The Gray Phantom, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  "MR. SHEI"

  For a moment longer she leaned against the pillar. Then she heardlaughter--laughter that was low and sibilant and edged with theinsinuating twang that sometimes characterizes the laughter of amadman. It was soft and gentle, yet she thought it was the mostfearful sound she had ever heard. It gripped and shook her, and sheknew instinctively that it came from the woman in the rear.

  Something urged her forward, but her nerves and limbs rebelled. Othersbeside herself must have heard that soul-shaking laughter, for thehush that had fallen over the house ended abruptly in a jumble of loudsounds. The curtain descended with a rhythmic chugging, there wereexclamations of surprise and horror, and the audience sprang fromtheir seats as the lights went on. With startled faces they looked toleft and right and rear, and several of them excitedly inquired whathad happened. No one seemed to know, but as if moved by a singleimpulse, they scrambled in the direction whence the laughter came.Then they stopped, huddled in a half circle, and stared.

  What they saw seemed all the stranger by contrast with the floweryscents in the air and the rich and brilliant hues of the surroundings.All eyes were fixed on the woman whose peculiar demeanor had arousedHelen's interest. Her extravagant attire and her wild, gypsylikebeauty seemed typical of the oddly assorted characters who made upVincent Starr's circle of intimates. A filmy drapery embroidered withgold-touched flowers hung like an iridescent fog over her gown ofsilver tissue. Her bare arm was flung out over the top of the nextseat, and her head had fallen back against the elbow.

  Murmurs of awe and consternation fell from the lips of the onlookers.Before their eyes the pallor of death was creeping into the woman'sface, and her cheeks and forehead were beaded with the perspiration ofthe death struggle. Now and then her figure writhed with a slow,snakelike motion. A film of gray was gradually dimming the luster ofthe eyes. Only the lips were still red.

  As if to fling a taunt in the face of approaching death, the woman waslaughing. It sounded wildly unreal and fantastic, and the spectatorsstood as if gripped by an unearthly enchantment. It seemed as thoughthe woman's spirit was flitting away on waves of hysterical mirth.

  The sounds grew husky, then ceased. The woman's glazing orbs lookedout over the fringe of faces. A fluttering ray struggled with theblinding film before her eyes, and she seemed to be looking forsomeone who was not there. She stirred as if trying to gather herwaning energies. Her lips trembled, a few faint sounds broke on thetense silence, and again her gaze strayed gropingly over the crowd.

  "Mr.--Mr. Shei," she whispered.

  Those closest to her recoiled as from a physical blow. The name spokenby the dying woman had contributed the final touch of weirdness to thescene. The two words went from mouth to mouth in a succession ofsolemn whispers. Faces turned rigid and white, and men and womenlooked at one another with mute fear in their eyes.

  Then someone with more presence of mind than the others, suggestedcalling a physician. A strain of drawling laughter from the dyingwoman mocked the proposal. It rose to a shrill pitch, then diedabruptly in a low sing-song moan that was like a chant of death. Thelips were still moving, but the onlookers knew, even without thesagging of the body and the broken light in the eyes, that the womanwas dead. A spell seemed to have lifted and an oppressive essenceappeared to have gone out of the air.

  "Awful!" wailed a woman, edging away from her place in the huddledthrong. "I shall hear that laugh as long as I live. And what was thatshe said about Mr. Shei?"

  The name and the prefix were all anyone had been able to make out, butthey had been enough to send a thrill of fear and astonishment throughthe crowd. Of the mysterious "Mr. Shei" little was known except thathe was a versatile and very elusive criminal, with a penchant for deepscheming and spectacular tactics, and that so far the police hadmatched their wits against him in vain. He flashed in and out like ameteor, without leaving trace or clew, and his audacity and impudencewere as dumfounding as the magnitude of his exploits.

  "Did she mean," inquired someone, "that Mr. Shei was here--that she sawhim?"

  "What else could she have meant?" The speaker cast an uncertain glanceat the dead woman. The grayness and the rigidity of her featuresclashed bizarrely with the brilliant coloring of her gown. "Likely asnot Mr. Shei murdered her."

  "But there is no wound. And she made no outcry. She only laughed. Andsuch a laugh! I can hear it still!"

  "Mr. Shei is diabolically clever," observed another, "and he goesabout his business in his own way. It would be quite in character forhim to kill without inflicting a wound and to let his victim go to herdeath laughing."

