Chapter XXIII: 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