of lawn surrounding 
 the house. The long shadows cast by the trees gave 
 her an additional sense of safety. Swiftly, without a 
 backward glance, she started to run. Her hopes rose 
 higher and higher as she plunged into the thick 
 shadows among the trees. In a few moments now, if 
 her flight remained unnoticed, she would have reached 
 the fence. Somehow she would manage to scale it, or 
 maybe she could find an opening somewhere. 
 
 She quickened her pace, but of a sudden a low, rum- 
 bling growl sent a chill through her veins. She stopped, 
 stood crouching behind the scraggy trunk of a hemlock, 
 and glanced wildly in all directions With great leaps 
 and skips, a huge, black form was rushing toward her, 
 its teeth gleaming ominously between slavering jaws. 
 In a few moments it would be at her throat, and 
 
 then Once more a vision of Doctor Tagala's 
 
 repulsive features filled her with dread. Again she 
 looked about her, then raced swiftly in the direction 
 where the shadows were thickest. Behind her the 
 underbrush crackled beneath the paws of the savage 
 beast. In a moment or two he would be snapping at 
 her heels. 
 
 Again hope rose within her. A squatty shed loomed 
 within a narrow clearing. With the strength of frenzy 
 she sped toward it. If she could reach it before the 
 dog could overtake her, she would be temporarily safe. 
 A great terror urged her on with the speed of the
 
 DOCTOR TAGALA 197 
 
 wind. Now the dog was snatching at the hem of her 
 fluttering skirt, but she was already at the door. With 
 a final exertion of strength she pushed it open and 
 rushed in, then slammed it shut behind her. With a 
 deep breath of relief she lurched against the wall. Sud- 
 denly she recoiled as from a blow. 
 
 "What are you doin' here?" queried a gruff voice. 
 
 She stared into the dusk around her. A few wisps 
 of waning sunlight straggled in through a small win- 
 dow in the rear. Gradually, as her eyes grew accus- 
 tomed to the dusk, she descried a stocky figure leaning 
 over a shovel. It was the sour-faced individual who 
 had opened the gate for her on her arrival at Azure- 
 crest. Little by little, as her pupils responded to the 
 dim light, she took in each detail of the scene. An 
 amazed gasp slipped from her lips. 
 
 An oblong space had been torn up in the center of 
 the flooring and on each side of it were little mounds 
 of dirt. Instinctively she stepped closer and looked 
 down into a rectangular hollow. She had a weird 
 sensation that she was looking into a grave, and with 
 a shudder she glanced up into the man's face. 
 
 "What — what's that?" she asked hoarsely, indicat- 
 ing the hollow. 
 
 The man guffawed. "Better not ask questions, 
 miss. This is a nasty job, and you'd better clear out." 
 
 He looked aside just then, and she followed his 
 glance. In a comer of the shed she saw a heap vaguely
 
 198 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 resembling a human form. Her feet seemed to drag 
 her forward in spite of her horror, and she lifted the 
 blanket that covered the figure. Then she stood rigid, 
 her tightly drawn lips stifling the cry that rose in her 
 throat. At once she recognized the features of Miss 
 Neville, the woman whose maniacal laughter had 
 startled her the night she arrived at Azurecrest. The 
 face was white and rigid now, but the wraith of a 
 ghastly smile lingered on her lips. A long, shuddering 
 moan escaped her, and then she sank limply to the 
 floor. 
 
 She had a weird sensation, during the hours that 
 followed, that she was treading on the brink of ob- 
 livion. A merciful mist seemed to obscure everything. 
 She was dimly aware of being carried from the shed 
 and placed on a long, white table. Through the haze 
 that engulfed her she glimpsed the repulsive features 
 of Doctor Tagala. She felt a sting in the arm, and 
 then a sickening substance raced through her veins. 
 For a time she felt as though unseen hands were waft- 
 ing her body through a limitless void. Somewhere — 
 far away, she thought — there was laughter, and she 
 had a curious impression that it was coming from her 
 own lips. 
 
 Dawn came, and a flood of sunlight brightened the 
 void through which she was roaming. The strange 
 and wild fancies that had flitted around her throughout 
 the night seemed to melt away, and now she saw things
 
 DOCTOR TAGALA 199 
 
 more clearly. She was standing at a telephone, arid 
 over the wire came a voice that sounded strangely 
 familiar. Words poured from her lips, but they 
 seemed futile and meaningless, and then an involuntary 
 contraction of laryngeal muscles filled the room with 
 wild strains of laughter. It frightened her, and just 
 then a hand jerked her away. 
 
 "That'll do," said a voice, and she thought it was 
 Slade's. "The Gray Phantom has heard enough."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 CHECKMATED 
 
 AMASS of jagged, elongated clouds hovered 
 like scowling specters over Azurecrest. A 
 raw wind sighed moodily among the birches 
 and hemlocks as The Gray Phantom reached the apex 
 of the hill. Stopping within fifty yards of the high 
 picket fence, he glanced toward the house that once had 
 served him as a retreat and shelter against the activities 
 of the police. The white trimmings of doors and win- 
 dows gleamed faintly in the dusk and here and there 
 a light twinkled through the trees. 
 
 The Phantom turned away and walked a few paces 
 toward the fence. On the trip from the city he had 
 tried to exclude Helen from his mind, for each thought 
 of her was maddening, and he needed a cool brain and 
 a steady nerve if he were to accomplish his purpose. 
 By sheer force of will he had tried to forget the hys- 
 terical laughter he had heard over the wire and which 
 had told him with grim eloquence what had happened 
 to her. To keep disturbing thoughts from his mind, he 
 had outlined several plans of procedure and prepared 
 
 200
 
 CHECKMATED 201 
 
 himself for the difficult and perilous task that awaited 
 him. 
 
 After a brief search over the rugged ground, he 
 stopped at the side of a huge bowlder and cleared away 
 an accumulation of dry twigs, dead branches, and 
 rotting weeds. After the obstruction had been re- 
 moved, an opening barely large enough to permit him 
 to crawl through appeared at the base of the rock. It 
 slanted gently into the ground, then widened into a 
 tunnel in which he was able to walk upright. During 
 his sojourn at Azurecrest it had often occurred to him 
 that an emergency exit might some day prove desirable, 
 and he had built the tunnel in consequence. He had 
 not happened to mention the existence of the passage 
 when he sold the place, and he did not think it likely 
 that the new owner had discovered it. Though he had 
 never had occasion to use it during his occupancy, it 
 now gave him a distinct advantage in that it enabled 
 him to enter the house secretly and by an easy route. 
 
 Reaching the farther end of the tunnel, he fumbled 
 along the wall until he found a spring deftly hidden in 
 a crevice. Evidently the mechanism was still in good 
 working order, for a door swung squeakily on unoiled 
 hinges. He passed inside, touched another spring, and 
 the door swung shut. In another moment he had 
 switched on an electric light. 
 
 The room was narrow and almost square, and there 
 were neither windows nor visible doors. It was sup-
 
 202 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 plied with air through ingeniously hidden ventilators 
 and The Phantom had fitted it up for brief occupancy. 
 Occasionally it had suited his mood to retire to the 
 hidden chamber and read one of his favorite books. 
 
 Throwing off the light overcoat he had been wear- 
 ing, he then examined his automatic and the little 
 pocket case in which he carried a number of carefully 
 selected tools that had stood him in good stead in 
 numerous emergencies. Despite the advantages af- 
 forded him by the tunnel and the secret room, he would 
 be surrounded by dangers at every step. He had no 
 doubt Mr. Shei's henchmen would kill him on sight, 
 and he could not afford to toss his life away recklessly 
 while Helen was in danger. 
 
 He glanced at his watch. It was only a little after 
 ten, and sounds reaching him through the ventilator 
 shaft warned him that the occupants of the house were 
 still about. As soon as the house had quieted down a 
 little, he would try the first plan on his programme. If 
 that failed, he was holding two or three others in 
 reserve. 
 
 For half an hour he waited, then a sliding panel 
 opened at his touch on a spring, and he ascended a nar- 
 row spiral stairway that terminated in what appeared 
 to be a blank wall. His hand touched a lever, and The 
 Phantom passed through an aperture that instantly 
 closed behind him. He was standing in a dark room in 
 a seldom frequented part of the house. He advanced
 
 CHECKMATED 203 
 
 a few steps, then stood still, listening. Someone was 
 laughing, and in the darkness the sounds impressed him 
 even more forcibly than they had in the light of day. 
 He walked on, trying desperately to exclude the agon- 
 izing accents from his ears. Hurriedly he opened a 
 door, then as quickly drew it to again. Someone was 
 passing in the hall outside. 
 
 He waited till the footsteps moved away, then looked 
 warily out. A tall figure, walking with a brisk, swing- 
 ing gait, was turning into one of the rooms farther 
 down the corridor. As soon as the door had closed 
 behind him. The Phantom followed on tiptoe. Noticing 
 that the hall was deserted, he bent his ear to the key- 
 hole. Two voices, one of them speaking with a distinct 
 foreign accent, were talking in tones signifying that 
 they had reason to be well pleased with themselves. 
 They were discussing the progress of Mr. Shei's ad- 
 venture and congratulating themselves on the prospect 
 of becoming immensely rich within a few days. 
 
 The Phantom, listening intently, was learning sev- 
 eral facts of interest. The two speakers were address- 
 ing each other as Doctor Tagala and Mr. Slade, and 
 he gathered from divers remarks that the latter was in 
 charge of affairs at Azurecrest while Mr. Shei was 
 watching developments in New York. Doctor Tagala 
 seemed to be the scientist who had discovered the 
 poison that was the chief factor in Mr. Shei's scheme. 
 
 Having absorbed a great deal of useful information.
 
 204 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 The Phantom raised his head from the keyhole. Then, 
 he flexed his muscles and drew the automatic from his 
 pocket. Here was his opportunity for putting his first 
 plan to the test. It was cruder than the alternative 
 ones, but it might also prove vastly more effective. His 
 hand closed around the knob. With automatic in one 
 hand he softly pushed the door open, entering so 
 silently that for several moments neither of the two 
 men in the room was aware of the intrusion. 
 
 He gazed for an instant at the singularly repulsive 
 face of the man addressed as Doctor Tagala, then gave 
 his companion a fleeting glance of inspection, noticing 
 that Slade had the strong jaw and aggressiveness of 
 manners that usually go with a domineering person- 
 ality. Only the eyes, shifty and unmagnetic, gave him 
 a suspicion that there was a weak strain in the man's 
 moral fiber. Smiling affably, with every nerve in his 
 body atingle, he advanced to the table. 
 
 "Good-evening, gentlemen," he said softly. 
 
 With a hoarse cry Slade sprang from his chair, but 
 Doctor Tagala gave the intruder only a cold, imper- 
 sonal glance. 
 
 "Sit down, Slade," ordered The Phantom, "and both 
 of you keep your hands on the table." He made a sig- 
 nificant gesture with the automatic. 
 
 Slade stared and looked as if not quite certain that 
 his eyes were to be trusted. 
 
 "How the devil did you get in?" he exclaimed ex-
 
 CHECKMATED 205 
 
 plosively. He tried hard to get a grip on himself, but 
 the twitching of the lines around his mouth showed 
 that he was ill at ease. "But then," he added, steady- 
 ing his voice with an effort, "I suppose anything is 
 possible for The Gray Phantom." 
 
 "Ah, so you are The Gray Phantom." Doctor 
 Tagala seemed mildly impressed. 'T have heard a 
 great deal of you, and I have felt some curiosity in 
 regard to you. I must confess to a great disappoint- 
 ment, however. I did not think a man of your genius 
 would descend to such crude methods. Of you I had 
 expected subtlety and finesse. Bah !" 
 
 Slade was rapidly regaining his self-control, but he 
 kept his hands obediently on the table. From time to 
 time he cast an uneas} glance into the muzzle of The 
 Phantom's pistol. 
 
 'T can't imagine how you got in," he admitted. 
 **How you got past the picket fence, the dogs, and the 
 watchmen is too much for me. But, now that you are 
 here, what do you intend to do? I suppose it has 
 something to do with Miss Hardwick?" 
 
 ''Precisely, Slade." 
 
 The other sneered. "Don't you realize that there's 
 nothing you can do? What you heard over the tele- 
 phone wire should have warned you to keep hands off. 
 Miss Hardwick's life is absolutely in our power." 
 
 "For the present, yes ; but I think the situation will 
 soon be reversed."
 
 206 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 "How?" 
 
 The Phantom's lids contracted and his eyes held a 
 steely glitter as he looked down at the man in the chair. 
 Then he cast a quick glance over his shoulder. At 
 any moment someone was apt to enter and deprive him 
 of his advantage. 
 
 'T intend to fight the devil with fire," he announced. 
 "In other words, I am going to fight your Mr. Shei 
 with his own weapons. Mr. Shei works through 
 fear. He hopes to induce his seven victims to 
 surrender half of their fortunes to him by putting the 
 fear of death into them. Now, it's a poor rule that 
 doesn't work both ways." 
 
 "Suppose you come to the point," suggested Slade 
 sneeringly. 
 
 "Very well. I understand that you, Slade, are in 
 charge here during Mr. Shei's absence. I want you 
 to do two things at once. One of them is to release 
 Miss Hardwick immediately; the other, to have the 
 antidote administered to her." 
 
 Slade's eyes left the automatic and gave The Phan- 
 tom an insolent glance. "A bit dictatorial, aren't you ? 
 Has it occurred to you that I might refuse?" 
 
 "Certainly." The Phantom smiled, but his eyes 
 were hard as steel. "Mr. Shei has probably considered 
 the possibility that his seven victims may refuse to 
 accept his terms, but he feels fairly sure that in the end 
 they will submit. His whole scheme is based on the
 
 CHECKMATED 207 
 
 idea that a man will do almost anything to escape death. 
 So will you, Slade ; especially when I convince you that 
 you will never leave this room alive unless you do as 
 I say." 
 
 Slade shifted uneasily in his chair. A tinge of gray 
 was slowly creeping into his face. 
 
 "Make no mistake, Slade," The Phantom went on. 
 "It's true there are no bloodstains on my hands, but 
 this time I am gambling for higher stakes than ever 
 before in my life. I could kill you without the slightest 
 scruple." 
 
 His eyes, as he looked down at the other man, were 
 keen as rapiers. He spoke each word with an emphasis 
 that spelled terrible earnestness. Slade winced and 
 writhed beneath his lowering gaze. 
 
 "What — what do you want me to do?" he stam- 
 mered. 
 
 The Phantom felt a thrill as he saw that the other 
 was yielding. He had judged him correctly at first 
 glance. Slade, despite his swaggers and blustering, 
 was at heart a coward. 
 
 "In the first place, you are to instruct Doctor Tagala 
 to administer the antidote to Miss Hardwick immedi- 
 ately. I will give you exactly sixty seconds. If you 
 have not obeyed by that time, you will be a dead man." 
 
 To emphasize the threat. The Phantom took out his 
 watch. Slade turned a quavering glance on the
 
 208 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 scientist. He opened his lips to speak, but Doctor 
 Tagala anticipated him. 
 
 "I disHke to interrupt such a dramatic scene," he 
 declared in drawling tones edged with a faint trace of 
 sarcasm, "but it has proceeded far enough. You see, 
 my dear Gray Phantom, that even if Mr. Slade should 
 give me such absurd instructions as you request, I 
 would refuse to comply with them. Furthermore, in 
 order to save you needless waste of energy, let me in- 
 form you that the antidote is concealed in a place where 
 I alone know where to find it. We are protected 
 against every conceivable emergency." 
 
 The Phantom felt a presentment of defeat, but his 
 face, tense and threatening, showed not the slightest 
 sign of it. With a quick movement he turned the 
 pistol from Slade and pointed the muzzle straight at 
 Doctor Tagala's head. 
 
