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, unbelievable--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 corners, 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 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
magnitude 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 crying 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 suggested Lefty Joe's place as a
reasonably safe rendezvous.
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 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 questioner. "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 hovered above his lips.
"If he is, he gave himself a dose of his own medicine," 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 I 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 he played on you yesterday.
Fairspeckle 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 morning, 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 fancy stalling to cover up what they
don't know. The high muckamucks of the profession are holding a
consultation this morning 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 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 Hardwick 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 questioned, and to-day, I can hardly make a move without running
the risk of being arrested."
"I should say you can't!" declared Culligore explosively. "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 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, 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 doorway. 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 notebook 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 modest brownstone house, its rigid exterior
relieved by sprawling vines and flowers in the window boxes. The
female servant who opened the door announced that Mr. Hardwick 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 quavering tones. "In the afternoon I
received a brief message 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 uneasy, for she had been acting strangely ever
since--since----"
"Since the affair at the Thelma Theater," guessed The Phantom.
"Listen, Mr. Hardwick. 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.
"I 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 daughter. 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 circumstances."
"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 unsuitable
attachment. In short, I destroyed the letters after a glance at the
handwriting on the envelope."
The Phantom smiled faintly. "I know you acted 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?"
"I 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. "I had promised 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
place through a broker and never even learned the name of the present
owner. But her going to Azurecrest 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 telephone from its stand in
a corner, and, after being connected 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 expectantly 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 Phantom 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."
He squeezed the older man's hand and walked out. Though he could not
understand why, his interview with Hardwick and his brief talk with
Slade had intensified 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.
"If 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
expressed by her pale-green eyes.
"You are very reckless, my dear Phantom," she murmured. "Please don't
ask to what happy circumstance you owe the invitation to ride with me.
I abhor ceremonious speeches. I am Fay Dale, though that 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 impression 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 something 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 interfere with him. He is
now engaged in the most important 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 Phantom is a
dangerous adversary. At this particular time he can brook no
opposition. That's why he requests you to leave New York immediately."
"I 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 temporized, 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 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 him through an ornate entrance, then up three flights
in the elevator, and a little gasp of admiration escaped The Phantom
as they passed into an exquisitely furnished apartment. Save for the
prevalence of the feminine touch, exemplified in gorgeous but
meaningless 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 coming 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 wondered 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 cold, 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 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 followed 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
jumbled 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.