The letter was brief, but. interesting. It read:
.
Contact Douglas Hoag, Texas oil man. Prospects good.
Worth millions. A gambler and not too smart.
.
The Phantom made a mental note of the name, leaned back in the leather chair, and tried to figure out what this could be about. He eyed the formidable surface of the safe door and wondered if he could break into that vault. He arose, went to the safe, and spun the combination. He put an ear against the door, near the dial, and then shook his head. This safe was new and burglar proof, except against a terrific charge of nitro.
SUDDENLY, the Phantom snapped off his flash, scurried toward the office door, and flattened himself against the wall beside it. His keen hearing had detected the slow, lazy approach of a watchman. The office door opened; a flashlight ray swept across the room, lingered on the safe for a moment; and then the watchman went away.
The Phantom waited a few moments. Through the slit between the door and its frame he had a glimpse of the watchman – a powerfully-built, hard-faced character who looked more like a hoodlum, the type of a man capable only of taking orders and who would require advice if anything went wrong.
A slow smile came over the Phantom’s face along with the materialization of an idea. He quietly approached the safe door again, this time removing the flat kit of burglar tools from an inner pocket. He selected a small, sharp jimmy, and went to work. He had no hope of forcing the safe door, but he did inflict deep scratches on its surface. He dug around the combination too, scarring it badly.
Next, he took papers from the desk drawer and scattered them on the floor in front of the safe. He discovered a small steel fireproof box in the desk, used for postage stamps and petty cash. He placed this on the floor also, as if it had been carelessly removed from the safe and discarded.
This accomplished, he prowled the outer office until he found a cubbyhole where the telephone switchboard was located. He rigged the board so no calls could go through. Then he returned to the office, left the door open, and attacked the safe combination knob with a small steel hammer. He made a great deal of racket and kept it up until he heard the running steps of the watchman.
The Phantom raced out of the room, through the main office, and across the factory yard. He headed for the rear of the place and took no pains to make his progress any less noisy. A gun cracked behind him, but it was a wild shot, meant to intimidate more than bring a man down. The Phantom stopped close by the fence, scaled his hat over it, and then dodged for the darkest parts of the factory yard.
The watchman was running up, flash in one hand, gun in the other. He saw the hat on the other side of the fence, threw the beam of his light around the darkness outside the fence, and finally gave up. He returned to the factory office, turned on the lights, and studied the safe. To all appearances the safe had been opened, rifled, and then closed again. The watchman rubbed his chin, tried to figure it out, and finally went to the desk. He picked up the phone and dialed.
His call went no further than the switchboard which the Phantom now manned. After a suitable pause the Phantom cut in on the wire. He grunted a grouchy “Hello.”
“Bernie,” the watchman said, “this is Vogel down at the plant. Listen, a few minutes ago I heard a funny noise. Then somebody went tearing across the yard and got over the fence. I saw his hat where he’d dropped it. I came back, and I think he got the safe open.”
“You think!” the Phantom barked, and his voice was that of the sleek, smooth Bernie Pennell. “If the safe door is open, of course he got in.”
“But it isn’t,” Vogel protested mildly. “Just a lot of papers and a cash box on the floor outside the safe. I thought I better call you.”
“Vogel,” the Phantom said crisply “you know how to open that safe, don’t you?”
“You told me where the combination was hid,” Vogel said weakly. “I can do it, I guess.”
“Then do that and stop yapping. See if anything is missing. Hurry it up, call me back.”
“Yeah – right away. Won’t take more’n a minute or two.”
VOGEL hung up hurriedly. He left gun and flash on the desk, went over to a bank of steel filing cabinets, and opened one drawer. On the inside of it was pasted a bit of paper with the safe combination numbers typed on it.
He memorized this, repeated them over and over as he approached the safe; and in a few moments he was swinging the door wide. He stared at the neatly arrayed contents, felt a full measure of relief, and started to rise and call Pennell back with the good news.
His wide grin of pleasure in not finding the safe rifled, changed to a grimace and a groan. He slid his tongue over suddenly dry lips and got up slowly, hands in the air.
“That’s very good,” the Phantom told him. “Now walk over and sit down behind the desk. Keep your hands on the arms of the chair, and don’t look for the gun you left on the desk. I have it.”
“Who – who are you?” Vogel gulped. “Listen – you don’t know what you’re horning into.”
“Let me decide that. I’m the Phantom Detective, not some crook you think you might intimidate.”
Vogel obeyed the Phantom’s orders, but that small brain of his was working hard. If he could get this man- hunter – but good – the prestige would be worth a fortune.
The Phantom kept one eye on Vogel while he examined the contents of the safe. The first thing that attracted him was a large glass jar containing what seemed to be more of that mysterious bronze-colored powder which he had found near Arden’s body and, again, in Arden’s New York apartment.
The Phantom also lifted out several foot-long bars of bronze colored metal. They were about three inches thick and four wide, but were deceivingly light in weight. Each bar bore the imprint of the figure 8.
There were also some loose leaf notebooks which proved interesting. They concerned detailed analysis of the metal bars and the powder. There were elaborate compilations of strength and stress of the metal, and many comparison tables for other and more common metals and alloys. All these tables and analysis charts were signed by Dr. Winterly.
The Phantom turned toward Vogel. “These metal bars – are they manufactured in this plant?”
“How do I know?” Vogel said gruffly. “I’m just a night watchman.”
“Who knows exactly whom to phone when something happens and who knows where the combination of the safe is located,” the Phantom said. “You’re more than a watchman, Vogel. You’re a crook, working for Bernie Pennell and Len Barker. I want to know about these metal bars.”
A glint of cunning showed in Vogel’s eyes. “Look – do I get a break if I help make you?”
“I can’t make any promises – except what will probably happen to you if you don’t help. You would be very wise to do as I request.”
“That metal is made here,” Vogel growled. “In a special furnace. There’s more of it hidden along the catwalk.”
“We’ll go and have a look,” the Phantom said. “Lead the way, Vogel.”
They crossed the factory floor, reached a circular steel stairway that led to a catwalk high above the factory floor. By means of this catwalk, an enormous crane could be reached. A crane with which the big crucibles of molten metal were hoisted out of the furnaces and moved to the rows of molds.
The control house of the crane was suspended from tracks, and moved up and down the length of the factory. A very thick chain dangled from beneath the car and was looped over to the catwalk where it was twisted around a large steel post.
They reached the catwalk, moved along it; and the Phantom was very alert. He suspected that Vogel had a trick up his sleeve, but he wanted the crook to pull it. Once Vogel made his attempt to get away, or kill the Phantom, he’d expose himself and could no longer claim to be only a watchman. The Phantom had an idea that Vogel, properly softened, might talk.