 "All right, doctor," he said crisply, "in that case let 
 me warn you that I could kill you with just as little 
 scruple as I could Slade." 
 
 But the scientist only folded his arms and smiled. 
 A look of patient amusement crossed his swarthy and 
 evil face. 
 
 "That is an excellent example of what you Ameri- 
 cans call bluff," he drawled. "You can't frighten me, 
 for I know you have not the slightest intention to kill 
 me. If you take my life, the antidote will never be 
 found, and then the charming young lady will die. Mr.
 
 CHECKMATED 209 
 
 Shei anticipated just such a situation as this when he 
 made me the sole custodian of the antidote." 
 
 A trace of disappointment passed over The Phan- 
 tom's face; a sense of bafflement took hold of him as 
 he realized that, thanks to Mr. Shei's ingenious pre- 
 cautions, his first plan had failed disastrously. Still 
 pointing the pistol, he backed slowly toward the door. 
 
 "Mr. Shei wins this time," he frankly acknowledged, 
 "but he will lose in the end. The Gray Phantom was 
 never beaten yet. I wish you good-night, gentlemen." 
 
 With that he was out of the door and running 
 swiftly down the hall. With a cry of rage Slade sprang 
 from the chair and started in pursuit, blowing a pocket 
 whistle as he ran. Men appeared from every direction, 
 and Slade shouted orders that the house and grounds 
 be thoroughly searched at once. The men scattered, 
 and in a few moments the search was on. 
 
 But The Gray Phantom, safe in his hidden chamber, 
 was already at work on the details of his next move.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 DOCTOR TAGALA'S DISCOVERY 
 
 A GLANCE at his watch as he entered the 
 secret room showed The Phantom that day- 
 break was not far away. In a little while it 
 would be highly unsafe for him to walk about the 
 house; besides, the execution of his next move de- 
 pended for its success on darkness and quiet. To 
 jeopardize his project by a reckless move would be the 
 height of folly and might result in disastrous conse- 
 quences. Much as his fears and anxiety urged him to 
 immediate action, The Phantom decided to wait till the 
 following night. 
 
 He lay down on the cot and slept by snatches. Now 
 and then, as a faint but terrifying sound came down 
 the ventilator shaft, he awoke with a start. Peals of 
 unnatural laughter, sounding remotely in the darkness 
 of the hidden chamber, started a cold sweat on his 
 forehead. By sheer physical force he would shut out 
 the sounds, knowing that for the present he could do 
 nothing, but the mutterings that fell from his lips and 
 
 2IO
 
 DOCTOR TAG ALA'S DISCOVERY 211 
 
 the convulsive clenching of his hands boded no good 
 for Mr. Shei and his followers. 
 
 Morning came, and he tried to fix his mind on his 
 forthcoming move. A grim look came into his face as 
 he contemplated the step he was about to take. Or- 
 dinarily he would have shrunk from it in disgust, for 
 it was an expedient he had never employed in the past. 
 Now, however, with the life of Helen Hardwick in 
 danger, he must employ whatever means might prove 
 effective. It was no time for niceties or scruples. 
 Besides, there was no reason why he should be 
 restrained by ethical considerations when dealing with 
 blackguards like Mr. Shei and his retainers. 
 
 The hours dragged. A troubled look on his face, 
 The Phantom paced the floor of the narrow chamber. 
 His plans for the night were complete except for one 
 detail. Cudgel his brain as he might, there was one 
 small but important matter that continued to puzzle 
 him. Evening came, and the solution of the difficulty 
 still eluded him. He was a little faint from hunger, 
 for he had not eaten for twenty-four hours, and he 
 wondered if his brain would not work better after a 
 visit to the pantry. In a little while the house would 
 quiet down for the night, and then he could safely leave 
 his hiding place. 
 
 At last he was ready for action. He gave his auto- 
 matic a careful inspection. Into his pocket he put a 
 coil of thin but strong rope which he had unearthed
 
 ai2 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 from an old chest. Then he turned off the light and 
 ascended the spiral stairway. After listening in vain 
 for sounds, he tiptoed out in the hallway, then down 
 the main stairway. The entire house seemed immersed 
 in sleep, and even the strained laughter had stopped 
 for a time. Evidently the occupants of the house, 
 never guessing that he was hiding in their very midst, 
 supposed that The Gray Phantom had left Azurecrest. 
 
 He felt more alert after gratifying his hunger in the 
 well-stocked pantry. By the back stairway he returned 
 to the second floor. Silent as a shadow he walked 
 down the hall, pausing briefly before every door and 
 listening. It was important that he should locate Doc- 
 tor Tagala's room, for his whole plan revolved around 
 the scientist. Also, he was anxious to take the doctor 
 completely by surprise. 
 
 At one of the doors he stopped longer than before 
 the others. A faint reek of chemicals filtered through 
 the keyhole, and in a vague sense the odor suggested 
 Doctor Tagala's nearness. Neither light nor sound 
 came through the tiny opening, so evidently there was 
 no one in the room. The door was locked, but a simple 
 operation with one of the tools in his case opened it 
 readily, and he stepped inside. 
 
 He peered sharply into the darkness before he 
 thought it safe to snap on his electric flash light. As 
 the small point of light played over floor and walls, he 
 knew at once that the room was a chemical laboratory.
 
 DOCTOR TAGALA'S DISCOVERY 213 
 
 Chemistry had always held a strong fascination for 
 him, and his knowledge of the science was far more 
 comprehensive than the average layman's. Something 
 prompted him to glance twice at the long rows of 
 bottles stacked on shelves around the room. Stepping 
 closer, he read some of the labels, and suddenly he gave 
 a faint chuckle of elation. The problem that had 
 puzzled him all day was at last solved. From its place 
 on the shelf he took a small bottle containing a color- 
 less fluid, and slipped it into his pocket. The chemical 
 was a very ordinary one, but he expected it to serve a 
 highly useful purpose. 
 
 Again he darted the electric gleam over the room. 
 At one side was a door, and as he bent his ear to the 
 keyhole he heard sounds of deep and regular breathing. 
 Something told him that the sleeper was Doctor 
 Tagala, for it seemed only logical that the scientist 
 should occupy the room adjoining the laboratory. 
 Quickly extinguishing his flash light, he turned the 
 knob and noiselessly pushed the door open, then 
 stepped softly in the direction whence the sounds of 
 breathing came. Once more he brought his flash light 
 into play, but only to assure himself by a swift glance 
 that the sleeper was Tagala. 
 
 A faint, triumphant grin curled his lips, and then the 
 flash disappeared in his pocket. For a moment, stand- 
 ing in utter darkness, he tensed his muscles for action. 
 In an instant he pressed his knee firmly against the
 
 214 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 sleeper's chest and wound his fingers tightly around 
 Tagala's throat. A harsh rumble sounded in the doc- 
 tor's windpipe, but the firm clutch over his Adam's 
 apple prevented an outcry. He writhed, squirmed, 
 doubled up his knees, and attempted to fight with his 
 arms, but The Phantom gradually increased the pres- 
 sure on his throat, and his struggle grew feebler and 
 feebler. Finally, when he was nearly exhausted, The 
 Phantom took out a cloth with which he had provided 
 himself before leaving the secret room, and applied it 
 as a gag. The doctor made only a feeble show of 
 resistance while his arms and legs were bound, and 
 finally The Phantom took the limp form on his back 
 and started from the room. 
 
 Every inch of the way was beset with perils. A 
 board creaking under the double weight of captor and 
 captive might bring on a sudden attack, or one of the 
 occupants of the house might be encountered in the 
 hall. But luck was wnth The Phantom, and in a short 
 time he had placed his burden on the cot in the hidden 
 chamber. Panting from the strenuous exercise, he 
 removed the gag from his prisoner's mouth, then 
 switched on the light. 
 
 The doctor, breathing stertorously, his face almost 
 black from tlie recent choking, wriggled his arms and 
 legs in a futile effort to free himself. Seeing it was 
 hopeless, he subsided and looked dazedly about him. 
 His eyes opened wide as he saw The Phantom.
 
 DOCIOR TAG.\LA'S DISCOVERY 215 
 
 "You — again !" he exclaimed. 
 
 The Phantom smiled at sight of his stupefaction. 
 
 "You didn't suppose I would give up so easily; did 
 you, doctor? You don't seem particularly pleased to 
 see me. No doubt you thought I left Azurecrest after 
 the fizzle last night. I suppose you are wondering 
 where you are. It is enough for you to know that you 
 will never leave this room until we have had an under- 
 standing, and that for the present you may regard 
 yourself as my prisoner. Your confederates will never 
 find you, and you may as well reconcile yourself to 
 the fact that they are unable to help you." 
 
 Tagala, gradually recovering breath and wits, looked 
 balefuUy at The Phantom. 
 
 "You — you will suffer for this !" he muttered 
 thickly. Again he strained at the cords around his 
 ankles and wrists, but he soon saw that it was useless. 
 "We know how to deal with meddlers." 
 
 The Phantom smiled complacently. As yet it had 
 not occurred to his prisoner to cry for help, and The 
 Phantom had no fear of the result if he should do so. 
 Though Slade and the others were not far away, they 
 were as harmless as if they did not exist Save for the 
 ventilating shaft, the room was practically soundproof^ 
 and the exits were so completely hidden that they 
 would never be able to locate the chamber. 
 
 "We shall see," was his calm response. "Mr. Shei 
 appears to be a very shrewd man, but even he has his
 
 216 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 limitations. The infirmities of age are beginning to 
 show a marked effect on his strategy. He is too old 
 for this sort of thing." 
 
 "So,", said the scientist in queer tones, "you think 
 you know him?" 
 
 The Phantom nodded. "I had an encounter with him 
 some years ago, and he proved to me then that he had 
 extraordinary astuteness. As a matter of fact, he was 
 a little too much for me. The other day I ran into him 
 by accident, and we had quite a pleasant little chat." 
 
 Tagala lay motionless on the cot while his eyes, 
 slowly recovering their customary brilliance, searched 
 The Phantom's face. 
 
 "The police are laboring under the delusion that you 
 are Mr. Shei," he dryly observed. 
 
 "Oh, well, the police are not particularly bright at 
 times." The Phantom shrugged. "Now, doctor, you 
 and I are going to have a very serious talk. I was out- 
 maneuvered last night, but this is my round. I shall 
 convince you by a very simple method that it will be 
 wise for you to place the antidote in my hands." 
 
 Despite his humiliation and physical discomfort, the 
 doctor gave a contemptuous laugh. 
 
 "Fool !" he snorted. "Every move you make is fore-'i 
 doomed to failure. We have provided against every 
 possible emergency. Our plan is already a certain suc- 
 cess. Only this afternoon Mr. Shei telephones me 
 from New York that everything is going well. A j
 
 DOCTOR TAGALA'S DISCOVERY 217 
 
 group of the most celebrated physicians in America 
 have held several consultations without practical 
 results. They are utterly at a loss to diagnose the 
 disease or to prescribe even a palliative. Poor idiots! 
 It took me years to perfect the toxin, and they have 
 only a few days in which to combat its effects. On the 
 seventh day after the inoculation, the seven subjects 
 will be doomed unless the antidote is administered in 
 the meantime. After the seventh day it will be too 
 late. Mr. Shei told me that two of the subjects are 
 already in a mood to discuss terms. Perhaps by to- 
 morrow they will place half of their fortunes at Mr. 
 Shei's feet." 
 
 "You seem very confident of success," observed The 
 Phantom. 
 
 "Our success is already assured. In a few days I 
 shall be wealthier than I ever before dreamed of being. 
 Some people scoff at money, but it is an excellent thing 
 for all that. All my life, while pursuing my scientific 
 investigations, I have had my eye on what you Ameri- 
 cans call the main chance. I never dreamed that I 
 should realize my hopes through an accidental dis- 
 covery. Ever hear of the datura plant?" 
 
 The Phantom shook his head. 
 
 'Tt grows in great profusion in my native soil, the 
 Malay States, but it can be transplanted or produced 
 almost anywhere. It is an odd plant, from four to 
 six feet high, with wide-spreading branches and black
 
 218 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 flowers that are shaped like trumpets. Children have 
 been known to die after eating the seeds, which are 
 very poisonous. A few years ago, after an extensive 
 tour in Europe, I returned to my native land and was 
 called upon to treat a child who had eaten a great 
 quantity of the seeds. It was then I made the dis- 
 covery that shall make me a wealthy man in a few- 
 days. It was a mere accident, but isn't our whole life a 
 series of accidents?" 
 
 He smiled philosophically, for he had quite recovered 
 from the effects of his recent humiliation. 
 
 "If you will permit me to explain a little further," 
 he went on, "I think you will understand how in- 
 vincible we are and how foolish it is for you to oppose 
 us. The poisonous property of the datura plant is 
 known as daturin. It is a very curious drug. Its 
 active principle is a mixture of a kind of atropine and 
 hyoscyamine, but the true nature of the component 
 alkaloids has never been fully determined. It is one 
 of the mysteries of nature. Among the symptoms of 
 datura poisoning are hoarseness, dryness of the mouth, 
 dilation of the pupils, disturbed heart action, bad mem- 
 ory, and a curious vocal affection that produces invol- 
 untary laughter. No chemical antidote had been either 
 known or suggested until I made my accidental dis- 
 covery. It has suited my purpose to keep that discov- 
 ery to myself."
 
 DOCTOR TAGALA'S DISCOVERY 219 
 
 There was an elated smirk on his face, and The 
 Phantom turned away in disgust. 
 
 "I came to America," continued the doctor in oily 
 tones, "and by mere chance made the acquaintance of 
 our remarkable Mr. Shei. I shall not weary you by 
 reciting all the details. I happened to mention my dis- 
 covery to Mr. Shei, and his brilliant mind immediately 
 conceived the idea of putting it to a highly profitable 
 use. Like all great things, his plan was simplicity 
 itself. His theory was based on the fact, so aptly 
 stated by yourself last night, that the average run of 
 mortals can be most effectively controlled through the 
 factor of fear. He suggested that if a deadly malady 
 were communicated to a number of wealthy men, they 
 could easily be persuaded to pay almost any price for 
 a sure antidote, especially if the antidote were the 
 exclusive property of an individual or an organization. 
 
 "That was the beginning of the idea. It required 
 quite a little elaboration. The chief factors in the 
 plan were the poison and the antidote. The antidote 
 was in readiness, but the poison had to be so adjusted 
 that it would produce death within a specified time 
 unless the antidote were administered meanwhile. If 
 the plan was to succeed, we must be in a position to tell 
 the subjects that they would die within a certain num- 
 ber of days unless they paid our price for the antidote. 
 You probably know, since you appear to be an educated 
 man, that the ancient Chinese knew how to adjust.
 
 220 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 poisons so as to produce death within a certain time. 
 All my life I have been making special studies along 
 that line, and my discoveries proved very valuable in 
 connection with Mr. Shei's project. Yet, for a long 
 time, I was unable to adjust the poison with sufficient 
 accuracy. With Mr. Shei's assistance I fitted up a 
 laboratory here and began making additional re- 
 searches. It was necessary to have human subjects for 
 the experiments, and Mr. Shei furnished me several. 
 Two or three, who were inoculated in the early stages 
 of the work, failed to react properly to the antidote, 
 and one or two of them were unfortunate enough to 
 die." 
 
 "You murdered them, in plain words," suggested 
 The Phantom curtly. 
 
 "Harsh word, my dear Gray Phantom. As a whole, 
 the experiments were highly successful. I discovered 
 how to adjust the poison so as to produce death within 
 a specified time. We were now ready to go ahead with 
 the plan. Mr. Shei selected the victims, and I showed 
 a number of his most trusted men how the poison was 
 to be injected. Each of these, with an assistant, was 
 assigned to one of the seven victims chosen by Mr. 
 Shei, and the whole number of inoculations were suc- 
 cessfully accomplished the other night. In a few 
 days " 
 
 "What about Miss Darrow?" inquired The Phantom 
 brusquely. "What did you gain by murdering her?"
 
