The Gray Phantom Part 5

"All right, then," he said, taking her silence for a.s.sent. "You couldn't have had more than one reason for keeping mum last night, and that reason was that you wanted to s.h.i.+eld somebody. There is only one man on earth you could have wanted to s.h.i.+eld, and that man is The Gray Phantom."

"No!" she cried. "You're mistaken! I wasn't----"

"Easy now." All at once his tone changed. "There's such a thing as protesting too much, you know. I don't take much stock in what I read in the Sunday papers, but there's a lot of talk going the rounds about a romance between you and The Gray Phantom. Most of it is pipe dreams, I guess. Anyhow, it's n.o.body's business, and it makes no difference.

All I'll say is that if I was The Gray Phantom and had a girl like you fighting for me, I'd be willing to go through h.e.l.l-fire for her every day in the week. You're loyal clean through and----"

"But you're wrong!" she interrupted emphatically. His words filled her with a great fear, but there was a kind of rough tenderness in his voice that warmed her.

"I knew you'd say that, but you have to hear me through. I take off my hat to The Gray Phantom. He always played the game according to the code, even when he cut those fancy didos that put gray hairs in almost every head on the force. I shouldn't say it, but it goes just the same. The Phantom's been lying low now for some time. n.o.body seems to know where he is. He's shown himself only twice, and each time he came out in a good cause. They say he's going it straight, and it's rumored that a certain young lady has had a lot to do with his turning over a new leaf."

He paused, and for a moment his eyes rested on her averted face.

"It's hard work for a leopard to change his spots. Some people say it can't be done. The Phantom's human, like the rest of us. Maybe he's got tired of the straight and narrow path and gone back to his old tricks under a new name. Just for the sake of argument we'll say he has. And I've got a hunch that last night you saw or heard something that made you think that Mr. Shei is The Gray Phantom."

The a.s.sertion staggered her, though she had known all the time that he was leading up to it. Using almost the same words, her father had expressed the same idea at the breakfast table, and it was the similarity of the phrasing that startled her.

"No--no!" was all she could say.

"Then will you please tell me," said Culligore, his tones both gentle and insistent, "why didn't you come out with what you knew last night?"

She fell back a step, feeling suddenly weak as she realized that his question was unanswerable. A confusion of ideas churned and simmered in her mind. Her lips moved, but no words came.

"You've answered me," declared Culligore. "You think Mr. Shei is The Phantom. Maybe you're right, and maybe you're wrong. What I wanted to know was what you thought. And let me tell you something." A foolish grin, one of Lieutenant Culligore's infrequent ones, wrinkled his face. "I hate my job less whenever I meet up with one of your kind."

Helen did not hear what he said. She felt as if the swirl of thoughts and emotions within her had suddenly turned into a leaden lump. She glanced involuntarily at the chair in which Virginia Darrow had sat, and of a sudden she fancied she heard laughter--slow, tinkling laughter that sounded like a taunt flung in the face of an approaching specter.

She knew the sounds existed only in her imagination, but with a low, long drawn-out cry she turned abruptly and fled toward the door, conscious only of a fierce desire for sunlight and air.

No one detained her. She ran across the street. An idea was slowly working its way out of the turmoil in her mind. She opened her bag and counted her scant supply of bills. Then she looked about her. Half a block down the street she saw the sign of a district messenger office.

In a few moments she was inside, hastily scrawling a note which she had addressed to her father. A taxicab was pa.s.sing as she stepped out on the street. She hailed the driver, and he drew in at the curb.

"Erie station--West Twenty-third Street," she directed breathlessly.

As the cab started she slumped back against the cus.h.i.+ons and gazed rigidly out the window. Despite the bright sunlight, things blurred before her eyes, and there was only one clear thought in her mind.

She was on her way to The Gray Phantom, for she alone knew where to find him.

CHAPTER IV

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 fas.h.i.+on, 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 a.s.sociates.

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 b.u.t.ton. While waiting she looked about her. The Susquehanna, like a coc.o.o.n thread, wound in and out among the hills and valleys in the distance. The moon, s.h.i.+ning 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 coa.r.s.e-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 s.h.a.ggy 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 a.n.a.lyze 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 spa.r.s.e 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?"