Chapter XIII: 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.