 DOCTOR TAGALA'S DISCOVERY 221 
 
 "Really, I wish you would drop that unpleasant 
 word from your vocabulary. Miss Darrow had been 
 unfortunate enough to learn certain facts which were 
 detrimental to Mr. Shei. She had been watched con- 
 stantly, and she was followed to the Thelma that night. 
 Her actions were peculiar, and Mr. Shei's agents sus- 
 pected she was on the point of making embarrassing 
 revelations. I was in New York at the time and 
 happened to be within reach, so the agents communi- 
 cated with me. I arrived just in time to prevent 
 unpleasant consequences. In another moment she 
 might have made some very damaging disclosures. In 
 fact, she had already sent a peculiarly worded note to 
 that remarkable person whose name eludes me." 
 
 "Vincent Starr?" suggested The Phantom. 
 
 "Precisely. Mr. Starr is one of your highly tempera- 
 mental geniuses. Just how much Miss Darrow had 
 learned will never be known, but I thought it advisable 
 to act promptly. The amount of poison I injected into 
 her veins was carefully calculated to produce death 
 within a few minutes." 
 
 The Phantom mastered his sense of loathing. What 
 he was learning might prove highly useful later on. 
 
 "Wouldn't a knife thrust have been quicker and 
 safer?" he suggested. "Even in the few minutes be- 
 tween the inoculation of the poison and Miss Darrow's 
 death she might have blurted out all she knew." 
 
 "There was slight danger of that. The poison
 
 222 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 always blunts one's mental faculties, especially when 
 given in such a large dose. It was very unlikely tliat 
 Miss Darrow would speak coherently in the brief inter- 
 val while the poison acted. A quick thrust with a knife 
 would perhaps have been safer, but we needed the 
 moral effect." 
 
 '^The—whatr 
 
 The satisfied gleam in the doctor's eyes testified that 
 he was quite at ease once more, despite the cords that 
 incapacitated him for action. 
 
 "Yes, the moral effect was valuable. You see, the 
 seven victims selected by Mr. Shei had to be impressed 
 with the deadliness of the poison. Unless they were 
 thoroughly convinced that the poison would kill, they 
 might not have been amenable to reason. Miss Dar- 
 row's death, coming just a day or two before the seven 
 were inoculated, was a valuable object lesson." 
 
 An oily smile creased the scientist's swarthy fea- 
 tures. Once more, despite his uncomfortable position, 
 he seemed hugely content. 
 
 "No doubt," admitted The Phantom ironically. "Mr. 
 Shei doesn't seem to have overlooked anything. What 
 I can't understand is why you, a man of scientific 
 attainments, should consent to do the bidding of such 
 a blackguard." 
 
 "Wealth is a very excellent thing," said Tagala 
 musingly. "It is even more desirable than fame. Mr.
 
 DOCTOR TAGALA'S DISCOVERY 223 
 
 Shei has put me in the way of acquiring a great for- 
 tune, so why should I not serve him ?" 
 
 "And what are you going to do with the money after 
 you have acquired it by such vile methods, granting 
 that your scheme succeeds ?" 
 
 "Enjoy life, my friend." The doctor's repulsive 
 features were wreathed in smiles. *T have a great 
 capacity for appreciating the beautiful things in life. 
 Nature works by contrasts. She treated me very shab- 
 bily as far as physical characteristics are concerned, 
 but by way of compensation she gave me a taste for the 
 only things that really matter. I intend to surround 
 myself with luxuries that an Indian maharajah might 
 envy. I intend to feast my eyes on the costliest and 
 the best the world can produce. Now perhaps you 
 understand ?" 
 
 The Phantom nodded. Inwardly he tingled and 
 glowed, but his face showed nothing but boredom and 
 disgust. The insight he had just obtained into Tagala's 
 character would have an important bearing on his 
 plan. 
 
 "And now that we understand each other," the doc- 
 tor continued, "let us terminate this rather dreary 
 farce. This little room is pleasant enough, but I never 
 sleep well in strange places, and these cords are not 
 inducive to repose." 
 
 "You will be free to go wherever you please as soon
 
 224 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 as we have settled the httle matter I mentioned a 
 moment ago." 
 
 *'Ah! Then you persist in your foolish determina- 
 tion. Your experience last night should have convinced 
 you of the futility of your efforts, but I see you are as 
 stubborn as ever." 
 
 "More so," The Phantom assured him. *T have dis- 
 covered a new weapon since last night. Before you 
 leave this room, you will have told me where the anti- 
 dote is hidden." 
 
 Tagala grinned insolently. He tilted his head back 
 against the pillow and complacently regarded The 
 Phantom. 
 
 "You are very amusing," he murmured. "I thought 
 that " 
 
 He stopped and looked toward a corner of the ceil- 
 ing. The Phantom followed his glance, and his figure 
 tensed perceptibly. From somewhere above their heads 
 came strains of soft, lilting laughter, edged now and 
 then with a hysterical vibration. A pallor began to 
 rspread over The Phantom's face. 
 
 f "There, my dear Gray Phantom," said the doctor 
 elatedly, "is your answer." 
 
 The Phantom clenched his fingers spasmodically. 
 His face was hard and his eyes held a strange gleam. 
 
 "You are mistaken, doctor." He clipped off the 
 words with sinister precision. "Until a moment ago 
 I had silly scruples about employing my latest weapon.
 
 DOCTOR TAGALA'S DISCOVERY 225 
 
 After hearing that," and he inclined his head toward 
 the corner of the ceiHng, "I have concluded that any 
 methods are fair when dealing with scoundrels of your 
 type." 
 
 "That is obviously true," assented Tagala cheer- 
 fully. "The only difficulty is that any methods you 
 employ are certain to prove ineffective. Please don't 
 make any more threats against my life. I should 
 laugh, and that would be impolite." 
 
 The Phantom came a step nearer the cot. "No," he 
 said grimly, "I have no intention of doing anything so 
 futile. I have the best reason in the world for not 
 wanting you to die just yet. Also, I have discovered 
 a much more effective way of dealing with you." 
 
 An odd emphasis in his tones seemed to impress the 
 doctor. A flicker of uneasiness crossed his face, but it 
 was gone in a moment. 
 
 "Ah !" he murmured derisively. "I might have fore- 
 seen it. You mean to force me to surrender the anti- 
 dote by torturing me. It is an improvement on your 
 previous method, but it will prove just as useless. Tor- 
 ture is unpleasant but I can endure any amount of it." 
 
 "Mistaken again, doctor. Torture is a little too 
 crude, and I am not sure you are the type of man that 
 could be influenced by It. The plan I have in mind is 
 subtler and surer. You told me a moment ago that 
 your highest aim in life is the enjoyment of beautiful 
 things and the pursuit of pleasure."
 
 226 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 "I told you the truth." This time there was a trace 
 of bewilderment in Tagala's tones. 
 
 From his pocket The Phantom drew the bottle he 
 had taken from the laboratory. He studied the label 
 with a preoccupied air, then held it so the man on the 
 cot could read the inscription. Tagala's eye narrowed 
 in perplexity. 
 
 "I have been told," said The Phantom casually, 
 "that a single drop of this fluid, when injected into the 
 eye, is sufficient to cause blindness." 
 
 The doctor's hands and feet strained spasmodically 
 against the cords. A quick muscular contraction told 
 that The Phantom had found his sensitive spot. 
 
 "Blind men are not particularly appreciative of the 
 luxuries and pleasures you so vividly described a while 
 ago," The Phantom went on. His voice was soft, but 
 there was a faint throb to his tones. "What good will 
 it do a man to accumulate costly and beautiful things 
 if he can't see them ?" 
 
 A grayish tinge crept into Tagala's face. His eyes, 
 with a look of horror lurking in their depths, were 
 fixed rigidly on The Phantom's face. , 
 
 The Phantom held the bottle to the light. A faint 
 but ominous smile was playing about his lips. 
 
 "Just a drop of colorless liquid!" he murmured. 
 "But what a different complexion it would put on your 
 prospects, Tagala ! All the money you hope to get 
 through Mr. Shei would be only so much rubbish. All
 
 DOCTOR TAGALA'S DISCOVERY 227 
 
 the wealth in the world couldn't relieve your misery. 
 Don't you think you had better reconsider ?" 
 
 The scientist's lips fluttered, but no words came. A 
 look of abhorrence accentuated the repulsiveness of his 
 face. 
 
 With a quick movement The Phantom stepped 
 toward the cot. The doctor wiggled and squirmed, but 
 was unable to move. 
 
 "Perhaps, just to convince you that I am in earnest, 
 I had better begin by blinding the left eye now," The 
 Phantom went on, bending slightly over the trembling 
 man. Witli two fingers of one hand he pressed back 
 the lids of the doctor's left eye while holding the bottle 
 in the other. The scientist rolled from side to side, but 
 the firm pressure of The Phantom's knee against his 
 chest checked his efforts. Finally, as The Phantom 
 was tilting the little bottle against the exposed eye, a 
 great sigh of horror broke from the doctor's lips. 
 
 "Stop !" he cried, almost overcome by terror. "You 
 have won. I will do anything you demand. Only don't 
 blind me!"
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 THE FIGURE ON THE STAIRS 
 
 THE PHANTOM could scarcely hold back a 
 cry of exultation as he saw the abject fear 
 written in Doctor Tagala's face. Knowing 
 how ingeniously Mr. Shei had laid his plans and 
 guarded against every imaginable emergency, he had 
 not been altogether certain that his artful contrivance 
 would succeed. But the scientist's acute distress was 
 ample proof that Mr. Shei had been outmaneuvered 
 and that The Gray Phantom was master of the situa- 
 tion. 
 
 "It appears Mr. Shei has overlooked something, 
 after all," observed The Phantom in tones that ex- 
 pressed his elation. "Now, doctor, let me warn you 
 that evasions and trickery will only aggravate your 
 position. Where is the antidote ?" 
 
 Tagala seemed to be making an efifort to gather his 
 scattered thoughts. "If I tell you, will you release me 
 at once ?" he asked shakily, 
 
 "All I promise is to spare your eyesight," declared 
 The Phantom, still holding the little bottle in danger- 
 
 228
 
 THE FIGURE ON THE STAIRS 229 
 
 ous proximity to the scientist's terror-filled eyes. "You 
 will have to be content with that, and I am really let- 
 ting you off very easily. Now answer my question." 
 
 The doctor glanced at the bottle, gave an involuntary 
 shudder, and seemed to be trying hard to think clearly. 
 
 "The antidote," he finally managed to say, "is hidden 
 In the wall of my bedroom, exactly one foot from the 
 window and directly above the head of the bed. The 
 wall is apparently solid, but if you will carefully run 
 your hand over the space I have indicated, you will find 
 a slight protuberance. A light pressure on it will release 
 a hidden panel, and inside you will find a number of 
 small bottles, each one containing a full course of treat- 
 ment. You will find complete directions on the label." 
 
 The Phantom searched his face, but found no signs 
 of guile. "I hope, for your sake, that you have told the 
 truth," he said sharply. "I shall be back as soon as I 
 have verified your statement." 
 
 He examined the cords around the doctor's feet and 
 hands and saw that they were securely tied. Then he 
 stepped out of the little chamber, carefully closing the 
 sliding door before he ran up the stairs. Even now 
 he could scarcely realize that his stratagem had suc- 
 ceeded. There were still dangers and obstacles in the 
 way, but somehow he would win out. He would take 
 as many bottles as his pockets could hold, then he 
 would find Helen, and they could easily make their 
 escape through the tunnel. His imagination pictured
 
 230 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 Mr. Shei's discomfiture when he should learn that this 
 stupendous scheme had failed. 
 
 The Phantom drew his revolver before stepping out 
 in the hall. The slightest slip or a chance encounter 
 might easily reverse the situation and turn the tables 
 against him. His feet glided soundlessly over the floor 
 till he came to the laboratory. A quick glance up and 
 down the corridor assured him that so far he was safe. 
 He opened the door and entered the bedroom at the 
 side of the laboratory. Now he took out his electric 
 flash, placed his automatic within easy reach on the bed, 
 then gingerly ran his fingers over the area specified by 
 Doctor Tagala. 
 
 In a short time he had found the slight protuberance 
 mentioned by the doctor, but he hesitated for several 
 moments before pressing it. First he carefully ex- 
 amined the surrounding space, looking everywhere for 
 hidden wires. Even when controlled bv terror, the 
 wily scientist was not to be trusted, and The Phantom 
 had no intention of walking blindly into a trap. His 
 search satisfied him, however, and finally he placed a 
 finger on the tiny projection and pressed inward. Al- 
 most instantly a narrow portion of the wall opened. 
 Within, arranged in an orderly row on a shelf, stood a 
 number of small bottles. 
 
 He drew a long breath of intense relief. Before him 
 was visible proof that he had frightened the truth out 
 of the scientist. His head swam a little as he contem-
 
 THE FIGURE ON THE STAIRS 231 
 
 plated his success. Each one of the bottles would have 
 netted Mr. Shei a fortune if the audacious plan had 
 succeeded. What seemed more wonderful still, one of 
 them would save the life of Helen Hardwick. The 
 Phantom's hand trembled excitedly as he reached out 
 and clutched one of the bottles. 
 
 In the next instant his hand darted back. Some- 
 1 thing was wrong, for the bottle was immovable, as if 
 clamped down with rivets, and a hideous suspicion 
 flashed through The Phantom's mind. Simultaneously 
 there came a loud clanging which reverberated 
 throughout the house, confirming his agonizing sus- 
 picion that a gong had been released the moment his 
 hand touched the bottle. He liad blundered into a trap, 
 after all. For an instant he marveled dazedly at the 
 almost uncanny scope of Mr. Shei's precautions. 
 
 Then suddenly alert and tense once more, he put the 
 electric flash light back into his pocket and snatched up 
 his automatic. The clangor of the gong, resounding 
 throughout the entire house, was almost deafening. 
 Overhead doors were slamming and voices shouting 
 excitedly. From the direction of the stairs came a 
 tumultuous clatter, and above the hubbub he caught the 
 insistent tones of Slade's commands. He cast a glance 
 at the window, its outlines delineated by a gray dusk 
 against the darker background. But flight was out of 
 the question, for he could not leave Helen behind him. 
 The Phantom steeled himself for battle. Often in the
 
 232 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 past he had fought against overwhelming odds, and 
 this time something far greater than his life depended 
 on the outcome. 
 
 Every vein tingling, he left the bedroom and crossed 
 the floor of the laboratory. Maintaining a steady grip 
 on his automatic, he pushed the door open and stepped 
 out into the hall. A chorus of shouts greeted his 
 appearance. Men in various stages of attire were run- 
 ning excitedly up and down the corridor, but all 
 stopped at sight of the tall, tense figure standing with 
 his back against the laboratory door. His eyes, hard as 
 steel and swift as speeding arrows, surveyed them nar- 
 rowly with a long, comprehensive sweep. The barrel 
 of his automatic, held in readiness for instant action, 
 glimmered ominously in the dim light shed by a single 
 bulb in the ceiling. 
 
 "The Gray Phantom !" was the hushed whisper that 
 went back and forth in the huddled crowd. A spell 
 seemed to fall over them as they stared at the man of 
 whose amazing exploits they had heard and read, but 
 whom few of them had seen until now. But their 
 inaction lasted only a few moments. Some of the 
 bolder ones were already crowding forward. 
 
 "Stop!" cried The Phantom. The gong had ceased 
 ringing, and his voice rang sharp and clear down the 
 hall. "The first man that moves will get a bullet." 
 
