THE VOICE ON THE WIRE
The Gray Phantom lay on his back in W. Rufus 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 combination was restful, but
the decorations, and especially the pictures, bespoke rather extreme
tastes. He had gathered, from what little he had seen of the
surroundings, that Mr. Fairspeckle was occupying a luxurious apartment
consisting of several rooms and that it had been fitted up to suit his
individual requirements. Haiuto, the rat-footed Japanese servant,
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 Phantom 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 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 sidewalk. The theory was
startling and rather improbable; 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 apartment came a series of faint, clicking sounds. At
first 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, indicating that the writer was unfamiliar with
the machine and was having some difficulty picking out the characters
on the keyboard.
He stole to the door and opened it a crack. The sounds became louder,
and the writer's awkward groping 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 was a keen glitter in The
Phantom's eyes. In itself the clicking of the machine signified
scarcely anything, but in conjunction with other circumstances it was
fairly suggestive. With noiseless tread The Phantom tiptoed in the
direction 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 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 forward, 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 automatic from his pocket,
then waited until Mr. Fairspeckle 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.
"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 suggestive of untold
wealth and vast influence in the financial 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 including 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.
"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 or 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 bloodless 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 disappointed me. I
don't see why you had to copy my methods so slavishly. For a while I
was almost certain 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 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 hesitation.
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 _me_?" 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.