  The group fell silent. Helen, who had remained in the background,trying to control her sense of horror while she pondered what she hadseen, touched the arm of the woman in front.

  "Who is she?" she inquired.

  "Don't you know?" The woman, busying herself with a vial of smellingsalts, gave Helen a puzzled look. "Why, she is Virginia Darrow. Neverattend her studio parties? That's strange. But I forget that you aresomething of a stranger among us, Miss Hardwick."

  Helen smiled faintly, and the next moment her attention was attractedto her father. Mr. Hardwick had joined his daughter shortly after thelights went on, and until now he had been a silent spectator. Withdifficulty he elbowed his way through the crowd to the dead woman'sside, and regarded her closely. Presently he raised her right arm,which had hung limply at her side. Just above the elbow was a small,faint discoloration, not unlike the puncture made by a hypodermicsyringe. He nodded thoughtfully and seemed about to speak, but justthen Vincent Starr, followed by several members of his company, cameup the aisle and wedged a path through the huddled spectators.

  He seemed to take in everything at a single comprehensive glance. Hewas pale, and his fingers trembled, but Helen noticed that he hadtaken pains to arrange his attire before coming out to ascertain thecause of the commotion. His long and glossy hair was neatly combed,his cravat was carefully adjusted, and just the proper width of cuffshowed beyond the edge of his sleeve. She watched him narrowly whilehe questioned those about him. Somehow she sensed that it was inkeeping with Vincent Starr's character to be squeamish about the minordetails of his appearance even when face to face with a tragedy.Suddenly, as she heard him issue orders to right and left, sheremembered the note Virginia Darrow had sent him, and she wondered,without knowing exactly why, whether he would say anything about it.

  At the same time she was forced to admire his quickness of wits andthe ease with which he mastered his feelings. In an incredibly shorttime the police had been notified of the occurrence and thedoorkeepers had been given orders to allow no one to leave thebuilding. Starr, in his habitually suave tones, asked his guests to beseated and expressed his regrets that such an unpleasant affair shouldhave taken place under the roof of the Thelma. There would be aninvestigation and a great deal of questioning, he explained, but itwould be only a formality. If the mysterious Mr. Shei--he smiledqueerly as he spoke the name--had invaded the Thelma, he wouldundoubtedly be caught.

  The crowd scattered among the seats in the auditorium and lapsed intothe small talk with which one sometimes masks an inward turbulence.Helen, seated beside her father on a lounge in a corner, let herglance roam aimlessly over the scene. She supposed she would bequestioned along with the others, and she wondered how much or howlittle she would be able to tell. Now that she tried to clarify theconfusion in her mind, she saw that during the evening she hadreceived two sets of impressions. Both had been equally strong at thetime, but now they seemed to clash and quarrel with each other, andone of them had all but vanished with the drop of the curtain. Yet shefelt it was the more important one of the two. The other had to dowith the face she had glimpsed in the shadows. With the varicoloredlights glowing on all sides, her recollection of it seemed unreal andfanciful. It appeared to be a thing of darkness and dreams. Her oneremaining impression of it was a sense of malignity and horror. Shefelt words were inadequate to describe it.

 
She shrugged her shoulders slightly, as if to banish harassingthoughts, and turned to her father. His face was drawn and a triflepale, and she remembered the family physician had once said somethingabout an incipient heart ailment and the necessity of avoidingexcitement. She tilted her face close to his.

  "I'm sorry I got you into this, dad," she said.

  Mr. Hardwick drew himself up. His face brightened with affection andthe pride of parenthood as he gazed at his daughter's figure, straightand slender and strong as the trunk of a young birch. Her simple frockof white taffeta with touches of coral at the waist possessed thatsubtle individual charm which fashion designers can only imitate. Herdark, loosely coiled hair, with stray wisps caressing her healthilytanned cheeks, seemed in constant mutiny against the petty tyranniesof hairdressers.

  "I might have known something was to happen." Mr. Hardwick's toneswere gently playful, as if he were anxious to turn his daughter'sthoughts from the tragedy. "Something always happens where you are.You are a storm petrel, my dear."