 Momentarily awed by the metallic tones, the crowd 
 fell back. The Phantom's glittering eyes seemed to
 
 THE FIGURE ON THE STAIRS 233 
 
 encompass them all in their sweep, and there was an 
 air of desperate determination about his tense, slightly 
 crouching figure that impressed them strongly. 
 
 The situation was the most critical The Phantom 
 had ever faced, yet he felt a tingle of triumph as he 
 surveyed the huddled throng. Any one of them could 
 have crippled or killed him with a well-aimed shot, but 
 not a hand moved. For the moment, at least, he was 
 holding them in subjection through the sheer strength 
 of his domineering personality and his attitude of utter 
 fearlessness. 
 
 Someone laughed, and The Phantom's eyes turned 
 to Slade, standing on the outer fringe of the crowd. 
 He held a pistol in his hand, but the muzzle was pointed 
 downward. 
 
 "You must be crazy," he said contemptuously. 
 "Can't you see that you are outnumbered eleven to 
 one? 
 
 "I hadn't taken time to count," said The Phantom 
 calmly. In the same instant a crack and a flash of 
 fire came from his automatic. One of the crowd, more 
 intrepid than the others, had ventured forward as he 
 spoke, and now a yell of pain signified that The Phan- 
 tom had aimed straight. 
 
 Slade scowled. On his face was a look of mingled 
 wonder and rage. 
 
 "Mr. Shei's orders are not to kill you unless neces- 
 sary," he explained, "and I have been hoping you
 
 234 IHE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 wouldn't make It necessary. Mr. Shei has the highest 
 admiration for you." 
 
 "Thanks," said The Phantom dryly, and for a mere 
 instant his thoughts went back to the ludicrous figure 
 of Fairspeckle. "It's too bad I can't say that the senti- 
 ment is mutual." 
 
 Slade's scowl deepened. He seemed inclined to in- 
 struct his men to advance, but something evidently 
 restrained him. 
 
 "You ought to know by this time that Mr. Shei Is 
 invincible," he declared impressively. "You are a won- 
 der in some ways, but a fool in others. How you keep 
 slipping in and out of this house is beyond me. Not 
 that it matters, for you have sung your last tune. What 
 have you done to Doctor Tagala?" 
 
 A thin smile hovered about The Phantom's com- 
 pressed lips. 
 
 "I suppose you have kidnaped him," Slade went on, 
 "but we will find him before long. You see, Mr. Shei 
 foresaw even such a possibility as that, and prepared 
 for it. He anticipated that pressure of some sort might 
 be used on Tagala to make him reveal where the anti- 
 dote is hidden, and so he prepared the trap you walked 
 Into a moment ago. The bottles, as you may have 
 guessed by this time, contain only water. The real 
 antidote is elsewhere, and Tagala is the only man who 
 can put his hand on it." 
 
 "So I understand." There was a momentary flicker
 
 THE FIGURE ON THE STAHIS 235 
 
 in The Phantom's eyes which indicated that Slade's 
 words had suggested something of importance to him. 
 "Mr. Shei is amazingly clever — but there is such a 
 thing as being too clever." 
 
 Slade looked as if he sensed a hidden meaning which 
 his mind could not quite grasp. Presently he shrugged 
 and fixed his frosty gaze on The Phantom. 
 
 "I'll give you just one more chance to surrender," 
 he warned. "Throw down your pistol and tell us where 
 Tagala is, and I promise you will not be harmed." 
 
 "Very anxious to learn Tagala's whereabouts — 
 aren't you, Slade ? Without Tagala you can't find the 
 antidote, and without the antidote your beautiful 
 scheme goes to pieces. It would be very awkward for 
 you if you shouldn't be able to deliver the goods when 
 your seven victims have come around to the point 
 where they are willing to pay your price." 
 
 Slade mumbled something under his breath. Again 
 The Phantom's eyes darted over the fringe of sullen 
 faces in the background. He was gambling for Helen's 
 life and his own, and he still held one card in reserve. 
 
 "Tagala seems to be the key to the whole situation," 
 he went on. "I have hidden him in a place where you 
 will never find him, even if you search from now till 
 doomsday. Men sometimes die of hunger in three 
 days, especially if they do a lot of fretting in the mean- 
 time. Slade, why don't you order your men to shoot 
 me r
 
 236 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 The last sentence was spoken In taunting tones, and 
 Slade's face showed that the gibe had gone home. In- 
 wardly fuming, he glared savagely at The Phantom. 
 
 "Is It because you realize that. If I am killed, Tagala 
 will die with me?" The Phantom's smile told that he 
 once more felt he was master of the situation. "Is that 
 the reason, Slade?" 
 
 Slade grumbled Inarticulately. He glanced gloomily 
 at the men lined up behind him. Then he looked again 
 at The Phantom, and his face took on a baffled look. 
 He seemed unable to account for the fact that one man, 
 single-handed, was holding nine at bay. Suddenly, as 
 his glance flitted up and down The Phantom's tense 
 figure, his face brightened a trifle. He whispered 
 something in the ear of the man at his side, and the 
 latter immediately hurried away. 
 
 The Phantom felt a twinge of misgiving. It was 
 evident from the gratified smirk on Slade's lips that an 
 inspiration had just occurred to him and that he was 
 planning a surprise of some sort. The Phantom won- 
 dered whether the resourceful Mr. Shel had provided 
 against this latest emergency as he had against the 
 others. He waited in a state of tremulous tension, and 
 presently a slight sound drew his attention to the stairs 
 at the end of the hall. 
 
 He glanced aside out of the tail of an eye, and then 
 sudden despair took hold of him. Halfway up the 
 stairs, gazing blankly down upon the scene in the hall.
 
 THE FIGURE ON THE STAIRS 237 
 
 stood Helen Hardwick. There was a look in her face 
 that caused a groan to break from The Phantom's lips. 
 
 Suddenly he stiffened. In an instant he saw the 
 meaning of the elated smile on Slade's face. Directly 
 behind Helen he discerned a crouching figure, evidently 
 the man who had left the hall a few minutes before. 
 
 "Splendid!" ejaculated Slade. "I see you have 
 already glimpsed the idea. At this very moment the 
 muzzle of a pistol is pressing against Miss Hardwick's 
 back. The slightest pressure on the trigger will send a 
 bullet through her heart. You cannot fire at him, much 
 as you would like to do so, for Miss Hardwick's figure 
 makes an excellent bulwark. Will you admit you are 
 beaten?" 
 
 Torn between rage and despair, The Phantom gazed 
 rigidly at Helen. The stolid expression on her face 
 showed plainly that she had not the faintest inkling of 
 what was going on. Now and then her lips twitched as 
 if she were on the point of laughing. Of the figure 
 crouching behind her only an elbow and a narrow strip 
 of shoulder were visible. An anguished cry rose in 
 The Phantom's throat as he saw the full infamy of 
 Slade's ruse. 
 
 "I shall begin to count," said Slade in triumphant 
 tones. "If, by the time I come to ten, you have not 
 signified by throwing down your pistol that you are 
 willing to surrender, Miss Hardwick will die in- 
 stantly."
 
 238 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 A hush, charged with an electric tension, followed 
 the ultimatum. Then, slowly and evenly, Slade began 
 to count: 
 
 "One — two — three — four — five "
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 'N FUTILE SEARCH 
 
 WALKING with his usual listless and shuffling 
 gait, Lieutenant Culligore mounted the steps 
 in front of police headquarters and entered 
 the office of Inspector Stapleton of the detective 
 bureau. It was late in the afternoon, and Culligore 
 might have quickened his steps and carried himself 
 with more animation if he could have known that at 
 this very moment The Gray Phantom, seated in the 
 secret chamber at Azurecrest, was planning his second 
 move against the redoubtable Mr. Shei. 
 
 Stapleton, a huge, thick-necked man with a reddish 
 face and a tendency toward irascibility, looked up with 
 a stowl as the lieutenant walked in. 
 
 "Well, what's new?" he demanded. 
 
 "Nothing," said Culligore patiently and flopped into 
 a chair beside the inspector's desk, "except that our 
 friend Mr. Shei seems to be getting away with it." 
 
 Stapleton glared at a pile of newspapers he had been 
 reading. His temper was on edge from his perusal of 
 
 239
 
 240 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 several editorials that chided the bureau for its failure 
 to circumvent Mr. Shei. 
 
 "Two of the seven moneybags are already showing 
 the white feather," Culligore continued, "and two or 
 three of the others are getting wabbly. By the end of 
 the week I guess most of 'em will be ready to pay Mr. 
 Shei's price. I don't know how he means to manage 
 the transaction, but I'll bet a pair of pink socks he'll 
 figure out a safe way." 
 
 "What are the doctors doing? Still loafing on the 
 job, I suppose?" 
 
 "They're up a tree — every mother's son of them. 
 They can't dope out the disease at all. If they had 
 seven months instead of seven days, they might be able 
 to do something, but as it is, they're at the end of their 
 tether. Their only hope is that one of the seven will be 
 obliging enough to die before the others, so they can 
 perform an autopsy." 
 
 Stapleton jerked his head savagely to one side. "This 
 is the twentieth century and we're living in a civilized 
 country," he muttered. "A man can't put over a thing 
 like that in these times." 
 
 "Just what I've been telling myself for the last three 
 days," admitted Culligore. "I've been saying it can't 
 be done — but Mr. Shei is going right ahead and doing 
 it." 
 
 "And he's pulling the trick right under our noses," 
 supplemented the inspector. "That's what gets my
 
 A FUTILE SEARCH 241 
 
 goat. It's plain as day that Mr. Shei is The Gray 
 Phantom. Nobody but The Gray Phantom ever got 
 away with a thing like this, and this job has all the ear- 
 marks of his work. Well," and his huge fist descended 
 on the desk with a slam, "we'll get him yet, and when 
 we do I'll see to it that he's put away for keeps." 
 
 Culligore drew the palm of his hand across his 
 mouth as if to stifle one of his infrequent grins. 
 
 "Keeping something up your sleeve again?" de- 
 manded the inspector, who had noticed the gesture. "If 
 you've got something on your mind, why don't you 
 spring it?" 
 
 The lieutenant shifted his lanky figure m the chair. 
 "I've been trying all day to get a line on Fairspeckle," 
 he said slowly, without directly answering the in- 
 spector's question. "Queer how that old duffer 
 vamoosed. I tried to question the Jab valet, but all he 
 knows is that are two bumps on his head where there 
 was only one before. The doctor and the nurse got 
 rough treatment, too. Of a sudden the lights went 
 out, and old Fairspeckle seemed to go out with them. 
 Anyhow, he was gone when the doctor came to." Cul- 
 ligore paused to light one of his vicious-looking cigars. 
 "Something queer about that old goat's disappearance 
 — eh, inspector ?" 
 
 Stapleton stared hard at his subordinate, as if trying 
 to read the thoughts stirring behind his stolid counte- 
 nance. "Of course there is," he said irritablv. "There's
 
 242 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 something queer about every disappearance. Just what 
 are you driving at? You don't doubt that Fairspeckle 
 was kidnaped by Mr. Shei's agents?" 
 
 **I doubt everything, inspector. Know of any reason 
 why Mr. Shei should go out of his way to abduct the 
 old geezer?" 
 
 "No, I don't," admitted Stapleton after some 
 thought. "The kidnaping of Fairspeckle doesn't seem 
 to fit into the pattern of Mr. Shei's scheme. What's 
 your idea, Culligore? You don't suppose Fairspeckle 
 kidnaped himself?" 
 
 "Stranger things have happened, inspector. By the 
 way," and the lieutenant reached into his pocket and 
 took out several typewritten slips, "I meant to hand 
 you these yesterday, but was too busy with other 
 things. I found them beside the typewriter on Fair- 
 speckle's desk. What do you make of them ?" 
 
 Stapleton picked up the slips and glanced at them. 
 His eyes widened into a stare as he read the typewritten 
 lines. He read them twice, and then he transferred his 
 gaze to Culligore. 
 
 "Holy mackerel!" he muttered. Then he sat silent 
 for a time, wriggling his ample frame to and fro in the 
 chair. "Why, these things make it look as though 
 Fairspeckle was Mr. Shei." 
 
 "They show that the mystery isn't quite so simple 
 as you thought, inspector. They sort of knock the pins
 
 A FUTILE SEARCH 243 
 
 from under your theory that The Gray Phantom is 
 Mr. Shei." 
 
 For a few moments longer Stapleton's bewildered 
 eyes rested on the slips. Then he read aloud the list of 
 names beneath the introductory paragraph, and the 
 pucker on his forehead deepened. Finally he looked 
 quizzically at the lieutenant. 
 
 "Yes, I noticed it, too," said Culligore. "There's 
 something queer about that list. Looks as though Mr. 
 Shei, whoever he is, hadn't followed his original pro- 
 gramme. Seven men were inoculated, but only five of 
 them are named in Fairspeckle's list. The other two 
 names don't jibe." 
 
 Stapleton pondered for a while. He seemed to have 
 great difficulty readjusting his thoughts to a new fact. 
 
 "And here's another interesting thing," Culligore 
 pointed out. "Every one of the seven men mentioned 
 in Fairspeckle's list was a member of a ring that fought 
 him tooth and nail some years ago," 
 
 "And this is Fairspeckle's way of getting even with 
 them," ventured the inspector. 
 
 "Maybe," said Culligore guardedly. "Anyhow, a 
 fairly strong motive could be made out of it." 
 
 "But how do you account for the fact that Fair- 
 speckle didn't carry out his original programme?" 
 
 "I'm not trying to account for it just now. There 
 might have been a slip of some kind. // Fairspeckle is 
 Mr. Shei, the fact that he revised his list doesn't
 
 244 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 really cut any ice. Any man has a right to change his 
 
 mind." 
 
 Inspector Stapleton sat up straight. He looked at 
 Culligore in a determined way. "What I can't under- 
 stand is why you didn't show me these slips yesterday. 
 You say you were too busy with other things. I'd like 
 to know what other things could be more important 
 Never mind that, though. The thing to do now is to 
 find Fairspeckle." 
 
 Again Culligore drew his palm across his mouth. 
 "And when you have found him, inspector, what are 
 you going to do with him ?" 
 
 "Eh?" Stapleton seemed to think the question a 
 strange one. "Do with him? Why, we'll see to it that 
 he gets the stiff est sentence the law provides. If we 
 once get our hands on him we'll put him in a place 
 where he won't be able to trouble us for some time." 
 
 "Aren't you overlooking something, inspector?" 
 
 Stapleton stared perplexedly at his subordinate. 
 
 "What about the seven capitalists?" the lieutenant 
 went on. "They'll die like rats unless the antidote is 
 administered in time. You can't make Mr. Shei fork 
 over the antidote by putting him in jail. He's wise 
 enough to know that as long as the antidote is in his 
 possession he has a hold on us, and he won't be likely 
 to give it up. He knows we are not going to let seven 
 of the biggest men in the country die just for the sake
 
 A FUTILE SEARCH 245 
 
 of sending him to jail. The fact is, inspector, that Mr. 
 Shei has us sewed up in a sack." 
 
 Stapleton seemed about to make an indignant reply, 
 but it died on his tongue. Evidently Culligore's argu- 
 ment had made a strong impression. He dropped back 
 against the chair and peered diffidently into space. 
 
 "I'm hanged if I'm going to sit with arms folded and 
 let Mr. Shei put this thing over," he muttered at last. 
 "He's a slick crook, but there ought to be a way of 
 dealing with him." 
 
