working against them to such an extent that they actually tried to kill her.” He smiled. “Publicity of that kind will create sympathy for Vicki and make her more valuable than ever.”
The Phantom rose. “Then I’ll leave you two. At the moment, I’m rather stopped in my tracks. A man I wanted badly got away from me, though the one who attacked you, Vicki, is now a prisoner. I’m going to have you face him first thing in the morning. Maybe that will break him – make him talk.”
Vicki shuddered. “I’ll do anything you say, Phantom. I’ll be glad to testify against that man. He really meant to murder me.”
“Good,” the Phantom told her. “Stick to that story, and he’ll know what amounts to a life sentence will face him. Tomorrow we may settle this whole thing. Good night – and thanks to both of you.”
CHAPTER XX
CLOCKS nearby showed about twenty minutes had elapsed since the Phantom had left the Club Elite. Yet now he was standing in front of a locked door on the fifteenth floor of the Avedon Building on lower Park Avenue. The corridor was deserted, and there was no light gleaming through the glass paneling of the door in front of him, but the lettering on the door was clearly visible. It read, “The Park Sunderland Model Agency.”
Swiftly and silently the Phantom drew a small, flat bit of steel from his pocket. A few moments of quick, deft work and the entrance door of the agency swung open to his touch. Like a flitting shadow he stepped inside, closing and locking the door noiselessly behind him.
In the darkness of the small reception office the scent of feminine perfumes hung heavy in the air. The Phantom drew his pocket flash and switched it on. The round beam of bright light circled around slowly, seeming to linger on the delicately tinted mauve walls, on the color photographs of languorous young ladies that hung there.
For an instant, the light lingered on the deserted receptionist desk, and the orange glass of the desk reflected back the white glow. Then the Phantom switched off the flash. He had assured himself there was no one in this part of the office at least, and there was danger of the light being spotted by someone passing in the corridor.
He turned and looked toward the door. The light from the corridor gleamed faintly through the glass, and he watched for a moving shadow that might indicate someone was lurking out there. The impression that he had been trailed when he had left the night club and driven here to this building in his car was strong within him.
For a full minute he stood there watching the door, but there was no sign of anyone outside. Apparently the corridor was still deserted. Satisfied, the Phantom stepped to the door of Park Sunderland’s private office. It was closed; and when he opened it, he found the office dark as was the rest of the agency. Again he brought the flash into use. The private office was deserted – no sign of anyone there. From the neatness of the place it was evident that the cleaning woman had come and gone.
The Phantom breathed a sigh of relief. If she had blundered in to straighten up the place and found him there his presence would have been difficult to explain. She probably would have thought he was a burglar and screamed for help. That would mean explanations and delays. The Phantom did not want that, for he knew he had to work fast tonight.
In the adjoining office, which evidently belonged to Sunderland’s private secretary, the Phantom found what he was seeking. It was a filing system. He quickly picked the lock on this, decided he could risk turning on the lights in the inner office, and went quickly to work. With pencil and notebook he took down names – dozens of them, along with addresses and phone numbers.
Even though he worked swiftly it took time. He was just about finished when he heard a key click in the lock of the door of the reception office. He thrust the pencil and notebook into his pocket. He leaped to the wall switch, intending to turn out the lights, and then hesitated, his finger on the button. The click of the light switch might be heard by whoever was entering.
He heard the door of the reception office open and close, and waited.
“Anyone here?” a masculine voice called. “Who is it?”
The Phantom did not answer. He stood motionless at the side of the open door where he could not be easily seen by any one glancing into the private secretary’s office. He heard footsteps. Someone was coming toward the office. The Phantom waited, gun in hand.
“I know there’s somebody around here,” the approaching man said. “If there wasn’t, those lights wouldn’t be on in there.”
The Phantom frowned as he recognized the voice. It was Bernie Pennell who spoke. Evidently he had spent some time since he returned to town establishing alibis for himself and Len Barker to cover them for the murder of Dr. Winterly and also the killing of the Phantom. Provided of course, that Pennell had not learned in some way that the man with the twisted ear had failed and the Phantom was still alive. But what was Pennell doing here?
Pennell stepped into the office, dressed just as he had been the last time the Phantom had seen him, the snappy gray hat on his head.
“You’re right, Pennell,” the Phantom said, thrusting the barrel of his gun against the swarthy man’s back. “There is somebody here.”
“The Phantom!” Pennell gasped, as he looked back over his shoulder and saw the face of the man behind him. “But I thought you were dead – that Len had killed you and left you at Winterly’s!”
“That was what you told him to do before you left,” said the Phantom. “But Len is in jail, and I’m still very much alive.” His voice hardened. “Turn around!”
Pennell turned, slowly and deliberately. Now that he had recovered from the first shock of finding the man he thought dead alive, there was no fear in his attitude. The Phantom realized that Bernie Pennell was far more dangerous than Len Barker had been. This suave, dark man was no cringing coward when the odds were against him.
“What are you doing here?” the Phantom demanded.
“I might ask you the same question,” Pennell said, a mocking note in his voice. And I doubt either of us will get a very convincing answer.”
The Phantom was sure that Pennell had a gun and was just waiting to find a chance to use it, even though the weapon was not visible. In the Phantom’s estimation, to demand that Pennell hand over his gun now would be a bad move. It would give the man the impression that the Phantom considered him dangerous, even when covered by the detective’s gun.
“It is strange that you should have a key to Sunderland’s office,” the Phantom said. “What about that, Pennell?”
“You evidently got in here without much trouble,” said Pennell. “So you know there are such things as skeleton keys. Suppose I used one of those myself?”
The Phantom said nothing, but mentally he had to admit that Pennell was smart. Unless he searched him there was no way of the Phantom proving the man had not entered the office with a skeleton key of some sort.
“Len Barker broke down and did a lot of talking,” the Phantom said. “He insisted that you were the one who murdered Doctor Winterly. You’re in a bad spot, Pennell.”
“You’re right, Phantom.” For the first time Pennell seemed worried. “Of course Barker is lying. He killed the old doctor, but I’d have a hard time proving that.” Pennell looked anxiously at the Phantom. “Maybe you could find a way of giving me a break if we talked this thing over.”
“That might be possible,” the Phantom said thoughtfully. “At least I can consider it.”
He felt that if he could actually get Pennell to talk – to reveal the name of the man that the Phantom was sure was the brains of the whole colossal confidence game it would save a lot of time and effort, and bring the case to a close in a hurry.
“Good,” said Pennell.“Let’s go in Sunderland’s private office and talk this over in comfort.”
Without even waiting for the Phantom to agree, Bernie Pennell turned and headed for Sunderland’s private office. The Phantom followed, the gun still in his hand. Pennell stepped in through the open doorway and switched on the lights. He walked over to the desk and seated himself behind it. Then he pushed back the gray hat on his dark hair and smiled at the Phantom.