  "I was born under Uranus, you know. That explains everything." Shesmiled whimsically. There was a touch of the child in the firm oval ofher face and the smooth curves of mouth and nose, but the deep-browneyes held a surprising store of worldly wisdom. She quite baffled herfather at times. The impulses of April and June seemed to beconstantly clashing within her, and they filled his autumnal days witha never-ending round of surprises.

  "I wonder," he said, eyeing her curiously as a new thought came tohim, "whether Uranus had anything to do with your leaving the box justbefore--before it happened."

  "It's always safe to blame Uranus," she parried. "He is such aconvenient scapegoat. I don't know what I would do if----"

  She was grateful for the interruption that came just then. The law wasalready at work, and she sat back and watched the swift precision ofits mechanism. Two policemen, one heavy and red-faced, the other leanand sharp-visaged, walked into the theater and stationed themselvesbeside the body with the air of zealots guarding the coffin ofMohammed. She gathered from the few words they exchanged with Starrthat a cordon had been thrown around the building a minute and a halfafter the call reached the precinct station. They were followedshortly by a puffy little man who let it be known that he was a deputyfrom the office of the chief medical examiner. The latter had barelybegun the usual inspection of the body when two other men entered theauditorium.

  One of them, barrel-chested and somewhat pompous in his manners,seemed to be a representative of the district attorney's office. Theother, angular and as loose-jointed as a marionette, with lazy,cinnamon-colored eyes and a complexion that seemed to indicate that hedrank too much coffee and smoked too many cigars, was recognized byHelen at first glance. Uranus had brought them together once before.She remembered that his name was Lieutenant Culligore, and that he wasattached to the homicide squad of the detective bureau. As his glanceflitted slowly over the room, his mind seemed to register each detailwithout slightest effort. Helen noticed that he gazed at her a triflelonger than on the others, but his face betrayed no recognition.

  Then began the questioning, conducted by the stout man from thedistrict attorney's office, while Lieutenant Culligore made anoccasional jotting in his notebook. The members of the audience wereinterrogated briefly and pointedly, and each one in turn was permittedto depart after leaving his or her name and address. Helen marveled atthe matter-of-factness of it all. It seemed almost ruthless, thisvolleying of questions over a body which was scarcely cold, but sherecognized the brisk efficiency with which the procedure was carriedout. None of the witnesses had much to tell that was significant, andthe only important points brought out were the dying woman's strangelaugh and her mention of Mr. Shei.

  Culligore, as was his habit when impressed, curled up his lip underthe tip of his nose when these facts were stated, and the stout manraised his brows and nodded grimly.

  "Looks as though Mr. Shei had been up to another of his littletricks," he muttered.

  Culligore pursed his lips and chewed a dead cigar. There was a slowtwinkle in his eyes which seemed to say that life wasn't quite soserious as it seemed, despite the sordid and ugly affairs with whichhe came in daily touch.

  Helen did not know how it happened, but the house was almost emptywhen her turn to be questioned came. Her face showed no sign of thetrepidation she felt as she stepped forward. She knew, as she turnedher face toward the stout man, that three pairs of eyes were watchingher with more than ordinary intentness--her father's, LieutenantCulligore's, and Vincent Starr's.

  The stout man gave her a listless look as he inquired her name andaddress. She fancied he was sniffing inwardly, and that after lookingher over he had decided that she probably could give no informationbeside what had already been brought out. At any rate, his questionswere few and perfunctory and gave her no opportunity to practice theevasions she had mentally rehearsed while the others were beingquestioned. As she turned away, she saw a mildly reproachful look inher father's face and one of amused understanding in Culligore's.

  "Well, doctor?" The stout man turned on the medical examiner, whoserubicund face wore a puzzled scowl. "What do you make of it?"

  The examiner wagged his head. Being a man of science, he was stronglyaverse to forming hasty conclusions.

  "There is an abrasion on the right arm that might have been caused bya hypodermic syringe," he announced.

  "And the laugh--how do you account for that?"

  "I am not accounting for it, but there are certain drugs that produceexhilaration and laughter. Most of them have to be taken into thesystem by inhalation, however, in order to produce such an effect."

  "I see." The stout man looked a bit impatient. "In plain words, then,it's a case of murder?"

  "I wouldn't say that. It might prove a far-fetched guess."

  "All quibbling aside, don't the scratch on her arm look as thoughsomebody had shot a dose of poison into her with a needle?"