 "I think there is, inspector," agreed Culligore, 
 leisurely rising from his chair. "I can't see it just yet, 
 but maybe my mind will work better after a little walk. 
 So long, inspector," 
 
 He shuffled from the room, followed by Inspector 
 Stapleton's puzzled gaze. After leaving the head- 
 quarters building, he walked to a near-by restaurant 
 and ordered a substantial meal. He seemed in no 
 hurry, for he ate slowly and lingered for a considerable 
 time over his coffee and cigar. An observer, noticing 
 his languid air and phlegmatic expression, might have 
 thought that Mr. Shei was farthest from his mind. It 
 was dark when he left the restaurant, and it was a little 
 after eight o'clock when, after a leisurely stroll in a 
 zigzagging direction, he reached the Thelma Theater. 
 
 His decision to visit the Thelma once more might 
 have been due to the fact that it had been the scene of 
 several mysterious incidents which were more or less
 
 246 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 directly traceable to the activities of Mr. Shei. The 
 death of Virginia Darrow had occurred there, and the 
 bullet that had missed The Gray Phantom by such a 
 narrow margin was still imbedded in one of the pillars. 
 But Culligore's expression gave no indication of his 
 purpose as he stood on the sidewalk across the street 
 from the theater and glanced up at the windows of 
 Vincent Starr's private office on the second floor. 
 
 The windows were dark, so evidently Starr was not 
 there, and the entire structure presented a gloomy and 
 lifeless appearance. Culligore hummed a little tune as 
 he walked to the nearest street intersection, then cut 
 diagonally across the thoroughfare, continued half a 
 block to the west, and finally ducked into a dark base- 
 ment entrance. The ease with which he made his way 
 suggested that he had traveled the same route before. 
 After walking down a dirty and foul-smelling passage, 
 he emerged into a vacant space bordered at one side by 
 the rear wall of the theater. 
 
 He crossed the inclosure, then ran down a short 
 stairway, and brought up against a door. Now he took 
 a number of keys from his pocket and tried several in 
 the lock before he found one that fitted. At last the 
 door came open, and the lieutenant, locking it carefully 
 behind him, stood in the basement under the Thelma 
 Theater. 
 
 On all sides was total darkness. For a time he stood 
 still, listening for sounds, but nothing but dull and dis-
 
 A FUTILE SEARCH 247 
 
 tant noises from the outside reached his ears. Having 
 satisfied himself that he was apparently alone in the 
 basement, he took out his flash light and began a 
 thorough and comprehensive search. With the electric 
 flash peering into every nook and corner, he explored 
 the dressing rooms, peeped behind piles of discarded 
 scenery, examined odds and ends of stage property, 
 looked into the barrels and boxes in the dusty store- 
 rooms, and even tapped the walls here and there to 
 assure himself that there were no hollow spaces. 
 
 At last he gave up. His search had taken almost an 
 hour and it had been complete and painstaking in every 
 respect, yet Lieutenant Culligore seemed not quite satis- 
 fied. On his face was a look of hesitancy that seemed 
 to suggest a lingering suspicion that something might 
 have eluded him. Standing in the center of the base- 
 ment, he extinguished the flash light, for it had been 
 his experience that his other senses were more acute 
 when his eyes received no impressions. 
 
 For a little while, standing in impenetrable darkness, 
 he scarcely breathed. He had a curious sensation that 
 a faint sound was passing him and dissolving in the 
 dank air. It was so slight and elusive that his ears 
 could scarcely detect it, yet it appealed to his imagine 
 tion with peculiar insistence. It might have been either 
 a moan or a sigh, or perhaps a cry coming from a great 
 distance. Somehow, though he could not analyze the 
 sensation, he fancied it expressed a great, overwhelm-
 
 248 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 Ing anguish. Whether it came from above, below, or 
 the sides he could not determine, but it inspired him 
 with a haunting feeling that he was not alone. 
 
 Again he took up the flash, and instantly the impres- 
 sion vanished, as if it had been a wraith fleeing from 
 the light. Once more, step by step, he went over every 
 square foot of the basement, covering the ground he 
 had already searched so patiently, but he found nothing 
 that gave the slightest clew to the peculiar sound. 
 Finally, half inclined to believe that his imagination 
 had deceived him, he ascended the stairway and con- 
 tinued his search on the ground floor. With dogged 
 determination he explored the space in the wings and 
 back of the stage, then went up and down the aisles in 
 the auditorium. His inspection of the boxes was fruit- 
 less, and he found nothing of significance in the little 
 niche where, on his previous visit to the Thelma, he 
 had strongly suspected that an eavesdropper was hid- 
 ing. Finally he went through the offices on the street 
 front, occupied, as was indicated by the brass plates 
 on the doors, by the treasurer, business manager, and 
 stage director. Here also has quest was unavailing, 
 and nothing now remained but Vincent Starr's private 
 office on the upper floor. 
 
 The moment he entered, Culligore felt as though he 
 
 were invading the den of a sybarite. His flash light, 
 
 flitting slowly over the room, revealed soft color har- 
 
 , monies and exquisite decorations. Faint and delicate
 
 A FUTILE SEARCH 24» 
 
 perfumes mingled with the fresh and alluring scents of 
 flowers. Culligore's feet sank deep into costly rugs as 
 he moved about the office, peeping behind chairs, desks, 
 and cabinets, and occasionally sounding the walls for 
 hollow spaces. After an hour of intense and patient 
 effort, he was forced to admit that he had exerted 
 himself needlessly and that his impressions while 
 standing in the basement could have been nothing but 
 figments of his fancy. 
 
 Finally he sat down in the luxuriously upholstered 
 chair beside Starr's desk. His watch showed a quarter 
 past eleven, and he tried to reconcile himself to the 
 thought that the only thing he could do was to go home 
 and sleep. He was disappointed, for he had hoped 
 that his search would yield some tangible results. He 
 scowled a little as his gaze roamed idly over the orderly 
 piles of papers on the desk. The ink stand, the paper 
 cutter, and the pens were all of ornamental design. 
 The only plain and undecorative objects in the room 
 were the two telephones standing at one side of the 
 desk. It struck him as a little odd that there should 
 be two of them, but then he noticed that one was an 
 automatic instrument without outside connections and 
 communicating only with the various departments in 
 the building. 
 
 Presently he yawned ostentatiously. He could not 
 quite understand his reason for remaining after his 
 fruitless task was done, nor could he comprehend the
 
 250 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 feeling, vague but uncannily persistent, that the next 
 few minutes would bring some startling developments. 
 
 A gentle buzzing caused him to sit up straight in the 
 chair. The telephone was ringing, and instinctively he 
 reached out his hand for one of the instruments. He 
 spoke a soft "hello" in the transmitter. There was no 
 response, but the ringing continued. A little dazedly 
 he hung up the receiver and peered fixedly at the other 
 telephone. He jerked it to him, thrust the trans- 
 mitter to his ear, and instantly the buzzing ceased. 
 
 A gasp of amazement fell from his lips. Someone 
 was calling on the automatic telephone, the one that 
 had no outside connections. The person calling must 
 be inside the building, then, despite the fact that his 
 patient search had convinced him that there was no 
 other human being within the four walls of the struc- 
 ture.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 TRAPPED 
 
 HELLO— hello !" shouted Culllgore Into the 
 mouthpiece. From head to foot he was 
 tingling with suspense. It was one of the 
 rare occasions within recent years when he felt the 
 thrill of excitement. 
 
 A hoarse and rasping voice responded, but at first he 
 could make out no words. The person at the other end 
 seemed to speak with great difficulty and was evidently 
 on the verge of hysterics. 
 
 "Speak a little louder, can't you?" urged the lieu- 
 tenant. "Who are you ?" 
 
 A jumble of split words and syllables sounded dis- 
 tantly in his ear. Now and then, between efforts to 
 speak clearly, came a titter and a giggle that awoke a 
 startling suspicion in Culligore's mind. 
 
 "Tell me who you are," he said in loud tones. 
 
 A short, cracked laugh came over the wire. It was 
 followed by a groan, as if the speaker were despairing 
 over his inability to make himself understood. Then 
 he tried again. "Fair — Fairspeckle." 
 
 2CI
 
 252 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 "Oh!" Culligore's teeth clicked out the exclama- 
 tion. He nodded at the instrument, as if the name just 
 spoken had confirmed a suspicion in his mind. "Where 
 are you, Mr. Fairspeckle?" 
 
 "I can't — can't tell you," came gropingly over the 
 wire. 
 
 "Haven't you any idea?" 
 
 "None. I'm locked in a — a room, and I am — dying! 
 For God's sake get me out !" 
 
 "Listen, Mr. Fairspeckle," said Culligore tensely. 
 **You're somewhere in the Thelma Theater, and I am 
 going to find you. It may take some little time, but 
 don't worry. It won't be very long." 
 
 A groan of relief mingled with pent-up suspense 
 sounded in Culligore's ear, and then he slammed the 
 receiver baclc on the hook. His eyes were twinkling 
 and there was a new eagerness in his face. He jumped 
 up from the chair and took a step toward the door. 
 Then he drew back, and in the next moment his face 
 had resumed its habitual sluggish expression and there 
 was nothing in his manner to indicate that anything 
 out of the ordinary had happened. 
 
 The door opened and in walked Vincent Starr. The 
 theatrical manager, faultlessly attired in evening dress, 
 topcoat, and silk hat, shrank back at sight of the man 
 standing beside the desk. Then, recognizing the lieu- 
 tenant, he instantly gathered himself. 
 
 "You startled me, Culligore," he explained with an
 
 TRAPPED 253 
 
 apologetic laugh. "So many strange things have hap- 
 pened in this place that I am naturally a little nervous. 
 I often come here late at night to read or write, accord- 
 ing to my mood, but of late I approach the place in 
 fear and trembling." He eyed the detective inquir- 
 ingly. "I wonder what brings you to my private office 
 at such an hour." 
 
 "Hope you don't mind my snooping," said Culligore 
 genially. "I have been looking around a bit. There 
 were a couple of things I wanted to get straightened 
 out in my mind. As you say yourself, there have been 
 a lot of strange doings in this place, and I've got a 
 sneaking suspicion that Mr. Shei is back of them all." 
 
 Starr doffed his hat and ran his fingers through his 
 long, glossy hair. The discoloration of his nose had 
 diminished greatly, but his face was still pale and 
 drawn. 
 
 "That's precisely my idea," he said nervously. "I 
 shall never feel safe until that scoundrel is behind iron 
 bars. Unless he has a private grievance against me, I 
 am at a loss to understand why he can't keep away 
 from my theater. By the way, did you obtain any light 
 on the things that were puzzling you?" 
 
 "Not much," said Culligore disgustedly, with a 
 furtive glance at the telephone. "I searched every 
 square inch of the place without finding what I was 
 after." 
 
 "Yes?" Starr seemed politely curious. "I infer.
 
 S54 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 then, that you had a definite object in view, that you 
 were not just searching at random." 
 
 "Oh, no." Culligore looked about him as if not 
 quite at ease. "I suppose we're alone?" 
 
 *'Not another soul in the building. You can speak as 
 freely as you like." 
 
 "Then I'll tell you exactly what I think. The way 
 Mr. Shei's men have been sneaking in and out of this 
 place is mighty suggestive. Just why they should be 
 turning your place into a rendezvous is something I 
 don't understand, but that's exactly what they seem to 
 be doing. They were right on the job the night you 
 opened your new play. They gave Virginia Darrow a 
 shot of poison just at the psychological moment, before 
 she could spill what she knew. Then they sneaked the 
 body away right under our eyes, and we have not yet 
 discovered how they managed it. Only the other day, 
 somebody took a shot at either you or The Gray 
 Phantom. All this looks mighty queer." 
 
 "It does," assented Starr. He took out a jewel- 
 studded case and lighted a cigarette. His pale, un- 
 easy eyes did not leave the detective's face for a 
 moment. "What is your theory?" 
 
 Culligore looked musingly into space. "Mr. Shei is 
 very clever, but he is of flesh and blood, like the rest 
 of us. There must be a simple and natural explanation 
 for all these strange doings. I'll bet my hat that he 
 has found a secret entrance to your place."
 
 TRAPPED 255 
 
 "Impossible," said Starr promptly. "This theater 
 was built according to my own directions and my own 
 architects supervised every detail of the construction." 
 
 "That may be, but I still stick to the idea of a secret 
 entrance. Don't you see, Mr. Starr, even if you didn't 
 have such an entrance made when you constructed your 
 theater, Mr. Shei's men may have drilled a hole 
 through the wall or the floor somewhere? Nothing 
 else explains how they have been slipping in and out 
 of the place." 
 
 "But why?" demanded Starr, and his fingers trem- 
 bled as he took the cigarette from his lips. "Why 
 should they do such a thing?" 
 
 Culligore smiled faintly while his muddy little eyes 
 scanned the other's face. 
 
 "I think you can make a pretty fair guess," he said 
 dryly. 
 
 Starr's face turned a shade paler. For an instant 
 there was a look of positive dread in his eyes, but it 
 vanished quickly. A sad smile came to his lips. 
 
 "I see I must be frank with you," he murmured, 
 "much as I dislike to discuss matters pertaining to my 
 private life. Don't ask me to go Into details, for there 
 are excellent reasons why I should not do so. In plain 
 words, I do not care to Incriminate myself. I have 
 not always been what I am to-day. There was a time, 
 quite a number of years ago, when I led a very violent 
 life and when the law and I were not on the best of
 
 256 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 terms. I made enemies — a number of them — and it is 
 possible that they are pursuing me to-day. In fact 
 I " 
 
 He paused, and his narrowing gaze slanted to the 
 floor. Culligore repressed a start. In the intense 
 silence of the moment he heard a faint buzzing. Some- 
 where, in one of the offices on the ground floor, a tele- 
 phone was ringing, and he guessed that Fairspeckle had 
 grown impatient and was calling one of the other 
 departments of the intercommunicating system, 
 
 "In fact," Starr went on after a moment's pause, 
 quickly controlling his astonishment, "if I were to 
 come face to face with Mr. Shei to-day, I strongly 
 suspect that I would recognize in him one of my old 
 enemies. Don't ask me to explain any further, Culli- 
 gore. You will appreciate the delicacy of the matter." 
 
 "I do, and you've said enough to explain the funny 
 doings that have been going on here. I want you to 
 answer one question frankly. Have you any idea who 
 Mr. Shei is?" 
 
 "Have you?" was Starr's prompt rejoinder. 
 
 Culligore chuckled. "Maybe I have and maybe I 
 haven't. I'm pretty sure of one thing. Some people 
 think The Gray Phantom is Mr. Shei, but they're dead 
 wrong." 
 
 Starr's lips twitched into a knowing smile. "I agree 
 with you, there, Culligore. Shall we go a step farther ? 
 With The Gray Phantom eliminated, the range of
 
 TRAPPED 257 
 
 available suspects narrows down to one man. "Km I 
 right?" 
 
 "I think you are on the right track, Mr. Starr." 
 
 The theatrical manager, once more quite composed, 
 seemed to find a great deal of amusement in the specu- 
 lative drift of the conversation. 
 
 "It is diverting to try to read other people's minds," 
 he observed. 'T wonder how close I can come to an 
 accurate reading of yours. A detective's thoughts 
 travel a devious route, but I will try to look at the 
 situation from your point of view, taking all the cir- 
 cumstances into account. If you were to mention the 
 name of the one remaining suspect, I fancy it would be 
 W. Rufus Fairspeckle." 
 
 Culligore stared as if dumfounded at the other's 
 astuteness, but his lips curled into the faintest grin as 
 soon as Starr averted his gaze. 
 
 "You might as well admit that I was right," said 
 the manager with a smile of elation. "For once a mere 
 layman has read your mind like an open book. The 
 next question is what has become of Fairspeckle. Do 
 you suppose " 
 
 He broke off short. His glance darted involuntarily 
 to the automatic telephone on the desk. Its summons 
 sounded clear and distinct in the tense silence. Once 
 more a tinge of gray crept into his face. With a 
 tightening of the lips he looked furtively at Culligore. 
 
