Somewhere a clock was striking ten as the Phantom withdrew the bolt and,
silent as a cat, stepped out into the hall. He leaned over the
balustrade and looked down. From the rear came an occasional tinkle of
glassware. Doctor Bimble, never dreaming that his guest was foolhardy
enough to leave his secure retreat a second time, was evidently at work
in his laboratory. Noiselessly the Phantom stole down the stairs,
carefully testing each step before he intrusted his weight to it. The
door opened without a sound, and he darted a quick glance up and down
the street.
A fine drizzle was falling and the sidewalks glistened in the lights
from the street lamps and windows. There was a thin sprinkling of
pedestrians in the thoroughfare. Outside a pool room across the street
stood a group of loafers, and a band of gospel workers was addressing an
apathetic crowd on the nearest corner. The Phantom was about to step
away from the door when he saw something that caused him to press close
to the wall.
"Our friend Pinto," he mused as a thickset figure jogged past. "Seems a
bit distracted this evening. Wonder what's up."
The policeman passed on with only a perfunctory glance in the Phantom's
direction. There was something about his gait and the way he swung his
baton which suggested that his mind was not quite at ease. The Phantom
waited until he had turned the corner, then crept out of the doorway,
assuming an easy, swinging gait as he struck the sidewalk and turned
west.
The streets had their usual humdrum appearance, but beneath the calm on
the surface he sensed a tension and an air of repressed activity. It
might have been only imagination, but he thought people were regarding
each other with covert suspicion, as if friends and neighbors were no
longer to be trusted. The Phantom sauntering along as if he had not a
care in the world, turned into the Bowery and proceeded toward the
nearest station of the elevated railway. No taxicabs were in sight, but
he would be comparatively safe once he was aboard a train.
He whistled a merry little tune, but he was uncomfortably aware that the
cut and quality of his clothes were attracting attention in that squalid
neighborhood. Now he was only a few paces from the elevated stairs. The
space immediately in front of him was brightly illuminated by a corner
light, and each forward step was taken at great risk. He advanced with
an air of unconcern, glanced languidly at the papers and magazines
spread out on the news stall, and in another moment he would have been
starting up the stairs.
Just then he felt the sharp scrutiny of a pair of eyes. Their owner, he
fancied, was stationed in the dark doorway of an abandoned corner
saloon, only a few steps from the foot of the stairway, but he dared not
look back or sideways. In a second he had rallied his wits to the
emergency. To show the slightest nervousness or seem in a hurry would
instantly provoke a sharp command to halt. He purchased a newspaper,
glanced disdainfully at the headlines on the first page, and was
chuckling over a cartoon on the sporting page as he leisurely began to
ascend the stairs.
A loud rumbling told that a train was approaching. The Phantom pursued
his unhurried pace, conscious that the owner of the prying eyes had
stepped out of the doorway and was regarding him suspiciously. Suddenly,
as he reached a turn in the stairs, a cry rang out:
"Stop!"
The Phantom looked down with an air of idle curiosity, as if it were
unthinkable that the command could be meant for him, and climbed on. He
had almost reached the top when a second and more insistent cry sounded.
"Hey, there! I mean _you_!"
The Phantom climbed the remaining steps, reaching the ticket window just
as a train roared into the station. Three sharp taps sounded against the
sidewalk below, followed by a shrill blast of a police whistle. The
Phantom dropped his ticket in the chopper and stepped out on the
platform. The train gates were open and a few passengers were getting
aboard. For a moment he hesitated; then he hurried swiftly to the end of
the deserted platform and leaped out on the narrow walk used by track
workers.
The train rolled out of the station. The Phantom, lying flat, guessed
that the agent at the next stop had already been notified to hold it for
search, and it was this circumstance that had decided him against
getting aboard. From the street rose a great hubbub. He began to crawl
along the narrow span, screened from sight by a heavy beam. Each moment
was precious now, for soon the police would learn that the Phantom was
not on the train, and then they would guess that he was hiding somewhere
on the platform or the track.
He had crawled the length of half a block when he stopped and looked
down. The commotion at the corner had ceased, but as he glanced behind
him he saw that several dark forms were moving rapidly across the
platform, as if looking for someone. At the point where he lay the
street was dimly lighted and almost deserted. Agilely he swung his body
from the walk, clutched the beam with both hands until he could obtain a
foothold along one of the heavy iron pillars that supported the
structure, then slid quickly to the ground. Standing in the shadow of
the pillar, he looked about him. Apparently he had not been seen, but in
a few moments a dragnet would be thrown around the vicinity, and he
would have to exercise the utmost speed and caution if he was to escape.
Quickly he dodged into a side street. On the corner was a patrol box,
and, even as he glanced at it, the bulb at the top of the pole flashed
into a green brilliance. He knew what the signal meant. A general alarm
had been sent out, spreading the news that the Gray Phantom had been
seen. He hurried on, but he had not reached far when a patrolman
appeared around the opposite corner, forcing him to take refuge in a
dark cellarway. Luckily the green light had already attracted the
policeman's attention, and he hurried past the point where the Phantom
was hidden, and made for the box on the corner. While the bluecoat was
receiving his instructions from the station house the Phantom crawled
out of his retreat and, clinging close to the shadows along the walls,
hastened in the other direction.
He was very cautious now. Once out of the immediate neighborhood, the
greatest danger would be past, but for the present every step of the way
bristled with perils. A taxicab hove into sight as he reached an
intersection of streets, but the chauffeur showed no inclination to heed
his signal. The Phantom placed himself directly in the path of the
onrushing vehicle. It stopped with a grinding of brakes, accompanied
with a medley of oaths.