  The examiner pondered. "It could mean that, but it doesn't necessarilyfollow. An autopsy will be necessary to establish the exact cause ofdeath. Why should a murderer use a hypodermic injection when there areso many simpler and easier ways of accomplishing the same result?"

  The stout man guffawed. "Mr. Shei never picks the simple and easy way.When he wants to pull off a crime, he always dresses it up in flossytrimmings. And he always plays safe. Now, my idea is that the safestthing in the world to kill a person with is a hypodermic syringe. Itmakes no noise, there's no smoke, no bullet, no powder marks, noanything, and it don't leave any clews behind."

  The examiner smiled skeptically, as if he had his own views on thesubject. "The autopsy will tell. What I fail to understand is why youseem so certain that Mr. Shei, as he calls himself, has had a hand inthis affair."

  "Miss Darrow saw him, didn't she?"

  "She called out his name, if I understood the witnesses correctly, butshe did not say she had seen him. It's possible she imagined she sawhim. The same drugs that produce exhilaration and laughter alsoproduce hallucinations. However," and he pulled a cigar from hispocket and lighted it carefully, "whether Miss Darrow did or did notsee Mr. Shei is for you gentlemen to decide. Good-night."

  He strode out. The stout man made a wry face and stroked his chin.Evidently the medical man had given him something to think about.Helen, too, had found food for reflection in the doctor's statement.She stood beside her father a few feet from the others. She hadremained for no other reason than a feeling that Culligore, who hadbeen watching her covertly from time to time, might try to detain herif she made a move to go. She believed the lieutenant had rightlyguessed that she had not told all she knew.

  Starr, who had unobtrusively slipped out of the building while thelate colloquy was in progress, returned with the report that he hadquestioned the doorkeepers and the watchman, and that they had seen nosuspicious looking characters about the place. They were positive noone had entered or left the building either before or after MissDarrow's death. Starr ended by inquiring whether
it were not possiblethat the murderer, granting that Miss Darrow had been murdered, wasstill hiding in the building.

  The stout man rather scouted the suggestion, but he instructed the twouniformed officers to make a thorough search.

  "If this is Mr. Shei's job, you can bet your sweet life he's made asafe get-away," he grumbled. "He probably sneaked out through one ofthe fire exits."

  The two policemen withdrew. Starr, gliding about with the softness ofa panther, found a piece of drapery and covered the body. Helen's lidscontracted as she followed his movements. It struck her as odd thatduring the entire questioning he had made no reference to thecommunication Miss Darrow had sent him a few minutes before her death.She wondered whether he had forgotten it or was deliberatelywithholding it. In the latter case, what could be his reason?

  "How about the motive?" suggested Lieutenant Culligore. It was one ofthe few times he had spoken since the investigation began. "Know ofanybody who could have had a reason for getting Miss Darrow out of theway, Mr. Starr?"

  Starr stood for a moment with head lowered, deep in thought. Then heslowly shook his finely proportioned head. "No, I don't. I knew MissDarrow quite well. As far as I am aware, she had no enemies. I can'timagine why----"

  He checked himself. Then he gaped, and his eyes widened, and he lookedas though an important matter had just occurred to him. Finally, witha sheepish smile, he began to search his pockets.

  "This dreadful affair has upset me completely," he murmured; and then,as if in answer to the question that had flashed through Helen's minda few moments before, he produced a crumpled piece of paper. "If I hadnot been so flustered I should have shown you this at once," he added.

  He smoothed out the message and handed it to the stout man. Thelatter's face clouded as he read it aloud:

  Mr. Shei, like a fool, rushes in where angels might fear to tread.

  V. D.

  A pause followed the reading. Culligore's upper lip brushed the tip ofhis nose, a sign that he had found a problem to ponder. A blankexpression came into the stout man's face. He looked bewilderedly atStarr.

  "What do you suppose she meant by that?" he asked.

  "That's just what I wondered when the note was brought me," explainedStarr, a blend of sadness and self-reproach in his tones. "Miss Darrowwas a strange woman, full of subtleties and queer whims. The notestartled me at first; then I decided it was only a jest. At any rate,it was time for the curtain, and I dismissed the matter from my mind.Now, in the light of what has happened, I can see it was meant as awarning."

  "Warning?" echoed the stout man.

  "Undoubtedly." Starr gazed regretfully into space. "In some mannerMiss Darrow must have become aware that Mr. Shei was in the house, andshe chose this method of warning me of his presence. I was a fool notto see it."