 "Queer!" muttered the lieutenant, fingering the
 
 258 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 green cord attached to the instrument and tracing it to 
 the sound box. "Someone is calling on the private 
 wire. And you just told me that you and I were alone 
 in the building." 
 
 The buzzing continued. Starr stared helplessly at 
 the instrument, but out of the tail of an eye he was 
 watching the expression on the detective's face. 
 Finally, with a jerk of the shoulders, he emerged from 
 his daze. 
 
 "I don't understand it," he murmured, "but we shall 
 soon see what it means." 
 
 He sat down and drew the instrument to him. His 
 face took on a look of determination, but there was also 
 a baffling and inscrutable expression that might have 
 puzzled the detective. But Culligore's thoughts seemed 
 to be elsewhere. He looked as though he foresaw a 
 critical moment and realized that quick thinking and 
 prompt action were necessary. While Starr was speak- 
 ing into the telephone, he looked quickly about the 
 room. From his vest pocket he took a small box and 
 removed the lid, exposing a reddish substance that 
 looked like salve. Rubbing a little of it onto his finger 
 tips, he softly crossed the room and quickly smeared a 
 thin coating of the reddish material on the doorknob. 
 
 Starr hung up the receiver just as the little box dis- 
 appeared into Culligore's vest pocket. 
 
 "I don't understand it," said the manager fretting'y. 
 "Someone was speaking. It was a man's voice, but I
 
 TRAPPED 259 
 
 couldn't make out what he was trying to say. It is 
 very mysterious." He smiled faintly. "It's beginning 
 to look as though I was mistaken and there was some- 
 one else in the building besides you and me." 
 
 "It certainly looks queer," admitted Culligore. "I 
 searched everywhere, but we might as well go over the 
 ground again." 
 
 Starr acquiesced readily, and Culligore saw to it that 
 the manager preceded him out of the room. He 
 noticed with gratification that the other's fingers closed 
 firmly around the knob as he opened the door, and he 
 knew that Starr was too preoccupied to take heed of 
 the faint smear left on his hand from contact with the 
 greased metal. He chuckled inwardly as he followed 
 the manager down the stairs and through the offices 
 in front of the building. After a brief and somewhat 
 perfunctory search, they entered the auditorium. 
 
 "Shall I switch on the lights?" whispered Starr, 
 walking beside the detective. 
 
 "I wouldn't. If there's a prowler around the place, 
 we don't want to warn him. My electric flash will do." 
 
 For a time they conducted the search in silence, the 
 detective cautiously darting the electric gleam over 
 floor and walls and into dark corners. Finally he 
 paused before a niche in the wall and pointed to an 
 aperture behind the marble shelf that spanned the 
 opening. 
 
 "Do you know," he whispered, "that the other day.
 
 260 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 while I was talking with The Gray Phantom, I had a 
 funny feeling someone was hiding back there and 
 listening to our conversation ? Who do you suppose it 
 could have been?" 
 
 There was no response. Culligore had been peering 
 into the recess behind the marble ledge. Now he 
 looked up quickly, but Starr was gone — and the 
 twitching of the detective's lips signified that the man- 
 ager's sudden disappearance did not surprise him 
 greatly. In an instant he was amazingly alert. Jerk- 
 ing his electric flash hither and thither, he moved 
 quickly back and forth within the narrow space where 
 he had last seen the manager, sweeping the surround- 
 ing objects with his electric gleam and examining the 
 surfaces of chairs, pillars, walls, and decorative 
 articles. 
 
 Presently he brought up in front of one of the larger 
 pillars supporting the balcony. He had previously 
 noticed its huge dimensions, and now he gauged them 
 again with a quickly calculating eye. It was there The 
 Gray Phantom had stood when the mysterious shot 
 was fired the other day, and Helen Hardwick had been 
 leaning against the same pillar when the curious indi- 
 vidual with the repulsive features glided past her. 
 
 The electric gleam moved swiftly over the white sur- 
 face of the post with its ornate trimmings of dull gold. 
 Again, as once or twice before, he wondered whether 
 there was any hidden significance in the fact that The
 
 TRAPPED 261 
 
 Gray Phantom had stood in this identical spot at the 
 moment the shot was fired. Was it possible that the 
 skulking assailant had feared that The Phantom was 
 about to make an important discovery, and was that 
 why he had fired the shot? Culligore pondered the 
 question while scanning every square inch of the pillar. 
 
 Suddenly the electric gleam stopped at a point near 
 the floor, and Culligore could scarcely repress an ex- 
 clamation of elation. His ruse had succeeded, for on 
 the white surface of the post was a faint discoloration 
 which signified that Starr's hand had recently touched 
 that particular point. There were no other marks, and 
 this one was only a few inches from the floor. Culli- 
 gore's fingers ran quickly over the surrounding space, 
 and occasionally he pressed his thumb firmly against 
 the wood, but without discovering anything. His hand 
 slid downward to where the rich Persian carpet was 
 neatly tucked around the base of the post, and suddenly 
 his exploring fingers touched a slight knoblike projec- 
 tion. He pressed firmly, and he felt an exultant tingle 
 as there came a soft, whirring response. A panel in 
 the post, ingeniously hidden in the gold-lined grooves, 
 was sliding back, forming an aperture. 
 
 The electric gleam showed a look of keen elation on 
 Culligore's face. His discovery had taken only a min- 
 ute or two of valuable time, for he had moved fast 
 since he noticed that Starr was gone. Yet, but for a 
 happy inspiration and the resultant reddish stain on the
 
 262 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 post, he might have searched for days without finding 
 the opening. 
 
 Now he squeezed his figure through the narrow 
 aperture, at the same time pocketing his electric flash 
 and drawing his automatic. His feet encountered the 
 upper rungs of a ladder that pointed straight down. 
 He descended rapidly, making no sound. At the bot- 
 tom was a narrow passage extending in the direction 
 of the street, and at its farther end he saw a faint 
 glow. He approached quickly, warned by a sixth sense 
 that he had no time to waste. 
 
 He came to a door. It stood open a crack, and 
 through the narrow opening he saw a strange scene. 
 An elderly man, with a thin and haggard face and 
 sunken eyes that stared about him in an agonized way, 
 was lying on a cot. Starr, bending over the recum- 
 bent man, was winding pieces of rope around his feet 
 and hands and drawing them into tight knots. 
 
 "There, Mr. Fairspeckle," he tauntingly declared 
 when he had fastened a gag around the other man's 
 mouth, "I don't think you will work loose a second 
 time. Even if you should, you will find that the 
 telephone is out of order." 
 
 He laughed, turned away from the cot, and uttered a 
 gasp as he looked into the muzzle of Culligore's pistol. 
 Every trace of color faded from his face, but he 
 gathered himself quickly. 
 
 "You are a most astounding person, Culligore," he
 
 TRAPPED 263 
 
 remarked coolly. "I wonder how you found your way 
 down here. Not that it matters," he added with a 
 shrug, "but I am naturally curious. I won't press you 
 for the information, however. Any way I can be of 
 service r 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Shei," said Culligore, emphasizing each 
 word and looking straight into the other's eyes, "you 
 can hold out your hands and not make any fuss while 
 I put the handcuffs on you." 
 
 Starr laughed derisively. "Sorry not to be able to 
 oblige you, but I have a distinct aversion to handcuffs. 
 Won't you sit down and be comfortable? An under- 
 ground room like this has many advantages. In the 
 chests you see against the walls I occasionally store 
 things that the police and private detectives would give 
 a great deal to be able to lay their hands on. It is an 
 excellent hiding place, and it serves several other pur- 
 poses besides." 
 
 "So I see," muttered Culligore with a glance at the 
 man on the cot. Fairspeckle's face bore a dazed look 
 and he seemed to understand nothing of what was 
 being said, but his staring eyes held an expression of 
 terror. 
 
 "I would like to know," murmured Starr, fixing his 
 pale eyes on the lieutenant's inscrutable face, "how and 
 when you learned that I was Mr. Shei. I was under 
 die impression that you suspected Fairspeckle." 
 
 "I meant you should be," said Culligore with a dry
 
 264 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 chuckle. "I knew somebody was listening behind the 
 marble ledge the day I had that talk with The Gray 
 Phantom upstairs, and I guessed it was either you or 
 one of your men. I pretended to believe that Fair- 
 speckle was Mr. Shei, and I encouraged The Phantom 
 in thinking the same thing, but all the while I was 
 talking for the benefit of the fellow behind the marble 
 slab. I had a pretty good suspicion as to who Mr. 
 Shei was, and I wanted to throw him off his guard. 
 Once a man gets careless it isn't hard to catch him." 
 
 Starr grinned appreciatively. "I'll admit that you 
 are far shrewder than you look, Culligore, but I am 
 not so sure that I have been guilty of carelessness. 
 That remains to be seen. What I am curious to know 
 is when you first began to suspect that I was Mr. Shei. 
 You see, I have nothing to fear from you, so I frankly 
 admit the fact. But I would like to know by what sort 
 of reasoning you were led to suspect me." 
 
 "There wasn't any course of reasoning," said Culli- 
 gore, maintaining a steady grip on his pistol. "It was 
 only a flash here and there. The first flash came when 
 I saw the note Virginia Darrow sent you the night she 
 died. I guessed then that she had learned in some way 
 that you were Mr. Shei, and she wanted to tease you 
 with it. A little later, when you were handed that 
 bump on the nose, I didn't know exactly what to think. 
 Then it came to me that, if you really were Mr. Shei, 
 you would have yourself assaulted along with the
 
 TRAPPED 265 
 
 others to turn suspicion away from you. It was a 
 clever move, Mr. Starr, but it didn't fool me for long. 
 Well, a number of other things happened that strength- 
 ened my suspicion, but I wasn't really sure until I 
 walked into this room to-night." 
 
 Starr scowled a little. "You are a bit disappointing, 
 CuUigore. I had hoped you would give me an example 
 of fine-spun deductive reasoning of the kind that 
 always drips from the lips of story-book detectives. 
 Just one more thing before we close this pleasant inter- 
 view. How do you account for Mr. Fairspeckle ?" 
 
 "Oh, that part was fairly easy. Fairspeckle is a 
 queer sort, but he never did any real harm. He's been 
 troubled with insomnia, and when a man can't sleep, 
 he's likely to do any foolish thing, from writing poetry 
 on a park bench to murdering his mother-in-law. The 
 deeper the mystery, the simpler the explanation. That 
 has been my experience, and it has held true in Fair- 
 speckle's case. I'm not dead sure of my facts, but I 
 can make a pretty close guess. The night Mr. Shei's 
 notices were posted, Fairspeckle had been roaming the 
 town as he always did when he couldn't sleep. He saw 
 one of the notices in Times Square and, being one of 
 the seven richest men in town, he didn't like the idea 
 a bit. Then The Gray Phantom came strolling along, 
 and Fairspeckle recognized him. Like many others, 
 he jumped at the conclusion that The Phantcwn was
 
 266 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 Mr. Shei, and right away he began to study out a way 
 of beating Mr. Shei's game. 
 
 "By some hook or crook he got The Phantom into 
 his apartment, and there he tried to drug him. He had 
 two objects in view. One of them was to keep The 
 Phantom under cover for a time so he wouldn't be able 
 to go on with his scheme, and the other was to get even 
 with certain enemies of his by throwing an almighty 
 scare into them. While the real Mr. Shei, as he sup- 
 posed, was a prisoner in his apartment, he meant to 
 carry the scheme just a step or two farther — just far 
 enough to put fear into his old enemies. It just so 
 happened that five of those enemies were among the 
 seven richest men in town. Well, Fairspeckle got a 
 typewriter and went to work and typed a new set of 
 notices, supplementing the ones that had already been 
 posted. I hope he had a good laugh while he was typ- 
 ing the seven names, for that's all the good his scheme 
 did him. A few hours later he was kidnaped. That 
 was another fairly clever move, Starr." 
 
 Starr seemed to enjoy the compliment. "Thanks, 
 Culligore," he murmured. "I knew you would appre- 
 ciate that little touch. After overhearing the conversa- 
 tion between you and The Phantom, in which I 
 thought you made it plain that both of you suspected 
 Fairspeckle, I saw a still more effective way to divert 
 suspicion from myself. Since you already suspected 
 Fairspeckle, as I thought at the time, it occurred to me
 
 TRAPPED 267 
 
 to let the suspicion take firmer root by having Fair- 
 speckle disappear. A man who vanishes mysteriously 
 is always an object of suspicion." 
 
 Culligore nodded absently. Only half his mind had 
 been on Starr's speech. Now, still holding the auto- 
 matic firmly leveled, he came a step closer to the other 
 man. 
 
 "I don't like to muss you up," he said softly, '*so 
 please put out your hands and make no trouble." 
 
 Starr chuckled amusedly. "You are really surpris- 
 ingly simple, Culligore. Your pistol doesn't frighten 
 me, for I know you won't use it. And arresting me 
 won't do you any good. If you put me in jail, the 
 antidote will never be found, and then seven of the 
 biggest men in the country will die. Don't you see, 
 Culligore, that there isn't a thing you can do?" 
 
 His tones were soft and teasing, and his words ex- 
 pressed the same idea that Culligore himself had voiced 
 in Inspector Stapleton's presence. Slowly the lieuten- 
 ant ran his eyes over the walls. The underground 
 chamber, and especially the steel chests stacked along 
 the .side, would serve excellently as a hiding place. 
 What more natural than the antidote should be con- 
 cealed in one of the chests? It seemed 
 
 He got no farther In his reasoning. Too swiftly for 
 Culligore to interfere, Starr's hand moved to the wall 
 at his side. A faint click sounded, and then blackness 
 fell. Culligore sprang forward, but already a loud
 
 268 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 slam signified that the door had closed. He hurled 
 himself against it, but he might as well have been pit- 
 ting his strength against a brick wall. 
 "Trapped !" he muttered.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 MR. SHEI'S STRATAGEM 
 
 A SWARM of jumbled thoughts and emotions 
 crowded each fraction of a second as The 
 Gray Phantom, standing with his back against 
 the door, heard Slade's slow and precise voice pro- 
 nounce the numerals. At each distinctly spoken word 
 he started as if a rapier had prodded his flesh. His 
 gaze was fixed on Helen, who from her position in the 
 stairway stared down on the scene with eyes that 
 appeared to see nothing, and the blank look in her face 
 told him that she was mercifully oblivious of the mean- 
 ing of it all. 
 
 With the speed of lightning, stray thoughts and im- 
 pressions flashed through The Phantom's mind. Slade 
 had warned him that Helen would die when he had 
 counted ten, unless The Phantom surrendered in the 
 meantime. At Helen's back, shielded by her body 
 against a possible bullet from The Phantom's revolver, 
 stood the executioner, ready to press the trigger. 
 
 Things swam in confusion before The Phantom's 
 eyes. He would gladly have given his life if thereby 
 
 269
 
 270 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 he could save Helen from her predicament. But Slade 
 dared not kill him just yet, not until he had learned 
 where Doctor Tagala was hidden, and so he hoped to 
 force The Phantom into submission by threatening 
 Helen. The plan was subtle and fiendishly clever, and 
 more than once, as the seconds dragged by. The Phan- 
 tom had been on the point of yielding. The only thing 
 that had restrained him was the belief that his surren- 
 der would only make the situation worse. It would 
 deprive him of his precarious advantage, and then 
 Helen's position would be doubly desperate. 
 
 Once he glanced at the automatic in his hand, wish- 
 ing that he could fire a bullet into the figure crouching 
 behind Helen. It was a forlorn hope, for the coward 
 knew better than to expose himself. Again Slade's 
 voice, pronouncing each syllable with excessive pre- 
 cision, broke in upon his thoughts : 
 
 " — five — six — seven " 
 
 The Phantom jerked up his head as an inspiration 
 flashed through his mind. He still had an advantage, 
 though his aching mind had not been able to grasp it 
 until this very minute. Again his eyes sought the pistol 
 drooping from his nerveless right hand. 
 
