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 Hardwick'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 confidence in his manner. He had several
reasons for 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 administration 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 gardens at Sea Glimpse I am trying to bring out a little gray
orchid that is to be planted on his grave, symbolizing 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
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
discovery."
"Hm," mumbled The Phantom. "Perhaps that was why she sent Starr that
facetious note."
"Afterward my impressions grew somewhat confused," Helen continued.
"The whole thing--Starr's acting and Miss Darrow's strange
conduct--seemed sort of unreal. It was as if an illusion had been
shattered 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
Transcriber's notes:
Original publication data:
Publisher: W. J. Watt & Company, New York
Copyright: 1921, by W. J. Watt & Company
Printer: Braunworth & Co., Book Manufacturers, Brooklyn, N. J.
Original dedication:
To H. B., The Other Helen