  He paced back and forth, running his fingers through his thick hairand muttering self-reproaches. The stout man looked as if he weretrying to untangle a mental knot. Again he read the note.

  "If Miss Darrow wanted to tip you off that Mr. Shei was in the house,why didn't she say so in plain words?"

  "Facetiousness," said Starr grimly. "Virginia Darrow was the kind ofwoman you would expect to be facetious at her own funeral. Why didn'tI realize that she was trying to warn me? I remember now that shebehaved in a peculiar manner all evening. Whenever I happened to lookin her direction, I found her gazing at me in a strange way. I didn'tunderstand then, but I suppose now that she was trying to send me anocular message. When that failed, she sent me the note. Oh, why didn'tI----"

  He made a gesture of distress and self-disgust. Helen, watching hisevery movement, remembered that it was Miss Darrow's odd way ofstaring at Starr that had first attracted her attention to the woman.The recollection started a train of new thoughts, but Culligore'svoice interrupted it.

  "If Miss Darrow was right and Mr. Shei was in the house," he told thefat man, "then you and I might as well hand in our badges and look fornew jobs."

  The other jerked up his head. "You don't think that----" he began instartled tones, then broke off and grinned complacently. "Not a chanceof that. Mr. Shei couldn't have been in the audience. I gave all ofthem a pretty stiff quiz, and every one gave a good account ofhimself. Anyhow, they're the kind that get their names and picturesinto the society columns of the Sunday papers. A bunch of harmlessnuts--that's all."

  He looked at Starr, as if realizing that the epithet had been a triflebrusque, but the manager seemed amused rather than offended.

  "I think you are right," he murmured. "The audience was composed ofinvited guests. I am willing to vouch for every one of them.Furthermore, you have their names and addresses, and you cancommunicate with them whenever you wish. If Mr. Shei was really in thetheater, he came here as an unbidden guest. In all likelihood he stolein while the house was dark during the first scene of the last act,and departed as soon as he had accomplished his purpose."

  It sounded plausible enough, Helen thought; yet her mind was heavywith a giddying whirl of suspicions and contradictions. She slanted areluctant glance toward the chair containing the body. With a shivershe turned away, and a look at her father's drawn and tired facewarned her that he should be in bed. Then she glanced at the man fromthe district attorney's office, and finally at Culligore. His face wasa mask, but his occasional glances in her direction troubled her. Thetwo uniformed officers had not yet returned from their search, and shewondered what they would have to report.

  Once more her eyes flitted over the little group, and then, with asuddenness that choked a cry in her throat, everything was blottedfrom sight. In a twinkling impenetrable darkness had descended uponthe house. Somewhere a door banged. She felt her father's tighteningclutch on her arm. The stout man swore. Dark shapes were dartinghither and thither. She heard a fragmentary cry, followed by a crashand a succession of thuds. A thrust sent her sprawling to the floor,and her mind drifted into a state of semi-stupor during which she wasconscious of nothing but the swift and silent movements of the shadowyshapes.

  Voices and the return of light jolted her mind back to consciousness.She struggled to her feet and blinked her eyes at the strange scene.Her father, dazed but apparently unharmed, sat a short distance away,with his back to the wall. The stout man, seemingly unconscious, layin a twisted heap on the floor. Culligore was staring about himgroggily and muttering something about a blow on the head. Apoliceman, one of the pair who had been sent off to search the house,was helping Starr to his feet.

  With the attention to detail that comes in moments of greatbewilderment, Helen noticed that Starr made a ludicrous picture. Hisattire, so faultless and immaculate a few minutes ago, was now in asorry state of disorder. A streak of crimson stained his shirt front,and he held a handkerchief to his nose. He wabbled drunkenly acrossthe floor, but all at once his figure stiffened and a blank look cameinto his face. His lips formed unspoken words as he raised a fingerand pointed toward a seat in the last tier.

  As she followed the pointing finger, things swam in confusion beforeHelen's eyes. Starr, speechless and crestfallen, was indicating thechair where the body of Virginia Darrow had been. As she staredstonily toward the empty chair, Helen felt an impulse to cry out. Shecame a few steps closer, then stopped with a shudder and dazedly swepther hand across her forehead.

  "It's--it's gone!" she cried huskily.