 " — eight — nine " A note of hesitancy crept into 
 
 Slade accents, and he looked expectantly at The Phan- 
 tom. Evidently he was reluctant to pronounce the final 
 word, the word that would mean Helen's death. He 
 vastly preferred that The Phantom should accept his
 
 ,MR. SHEI'S STRATAGEM 271 
 
 terms, but his face showed no sign of yielding from his 
 purpose. 
 
 His lips opened, and in another moment the fatal 
 word would have been spoken. But in that brief inter- 
 val The Phantom acted, and the word never left 
 Slade's lips. Instead he uttered a long-drawn-out 
 exclamation of amazement. 
 
 The Phantom's maneuver had been both swift and 
 surprising. The blue steel of his automatic had flashed 
 for an instant in the dim light, and then he had pressed 
 its muzzle firmly against his heart. For a few moments 
 the crowd stared in dumfounded amazement; then a 
 startled look in Slade's face showed that he under- 
 stood. He bit his lip and suppressed a cry of rage. 
 
 "If Miss Hardwick dies, I die, too," declared The 
 Phantom in gritty accents; and the metallic gleam of 
 his eye and the note of grim earnestness in his voice 
 left no doubt of his sincerity. "And you can't afford 
 to let me die, Slade. With me dead, you would never 
 find Tagala, and then the bottom would drop out of 
 Mr. Shei's scheme." 
 
 Slade fumed and gnashed his teeth in impotent rage. 
 A' glance at The Phantom's face, smiling and yet 
 grimly determined, seemed to increase his fury. But 
 The Phantom's airy confidence was all on the surface. 
 He knew that his dramatic gesture had only postponed 
 the crisis, and already his mind was planning another 
 move.
 
 272 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 At last Slade's rage cooled and his reason reasserted 
 itself. Pointing to the stairway, he bawled an order 
 to the man behind Helen to take her back to her room. 
 The Phantom drew a long breath of relief as she was 
 half led, half carried up the remaining steps; but the 
 comfort the sight gave him was of brief duration. 
 
 Now Slade's finger was pointing at himself. "Take 
 his gun away," he ordered the men lined up behind 
 him. "Make a rush for him, all at once, but don't 
 shoot. Go !" 
 
 The men bounded forward, but in the same instant 
 The Phantom's pistol spoke twice. Two yells of pain 
 followed the sharp cracks of the weapon, and the 
 leaders of the rush sank to the floor. The others 
 stopped, stared diffidently at the steadily pointing pis- 
 tol, then wavered and fell back. Once more The Phan- 
 tom had triumphed. He cast a quick glance at the two 
 who had fallen. He had aimed to cripple, not to kill, 
 and he could see that their wounds were not serious. 
 Slade shook his fist at the cowering men. 
 "Are you all white-livered kittens?" he shouted. 
 "Are you going to let one man bluff you ? Rush at him 
 again, all together !" 
 
 The Phantom tensed himself for the attack. He 
 quavered inwardly as he recalled that only two slugs 
 remained in his cartridge chamber. He crouched be- 
 hind the pistol, fixing each man in turn with a piercing 
 gaze. The line advanced with a rush. Someone, more
 
 MR. SHEI'S STRATAGEM 273 
 
 intrepid than the others, seized one of his legs and tried 
 to pull him to the floor, but The Phantom disposed of 
 him with a vigorous kick. The next was dispatched 
 with a well-aimed bullet, and the third went reeling to 
 the floor from a blow with the butt of his pistol. He 
 took careful aim before he fired his one remaining shot, 
 and a scream of agony told that the bullet had found its 
 mark. Again the line wavered and broke. On the 
 floor lay five who had been maimed by The Phantom's 
 bullets and one who was still unconscious from the 
 blow with the pistol. Of the original eleven combatants 
 only five remained, but also The Phantom's ammuni- 
 tion was spent, and at any moment one or more of the 
 wounded might revive and get back into the fray. 
 
 Slade's face was white with helpless rage. He could 
 not know that The Phantom's cartridge chamber was 
 empty. He stamped his foot and again shook his fist 
 at the men. Taking advantage of his temporary dis- 
 traction. The Phantom glided forward and, stooping 
 quickly, snatched a pistol from the cramped fingers of 
 one of the wounded. Then he threw down his own 
 weapon and hurried back to his position at the door. 
 
 Slade noticed his sudden move out of the tail of an 
 eye, but not soon enough to prevent it. He turned 
 again to the remnant of his little army. His face was 
 dark and bore an ominous scowl. 
 
 "We will get him yet," he declared, snarling. 
 "Form a line and take aim, but don't shoot to kill. Aim
 
 274 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 for the arms and legs only. Don't shoot until I give 
 the word." 
 
 The men spread out in a half circle, and The Phan- 
 tom saw five pistols pointing at him. There was a 
 malevolent grin on Slade's lips as he watched the 
 preparations. Then he stepped to one side of the half 
 circle. 
 
 "Fire !" he commanded. 
 
 The Phantom ducked just as a chorus of shots rang 
 out. A stinging sensation in the shoulder told him he 
 had been hit, but he choked back the cry of pain that 
 rose in his throat. A dense film of powder hung in the 
 air, and for a few moments the firing line was only a 
 row of shadowy forms. The Phantom thought of flight, 
 but someone opened a window and the smoke quickly 
 scattered. In the next instant the blare of a motor 
 horn was heard in the distance. 
 
 The men exchanged quick glances, and The Phan- 
 tom fancied he saw a look of relief on Slade's face. In 
 the muttered conversation that followed he made out 
 the name of Mr. Shei, and new misgivings caused him 
 to forget the stinging pain in his shoulder. Slade's 
 handling of the situation had exposed him as a bungler, 
 but for Mr. Shei's ingenuity and resourcefulness The 
 Phantom had a high respect. If Mr. Shei had arrived, 
 as the blare of the horn and the conversation among 
 the men seemed to signify, then a new and more crit- 
 ical situation awaited him.
 
 MR. SHEFS STRATAGEM 275 
 
 He glanced toward the end of the hall. A faint 
 glimmer of dawn showed against the window back of 
 the stairway railing. The night had been crowded 
 with exciting events, and the time had passed more 
 quickly than he realized. Again Mr. Shei's name was 
 mentioned among the men, and then a hush fell over 
 the group. A door opened at one side of the hall, and 
 in the next instant The Phantom's eyes widened into a 
 bewildered stare. 
 
 The tall man who entered and was received with 
 such marked deference by Slade and the others was 
 none other than Vincent Starr ! 
 
 A film floated before The Phantom's eyes. It 
 seemed almost unbelievable at first, but a succession of 
 minor incidents and circumstances that had vaguely 
 puzzled him at times suddenly came back to him in the 
 light of a new significance. He had been blind, he told 
 himself; yet it was no wonder that he had been de- 
 ceived. His concern for Helen had been uppermost in 
 his mind, and he was forced to admit that Starr had 
 played his game very shrewdly. 
 
 The newcomer cast a swift, comprehensive glance 
 up and down the hall, then turned to Slade, and the 
 two engaged in a low-voiced conversation. Now and 
 then Starr mentioned Culligore's name, and The 
 Phantom gathered from isolated words and phrases 
 that something of an unpleasant nature had happened 
 to the lieutenant. He learned, too, that there had been
 
 276 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 developments that necessitated quick action on Mr. 
 Shei's part and that the latter had made a quick motor 
 trip from New York to Azurecrest. The Phantom 
 absorbed these bits of news with interest, but all the 
 time he was studying the characteristic gestures with 
 which Starr emphasized his statements. Once before, 
 while standing in the Thelma Theater, it struck him 
 that there was something familiar about them, and the 
 same impression came to him now. He was searching 
 his memory for half-forgotten facts when Starr sud- 
 denly turned round and faced him. 
 
 "Surprised?" he inquired, and his smile exposed two 
 rows of flashingly white teeth. 
 
 "A little, at first, but I think I understand it all 
 now," was The Phantom's nonchalant reply. Then, of 
 a sudden, his figure stiffened. Starr had delivered 
 another of his oddly expressive gestures, and it had 
 started another train of recollections in The Phantom's 
 mind. "Starr," he added impulsively, "you were once 
 a member of my organization." 
 
 "Only a very humble one," admitted Starr, "and it 
 was years back, so it's no wonder you didn't recognize 
 me at first. In those days you scarcely noticed me, but 
 I was watching and studying you all the time. There 
 were a lot of melodramatic notions in my head, and 
 The Gray Phantom was my hero. I dreamed of some 
 day eclipsing his achievements, and I think I have 
 succeeded. You see, the Thelma Theater, for all the
 
 MR. SHEI'S STRATAGEM 277 
 
 fun I got out of the experiment, was only a cover for 
 my other and more fascinating activities." 
 
 "My first impression was correct, then," murmured 
 The Phantom, addressing himself rather than Starr. 
 "I suspected Mr. Shei was a former follower of mine 
 and had learned his methods from me, and that's why 
 I decided to defeat his purpose and break up his or- 
 ganization. Now I'm doubly glad that I took up the 
 cudgels against you, Starr." 
 
 "Glad?" A puzzled frown crossed Starr's face. 
 "You are a beaten man, defeated by a once insignifi- 
 cant pupil of yours. Why should you be glad?" 
 
 "Defeated?" The Phantom threw back his head 
 and smiled. "Not just yet, Starr. The Gray Phantom 
 doesn't even know the meaning of the word. Before 
 I drop out of this game you and your crowd will be in 
 jail." 
 
 A cloud gathered on Starr's forehead. "You are a 
 curious character. I have beaten you at every turn. 
 I have you so completely cornered that you can't 
 even raise your pistol against me without endangering 
 the life of a certain person whom you are deeply inter- 
 ested in. By the way, Slade has bungled this situation. 
 He tells me that you have kidnaped Doctor Tagala 
 and refuse to tell where he is hidden." 
 
 "He has told you the exact facts. You will never 
 see Tagala again until I release him, and that I won't
 
 278 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 do until Miss Hard wick has been freed and the anti- 
 dote turned over to me." 
 
 Starr's lip curled scornfully. "As I said, Slade has 
 bungled the situation. He doesn't seem to understand 
 what kind of persuasion to exert on a man like you. I 
 think I can suggest an improvement. Miss Hardwick, 
 as I think you know, received a dose of datura poison 
 calculated to produce death within seven days. What 
 is the matter?" he added quickly as The Phantom 
 winced and touched his left shoulder. "Ah! You 
 have been wounded !" 
 
 "Only a scratch," said The Phantom coolly, despite 
 the sharp twinges that now and then shot through the 
 injured shoulder. "What about Miss Hardwick?" 
 
 "As I said, the injection she received was calculated 
 to kill within seven days. As you know, if you read 
 the accounts of Virginia Darrow's death, the dose can 
 be so adjusted as to produce death in a much shorter 
 time — say fifteen minutes or half an hour. Doctor 
 Tagala, who is a very fascinating gentleman, explained 
 the method to me very carefully." 
 
 "I don't quite see " began The Phantom, an un- 
 easy flicker in his eyes ; but Starr had already turned to 
 his lieutenant. 
 
 "Slade," he crisply commanded, "in one of the 
 drawers of the desk in the laboratory you will find 
 several bottles of datura poison. Bring me one of
 
 MR. SHEI'S STRATAGEM 279 
 
 those marked 'Series A.' Fetch a hypodermic syringe, 
 too, and be quick about it." 
 
 Slade withdrew. A horrifying suspicion was enter- 
 ing The Phantom's mind. Starr's methods were subtler 
 and far more frightful than his subordinate's. 
 
 "You look faint," observed Starr with a glance at 
 The Phantom's face. A trace of sarcasm edged his 
 words. 'T'm afraid the wound is very painful. Too 
 bad Doctor Tagala isn't here to treat it." 
 
 The Phantom was about to reply, but just then Slade 
 returned and handed his superior a syringe and a small 
 bottle containing a dark liquid. Starr studied the label 
 for a moment. 
 
 "Correct," he murmured. "It's fortunate Doctor 
 Tagala taught me how to use a syringe. In a few 
 moments Miss Hardwick will have received a second 
 dose of datura poison — one that will kill her inside half 
 an hour unless Doctor Tagala should administer the 
 restorative in the meantime." 
 
 A cry broke from The Phantom's lips. The severe 
 pain in the shoulder, together with the terrifying real- 
 ization that had just flashed through his mind, made 
 him suddenly dizzy. He leaned weakly against the 
 wall. In the same instant Starr, quick to seize the 
 opportunity, wrenched the pistol from his hand. 
 
 "This is ever so much better," he murmured elatedly. 
 "I think you will be willing to produce Doctor Tagala 
 as soon as I have injected the second dose of poison
 
 280 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 into Miss Hardwick's veins. Hold him, Slade, till I 
 come back." 
 
 He instructed one of the other men to follow him 
 and hurried away, but his words kept dinning in The 
 Phantom's consciousness. He made a strong effort to 
 fight down the treacherous weakness that was stealing 
 over him. He wondered why his eyes saw nothing but 
 whirling specks and why his knees shook so. The loss 
 of blood, he reflected, must have weakened him more 
 than he had realized. Suddenly everything went black, 
 and with a despairing moan he sank to the floor. 
 
 He heard Slade's derisive laugh, but it had an unreal 
 and far-away sound. 
 
 "Dead to the world," muttered Slade, and The 
 Phantom was dimly conscious that someone was bend- 
 ing over him. "Well, I hope for the girl's sake that he 
 comes to before the half hour is up."
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 THE PHANTOM'S RUSE 
 
 THE words had an electrifying effect on The 
 Phantom's nerves. Not more than a minute 
 could have passed since Starr's departure, and 
 his imagination pictured the scene that soon would be 
 enacted in Helen's room. He strove valiantly to shake 
 off the numbness that had been brought on him by hor- 
 ror and loss of blood. 
 
 Out of his half-closed eyes he saw Slade standing in 
 a listless attitude a few feet from where he lay. Evi- 
 dently he was depending on The Phantom's uncon- 
 sciousness to last a while longer, for he was idly toying 
 with his pistol and seemed rather bored. Two of the 
 other men were removing their wounded comrades, 
 and for the moment no one was observing The Phan- 
 tom. A sharp realization that he must act at once 
 quickened his thoughts and stirred his energies. His 
 mental picture of Helen and her desperate peril stim- 
 ulated his reserve forces of mental and physical vigor. 
 Warily he glanced about him, then crawled swiftly 
 and silently toward the point where Slade stood. Sud- 
 
 281
 
 282 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 denly he rose to his knees and jerked the pistol from 
 Slade's hand. In another moment he was on his feet, 
 stifling Slade's loud cry for help by a blow with the 
 weapon. Without a glance behind, he ran as fast as 
 he could in the direction taken by Starr. His mind 
 was already at work on a plan. A new force, more 
 powerful than mere bodily strength, seemed to speed 
 him on. Despite physical weariness and the sharp 
 twinges in his shoulder, he felt as if nothing could 
 resist him. If only there was yet time 
 
 Reaching the top of the stairs, he turned at random 
 in the hall. A low, drawling chuckle, uttered in a voice 
 he recognized as Starr's, drew his attention to one of 
 the doors near the end of the corridor. He approached 
 cautiously and looked in. 
 
 What he saw assured him that he had arrived in 
 time. He took in the scene with a single glance. A 
 powerful man, one of those he had fought in the hall 
 below, was seated on the edge of the cot, holding 
 Helen's weakly resisting hand in his huge paws. In 
 the center of the room, with a smile of gratification on 
 his lips, stood Vincent Starr, and The Phantom saw 
 that he was transferring the contents of the bottle to 
 the syringe. Evidently it was a slow and tedious task. 
 