"What d'ye mean?" demanded the chauffeur. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
"Double fare," suggested the Phantom temptingly.
A sharp glance shot out from beneath the visor of the driver's cap.
"Where to?"
"South Ferry," said the Phantom, though his actual destination was a
good distance short of that point.
"All right," with a shrewd glance at his fare. "Get in."
He held the door open and the Phantom entered the cab. They had
proceeded only a short distance, however, when the passenger pinned a
bill to the cushion, cautiously stepped out on to the running board and
hopped off in the middle of a dark block. He had not quite approved of
the chauffeur's looks.
Just ahead of him lay the wholesale section of Broadway, at that time of
night as gloomy and lifeless a stretch of thoroughfare as can be found
in all New York. The Phantom walked briskly to the corner and was
turning south when he all but collided with a red-faced heavy-jowled
policeman.
"Pardon," he said lightly. Quickly he stuck a cigar between his lips,
tugging at his mustache with one hand and exploring his vest pocket with
the other. "By the way, officer, happen to have a match?"
The officer produced the desired article, and in return the Phantom
proffered a cigar while he lighted his own. With a hearty "Thank you,
sor," the policeman put the weed in his pocket and trudged on, deciding
he would smoke the affable stranger's cigar when he went off duty. He
didn't, however. After straightening out certain tangles in his mind and
arriving at certain conclusions, Officer McCloskey resolved to keep the
cigar as a souvenir of the occasion when he accommodated the Gray
Phantom with a match.
Chuckling at the happy circumstances that some policemen are more
gullible than others, the Phantom hurried forward in the shadows of tall
brick buildings. He thought he had left the zone of greatest danger
behind him, but the utmost caution was still needed; the crucial test
would not come until he reached his destination. As often before, he was
relying for success and safety on the fact that he was doing the very
thing a hunted man was least likely to do.
A hansom drawn by a scraggy nag came toward him and drew up at the curb
on his signal. He fixed an appraising look on the driver, a
despondent-looking individual in sadly dilapidated livery, whose sole
concern in his prospective passenger seemed to have to do with the
collecting of a generous fare.
"Drive me to the _Sphere_ office," directed the Phantom, satisfied with
his inspection of the man on the box.
He climbed in, and a crack of the whip startled the nag into activity.
The Phantom, tingling with a familiar sensation, leaned back against the
cushion and watched long rows of somber buildings stream past. He was
bent on a madcap adventure, and the details of his plan were still
vague, but if the scheme succeeded he would have gained an important
advantage. His task, besides being difficult and dangerous, was also
somewhat strange to him. Many sensational ventures embellished his past,
but he had never until now essayed a kidnaping, at least not under
circumstances like these.
The vista brightened. A short distance ahead loomed the Municipal
Building and the Woolworth Tower. Serenely the cab jogged into City Hall
Park, carrying its passenger into a brightly lighted square that even at
night stirred with activity and bristled with a thousand dangers. The
hansom stopped, and the Phantom gazed a trifle dubiously at a tall
building from which issued the clatter of linotype machines and the dull
rumble of presses.
"Here we are, sir," observed the jehu expectantly, speaking through the
trap over the passenger's head.
The Phantom did not move. The entrance of the _Sphere_ building was
brightly lighted and people were constantly passing in either direction.
On the corner, keenly scanning the face of each passer-by, stood a
lordly policeman. The Phantom counted his chances, knowing that much
more than his personal freedom was at stake. The mustache, his sole
disguise, seemed inadequate. He might be recognized by anyone in the
passing throng who chanced to give him a second glance, and he would
face another ticklish situation when he was inside the building.
"Didn't you say the _Sphere_, sir?" inquired the driver.
The Phantom was about to reply when fate unexpectedly stepped in and
solved his problem. A few vigorous expressions spoken in loud and
boisterous tones drew his attention to the doorway. A gaudily garbed
person who seemed to be in an advanced stage of inebriation was being
propelled through the door by a stocky man with a reddish and determined
face. As he caught a glimpse of the tipsy individual's features, the
Phantom started and wedged his figure into the farther corner of the
hansom.
From his well-filled wallet he took a bill and thrust it through the
trap. The jehu took it, stared for a moment at the numeral in the
corner, which was imposing enough to corrupt stancher souls than his,
then listened attentively to the instructions his fare was giving in low
and hurried tones.
"I get you, sir," was his comment. "Leave it to me."
In the meantime the stout person had given the tipsy one a final
departing shove, and now he stood aside, with thumbs crooked in the
armpits of his vest, his face glowing with the consciousness of a job
well performed. His victim picked himself up with great difficulty and
looked about him with groggy eyes while loudly proclaiming how he would
avenge the affront.
"Cab, sir?" invitingly inquired the jehu.
The inebriate one careened forward, blinked his eyes and, with head
wagging limply from side to side, gave the hansom a slanting look.
Evidently it met his approval, for he nodded and staggered closer. The
driver jumped from the box and obligingly assisted his new fare to the
seat. A moment later the cab was dashing away from the curb, followed by
the amused glances of several spectators.
The tipsy passenger, sprawling lumpishly in his seat, rolled a little to
one side as the conveyance turned a corner. To his amazement his head
struck someone's shoulder; then a firm, low voice spoke in his ear:
"Tommie Granger, you're just the person I have been looking for."