No one else’s would be there, and Luke would have no story at all.
Whatever was to be, the Phantom realized he must force Len to use the knife first. There was no dodging a bullet, but a knife might be parried or ducked. Len only had one arm. He might be reached before he could seize the gun. The Phantom had to make the first move. He approached the door, leaned against it, and let his hand rest upon the board he’d already worked half loose.
“I don’t think you’re so hot with a knife,” the Phantom said. “I think I can take you, Len. I think I will.”
Len smiled complacently. “Any time, Phantom. Any time at all. Just push that door down.”
The Phantom braced himself, set his shoulder tight against the door and shoved. At the same time he ripped the loose board free. The door caved in. Len was on his feet, holding the knife by its tip and drawn back over his shoulder. His arm snapped forward. The blade came hurtling straight at the Phantom in as accurate a throw as the Phantom had ever seen.
He was on the move too. There was no chance of evading the blade, but he was bringing up the width of board and thrusting it into the path of the knife. The blade hit the board, sliced through it, ripped a gash in the Phantom’s wrist, but stopped there.
With a wild yell Len reached for the gun. He had been too certain that the blade was going to slice its way home. He’d never missed. He couldn’t at this incredibly short distance. Len’s mind was set on that score. It required a split second or two to change it, and during that second or two, the Phantom was coming at him.
The Phantom hurled the board with its knife sticking through it. Len, hand on his gun, had to duck or be struck by the missile. When he straightened, a fist was whizzing toward his face. It struck, full on the bridge of Len’s nose. He screamed. He started to bring up the gun, but blood blinded him.
A hand came down on his wrist, almost breaking it. The fist smashed him again, in the same spot. He felt the gun torn out of his grasp. Again he was struck, this time just below the chest. It doubled him up. He took a few waddling steps backward, encountered the wall, and then his whole body was snapped erect as a punch landed against his chin.
Len slowly sank to the floor, back still against the wall, so that he sat there, glassy eyed and moaning. The Phantom, breathing hard, nearly exhausted, straddled the chair which Len had abandoned. He trained the gun on the half conscious thug.
The gun shook badly.
The Phantom managed a grin. If Len had succeeded in putting up much of a fight, he’d have won. The Phantom’s experience in the lake, evading the speed boat which Bernie and Len had been using as a murder weapon, had robbed him of much of his strength. Then the blows he’d been given, practically finished the job.
Gradually the gun steadied though, and as Len came out of it he found himself staring down the length of its barrel. Len shuddered and tried to push himself through solid masonry wall.
CHAPTER XIX
VERGING on hysteria, Len gazed at the gun in the Phantom’s steady hand with eyes that were filled with terror. His knife was gone now, and he was no longer the ruthless killer he had been just a few moments ago.
“Don’t shoot,” he pleaded, his voice shaking. “Don’t – I’ll tell you all you want to know. Don’t kill me!”
“I don’t intend to unless you force me to shoot,” the Phantom said slowly, and he could not keep the contempt he felt for this groveling creature in front of him out of his tone. “As for what information you know, I don’t need it. I know this is a con game. I know the suckers are fed a line about some new kind of metal.”
“That’s right,” Len said. “You’re smart, Phantom. You know all the answers.”
“A new kind of metal that will revolutionize industry,” the Phantom went on as though Len had not spoken. “Confidence game metals are like that – the greatest thing ever discovered but they never actually turn out that way at all. I know that factory is a front for your operations, and that Bernie Pennell is outwardly head man. But someone else is behind him.” The Phantom’s voice hardened, and his eyes were fixed intently upon the face of the man who stood in front of him. “Who is he? Who is the boss of the whole thing?”
“I don’t know.” Len groaned, the terror still with him. For a man so eager to kill he was terribly afraid of death. “You must believe me – you’ve just got to believe that I don’t know.”
The Phantom knew many ways of forcing criminals to talk, and he had found there were times when silence was a more potent factor than words. He did not speak, but just stood there watching and waiting.
Beyond the range of the electric light that gleamed into the bin the cellar was dark and shadowy. In the stillness Len moved one foot and seemed startled by the slight sound it made.
“If you are going to shoot, do it and get it over with,” he said. “Don’t just stand there looking at me like that. I can’t stand it.”
“Why was Dr. Winterly murdered?” the Phantom asked.
“I – I wasn’t told. They never told me anything!”
“Then I shall. Winterly was a front for this con game. As an eminent scientist, his name was a clincher. How could a deal be crooked if he was connected with it? Only there was a hitch. Dr. Winterly’s mind had cracked. He was deluded into thinking he had invented something stupendous. But things were closing in, and Dr. Winterly was dangerous because he knew who was behind the scheme. So he had to die.”
“I didn’t kill him,” Len cried. “Bernie did. Bernie said Winterly had to die before you reached him.”
“And how did Bernie know I was headed this way, to talk to Dr. Winterly?”
“Bernie got a phone call, and we started here as fast as we could. Bernie fed the dumb lug upstairs some doped booze. He was meant to take the rap.” The fright and the pleading were still in Len’s voice. “You got to believe me. I’m just a small guy.”
From upstairs there came a faint sound. The Phantom frowned as he heard it. “On your feet,” he snapped, and then as Len scrambled up. “Keep those arms raised. We’re going upstairs. Luke just moaned. He’ll be coming out of it.”
“Don’t let him at me,” Len begged. “That fellow is dangerous. He’s a sap, but he’s strong as a bull, and he’ll be sore at me.”
“That’s not unlikely,” the Phantom grunted. “Move along. I’m not in love with you myself.”
Upstairs, Luke was sitting on the edge of the couch, holding his big head in his hands while he tried to figure out what had happened. The tent-shaped eyes under the heavy brows looked blank and bleary, the flat nose looked like someone had casually stuck it on his broad, dumb face. The shapeless lips were no longer twisted in their usual leer, but hung slack and trembling.
The Phantom motioned Len to stand near the big man so that he could cover both of them with the gun.
“Snap out of it, Luke,” the Phantom said.
Luke raised his head and gazed blankly at the man who stood in front of him. “Who – who’re you?” he asked in a thick voice. “Who – wait, I know. You’re that cop. I hate cops.”
“Luke, listen to me. I’m the Phantom Detective. Dr. Winterly was murdered -”
“Murdered?” interrupted Luke. “But that couldn’t happen. I wouldn’t let anybody get near the Doc. Not me.”
“You couldn’t stop them,” the Phantom said. “You were knocked out with doped booze. This man with his arms in the air was one of the two who killed Doctor Winterly.”
“I don’t believe it. You’re just talking wild. The Doc is all right. I’ll go see.”
Luke got to his feet, staggered toward the next room. For a moment he stood in the doorway staring at the body, and then he uttered a weird sob. Finally he turned slowly, half crouched, mighty arms outspread, his huge hands opening and closing. He shuffled forward, his drug-dazed eyes on Len Barker.
“One of the two who killed him,” Luke mumbled. “One of the two.”
Len Barker shuddered, but he was too frightened now even to speak. He just stood there staring at the big man.
“Sit down, Luke!” The Phantom’s voice was sharp and commanding in the grim silence. “Do you hear me? Sit down, or I’ll shoot a leg from under you.”
