AZURECREST
It was growing dark when she reached the end of her journey, and the
dusk made it easy for her to elude the little knot of idlers on the
station platform. 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 consumed 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 Susquehanna, like a cocoon thread, wound in and out among the
hills and valleys in the distance. The moon, shining 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 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 gruffly.
"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
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 precaution.
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 misgiving. 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 background 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 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 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.
"I 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 himself. "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."
"Perhaps so." The humpback made another annotation 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 uncomfortably. 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 disturbing 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
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 crystallized 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.