 The Phantom waited until Starr had finished. He 
 flexed his muscles, then lunged forward. Before either 
 of the two men could move, the handle of his pistol 
 crashed down on the head of the individual seated on
 
 THE PHANTOM'S RUSE 28? 
 
 the cot. With a queer, fragmentary squeal, he slid 
 from his seat and lay prone on the floor. In an instant 
 The Phantom had whirled on Starr, who seemed com- 
 pletely taken back by the sudden interruption, and 
 jerked the syringe and the empty bottle from his hands. 
 Then, with all the strength he could muster, he crashed 
 his fist into Starr's jaw and sent him spinning to the 
 floor. Thrusting the empty bottle into his pocket and 
 gingerly handling the syringe, he fled from the room. 
 Despite his pain and weakness, he smiled as he sped 
 on. Once more The Gray Phantom's quick mind and 
 elastic energies were about to reverse a seemingly hope- 
 less situation. But the danger was not yet past, and 
 the hardest task was still to come. Starr, only partly 
 stunned, would soon recover his wits, and then, with a 
 hut and a cry, the pursuit would start. The thought 
 iviade The Phantom quicken his pace as he ran toward 
 the entrance of the hidden chamber. 
 
 A din and clamor sounded in the distance as he 
 reached the point where a sliding panel in the wall 
 afforded egress to the spiral stairway. Quickly closing 
 the opening behind him, he ran down the steps. The 
 pursuers, he knew, would never be able to locate the 
 entrance, and for the present he was safe. He stepped 
 inside the room and switched on the light, then placed 
 his automatic, the syringe, and the empty bottle on the 
 table. 
 
 Doctor Tagala was lying on the bed, just as The
 
 284 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 Phantom had left him. As the light went on, he gave 
 a hoarse gasp of amazement and tried desperately to 
 rise. 
 
 "Didn't expect to see me so soon again — eh, doc- 
 tor?" The Phantom removed his coat and proceeded 
 to clean and bandage his wound as well as he could. 
 "You tricked me very neatly, I'll admit, but the ruse 
 didn't quite succeed. Even if it had, don't you realize 
 that you would have been left here to starve to death ?" 
 
 The doctor continued to stare at The Phantom, who 
 rather enjoyed his stupefaction. He glanced at the bed 
 from time to time while he took several articles from 
 a cupboard and dressed his wound. When he had fin- 
 ished, Tagala began to strain uneasily at the cords 
 fettering his hands and feet. 
 
 "Useless exertion, doctor," advised The Phantom. 
 He walked to the bed and regarded the physician with 
 a frown. Then he quickly took the syringe from the 
 table and placed a knee on Tagala's chest. Tagala 
 squirmed and heaved, but to no avail. With his left 
 hand The Phantom took one of the scientist's arms and 
 pressed it firmly downward. 
 
 "Steady now, doctor. This is only a dose of your 
 own medicine, you know. You seemed quite proud of 
 it when you told me how you discovered it." The 
 Phantom took the syringe in his right hand, between 
 thumb and third finger, and pricked the doctor's flesh 
 with the needlelike point. "I'm a rank amateur at this.
 
 THE PHANTOM'S RUSE 285 
 
 but I'll try to manage. I believe the proper way is to 
 inject the stuff into a vein, but that's a ticklish job, and 
 I won't attempt it. This method is a little slower, but 
 just as effective." 
 
 The scientist, at last perceiving The Phantom's aim, 
 struggled frantically to free himself, but the ropes and 
 the pressure against his chest rendered him helpless. 
 Slowly and firmly The Phantom pressed against the 
 piston with his index finger, gradually discharging the 
 contents of the syringe into the physician's tissue. 
 Tagala soon ceased struggling, and the look of mute 
 agony in his face told that he had an ctcute realization 
 of his extremity. 
 
 Finally The Phantom tossed the empty syringe aside 
 and removed his knee from the doctor's chest. Then 
 he picked up the empty bottle and held it so Tagala 
 could read the label. 
 
 "Series A!" gasped the doctor, and a grayish pallor 
 overspread his hideous features. 
 
 "You seem to know what it means," observed The 
 Phantom. "Starr took pains to assure me that the 
 contents of this particular bottle would produce death 
 in thirty minutes. Now, doctor, don't you think you 
 had better tell me where the antidote is hidden — truth- 
 fully this time?" 
 
 Every trace of color had fled from the scientist's 
 face. He glared at The Phantom with a mingling of 
 dread and rage in his eyes.
 
 286 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 "Yes!" he groaned at length. "I will tell you. You 
 have me where I can do nothing else. But, if I tell 
 you, you will bring me a bottle of the antidote?" 
 
 "Assuredly. I am not a murderer. It isn't for me 
 to punish you for your crimes. I am resorting to this 
 method only because it seems the only way to influence 
 you and save eight lives." 
 
 "You give me your word of honor?" 
 
 "My word of honor." 
 
 Tagala heaved a vast sigh. "Very well, then. The 
 other time I gave you an accurate description of the 
 bottles, although I deliberately deceived you in regard 
 to where they were." He spoke fast and raspingly, as 
 if realizing that every moment was precious. "Listen 
 carefully," he went on; and then he gave The Phantom 
 clear and detailed directions which the latter mem- 
 orized. He knew that this time Tagala, actuated by 
 mortal fear, was telling the truth. 
 
 His pulses throbbed exultantly as he left the room 
 and hurried up the steps. Shouts and scurrying feet 
 told that Starr's men had not yet given up their search 
 for him. The hardest and most dangerous part of the 
 task was still ahead of him. The slightest accident or 
 misstep might yet cheat him out of the hard-earned 
 success that now seemed so near. He groped forward 
 cautiously, tightly clutching his pistol, infinitely alert 
 against the slightest sign or sound of danger. The 
 searchers were evidently in another part of the house,
 
 THE PHANTOM'S RUSE 287 
 
 for he reached the laboratory without encountering 
 anyone. 
 
 He throbbed and tingled with suspense and excite- 
 ment as he entered. Doubts and fears came back to 
 him. Had Doctor Tagala lied to him, after all? Did 
 the wily Mr. Shei have still another ruse in reserve? 
 Was he once more walking into a trap ? Would Helen 
 and himself be able to escape from Azurecrest with the 
 precious antidote in their possession? He was torn 
 between maddening misgivings and serene hopes as he 
 crossed the floor of the laboratory. Tagala had men- 
 tioned a closet in a corner of the room where, in an 
 ingeniously concealed hiding place, he would find the 
 bottles. His heart raced fast and hard as he stepped 
 inside. His hands trembled and there was an insistent 
 throbbing at his temples as he began to follow out the 
 scientist's directions. 
 
 Ten minutes later, with pockets bulging and a great 
 joy in his heart, he emerged from the closet. He had 
 found ten small bottles in all, and each one, according 
 to the directions on the label, contained a full course of 
 treatment. The antidote in his possession was more 
 than sufficient to save the lives of all of Mr. Shei's 
 victims. But he had promised to deliver one bottle to 
 the doctor; and with The Phantom a promise was a 
 promise, even when made to a blackguard of Tagala's 
 type. It would mean delay and additional risks, but he 
 would not go back on his word. Holding the auto-
 
 288 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 matic in readiness for instant action, he began to make 
 his way back to the secret chamber. 
 
 He had covered about half the distance when sud- 
 denly he heard a shout at his back. It was followed by 
 a sharp command to halt. Other voices took up the 
 cry until the house resounded with a chorus of harsh 
 and excited exclamations. Clear and loud, issuing 
 commands to right and left, the voice of Vincent 
 Starr was heard above all the others. The Phantom' 
 paid no heed. He ran swiftly along, feeling that every- 
 thing in life depended upon his ability to elude the pur- 
 suing tlirong. A pistol cracked spitefully; then a 
 bullet, aimed low, whistled past his knees. The Phan- 
 tom ran faster and faster, summoning all his remaining 
 strength. 
 
 Now he was only a few feet from the wall, but a 
 swift backward glance told him that the nearest of his 
 .pursuers was almost at his heels. He found the deftly 
 hidden knob that controlled the sliding door, and 
 pressed it. The wall parted, and in an instant he had 
 passed through the opening, but someone was already 
 tearing at his coat, and he could not close the aperture 
 behind him. Carried on by their momentum, several 
 men pressed and shoved against his back, pushing 
 him precipitately down the spiral stairs. One by one 
 his pursuers rushed through the opening at the top, 
 shouting wildly as they slid and tumbled down the per- 
 pendicular stairway.
 
 THE PHANTOM'S RUSE 289 
 
 "G€t him!" shouted Starr, one of the last to pass 
 through the opening. "Don't let him get away this 
 time!" 
 
 A sense of bafflement took hold of The Phantom as 
 he saw his pursuers pouring into the little chamber, but 
 of a sudden the glow of an inspiration came over his 
 face. The accident that had prevented him from clos- 
 ing the opening had been a thing in his favor. 
 
 He had left the light on upon leaving the room the 
 other tim.e, and now a touch of his finger plunged the 
 chamber into darkness. He knew it would be some 
 time before the others found the switch. Groping in 
 the dark, he slowly made his way to the cot and thrust 
 a bottle of the antidote into the hook of Tagala's arm. 
 The others would have to cut his ropes later. Elbow- 
 ing his way among men running wildly hither and 
 thither in the darkness, he came to the foot of the 
 stairs once more. Quickly he tiptoed to the top and 
 closed the sliding panel, well knowing that Starr's men 
 would be unable to master the mechanism that con- 
 trolled it. He chuckled softly as he descended again 
 and once more mixed with the scampering throng be- 
 low. 
 
 "Where is The Phantom ?" shouted a voice which he 
 recognized as Starr's. "Get him, men — get him ! We 
 may lose millions if he slips away from us. Can't 
 someone make a light ?" 
 
 The Phantom was crouching in a comer. "Better ,
 
 290 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 give Tagala a hand," he called out. "He is badly in 
 need of help. And don't worry about your millions. 
 They will be the least of your troubles after this." 
 
 He darted across the floor before the others had re- 
 covered from their amazement. Pushing and wrig- 
 gling, he reached the opposite wall. He fumbled along 
 its surface until he found a hidden lever. At his touch 
 a narrow door slid noiselessly open. Beyond it was 
 the tunnel by which he had entered the house upon his 
 arrival. For an instant, before closing the door behind 
 him, he paused in the opening. 
 
 "Starr," he called, an ecstatic throb in his tones, 
 "The Gray Phantom always wins in the end." 
 
 The door closed, and The Phantom started toward 
 the other end of the tunnel. Starr and his men would 
 remain prisoners in the chamber until the police could 
 reach Azurecrest and take them into custody. 
 
 With a brisk step, wholly unconscious of the pain in 
 his shoulder. The Gray Phantom hurried toward the 
 light of day — and Helen. 
 
 f
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 THE END OF THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 A THIN and stoop-shouldered old man, with a 
 kindly gleam in his sunken eyes, gave The 
 Phantom a warm handclasp when, three days 
 later, he walked into the drawing room of the Hard- 
 wick's residence. 
 
 "How is Miss Hardwick ?" was his first question, 
 
 "As well as ever, sir," declared her father. "The 
 antidote seems to have worked like a charm. I needn't 
 
 tell you that I am deeply grateful to you, and " He 
 
 paused and looked uncertainly at The Phantom. "I 
 wonder if you can ever forgive me for intercepting 
 those letters. I was a meddlesome old fool." 
 
 "You did what you thought best, Mr. Hardwick. 
 Anyway, all's well that ends well. Please don't think 
 about the matter." 
 
 "Thank you for saying that. I'll call my daughter 
 immediately." 
 
 He withdrew, and The Phantom sat down. His eyes 
 were keen and bright and there was a new vim and con- 
 fidence in his manner. He had several reasons for 
 
 291
 
 292 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 feeling highly elated. Starr and his men, trapped in 
 the secret chamber, had been lodged in jail. The seven 
 capitalists were recovering rapidly following the ad- 
 ministration of the antidote. Starr, after a thorough 
 sweating by the police, had grudgingly revealed the 
 whereabouts of Culligore and Fairspeckle, and they 
 had been rescued from their uncomfortable position 
 under the Thelma Theater. Incidentally, the room had 
 been found to contain a great amount of loot stored up 
 by Starr's organization. The full story of The Gray 
 Phantom's achievements had been published in the 
 newspapers, and strong efforts were being made to 
 have all outstanding indictments against him quashed. 
 His adventure had been successful in every respect. 
 
 He sprang up as Helen, with a wild-rose flush in her 
 rather pale cheeks, ran into the room. 
 
 "Gray Phantom !" she whispered. 
 
 His smile was a trifle sad. "The Gray Phantom is 
 dead," he murmured. Then his face brightened. A 
 whimsical light came into his eyes. "But in my gar- 
 dens at Sea Glimpse I am trying to bring out a little 
 gray orchid that is to be planted on his grave, symbol- 
 izing whatever was good in him. I am thinking of 
 calling it The Phantom Orchid." 
 
 "How poetic!" she exclaimed. "But I don't quite 
 like to think of The Gray Phantom as dead. He was 
 so splendid in many ways, just like the hero of my poor 
 little play. All he needed was to have the good in him
 
 THE END OF THE GRAY PHANTOM 293 
 
 brought to the surface. And that reminds me — the 
 hero of my play was you/' 
 
 The Phantom nodded. "I was conceited enough to 
 suspect it as soon as I saw the reviews in the papers." 
 
 Helen looked as if her thoughts were wandering 
 away from the present. "The weirdest experience of 
 my life was when I saw Starr enact the role of the hero 
 in my play. He actually lived the part. And it was 
 then I first suspected he was Mr. Shei." 
 
 The Phantom seemed puzzled. 
 
 "I am not sure I can explain. The idea that Starr 
 was Mr. Shei came to me like a flash, yet there was 
 quite a little feminine logic behind it. My hero was 
 modeled after you, but Starr enhanced the resemblance. 
 He introduced things that were not in my play, but 
 which made the similarity between my hero and you 
 all the more striking. His gestures and mannerisms 
 were all yours. As I sat there marveling at it, the 
 name of Mr. Shei suddenly leaped into my mind. I 
 think Virginia Darrow must have felt the same thing. 
 From time to time she looked at Starr in the strangest 
 way, as if she had suddenly made a startling discov- 
 ery." 
 
 "Hm," mumbled The Phantom. "Perhaps that was 
 why she sent Starr that facetious note." 
 
 "Afterward my impressions grew somewhat con- 
 fused," Helen continued. "The whole thing — Starr's 
 acting and Miss Darrow's strange conduct — seemed
 
 294 THE GRAY PHANTOM 
 
 sort of unreal. It was as if an illusion had been shat- 
 tered the moment Starr disappeared from the stage and 
 the curtain went down. The officers argued that Mr. 
 Shei could be nobody but The Gray Phantom. Their 
 arguments made me very uneasy, and after my talk 
 with Culligore the next day I felt I must see you. On 
 the impulse of the moment I got on a train." She 
 shuddered a little, as if some horrifying recollection 
 had come back to her. "It all seems like an ugly dream 
 — and I am not sure even now that I am quite awake." 
 
 For a time they sat silent, gazing dreamily into the 
 soft sunlight. 
 
 "Helen," said The Phantom at length, "I feel as if 
 a great black cloud had lifted from my life." 
 
 "I feel that way too." 
 
 He found her hand and held it. For a moment his 
 thoughts went back to the day when his fingers had 
 first touched hers. 
 
 "Helen," he murmured, "you and I have schemed 
 together and dreamed together and shared all sorts of 
 dangers together. I wonder if we couldn't " 
 
 Her misty-bright eyes met his. A smile, warm, 
 radiant, and tender, came to her lips. 
 
 "Yes," she whispered, "why couldn't we?" 
 
 THE END
 
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