“Just what I’ve been telling myself for the last three days,” admitted Culligore. “I’ve been saying it can’t be done—but Mr. Shei is going right ahead and doing it.”
“And he’s pulling the trick right under our noses,” supplemented the inspector. “That’s what gets my goat. It’s plain as day that Mr. Shei is The Gray Phantom. Nobody but The Gray Phantom ever got away with a thing like this, and this job has all the ear-marks of his work. Well,” and his huge fist descended on the desk with a slam, “we’ll get him yet, and when we do I’ll see to it that he’s put away for keeps.”
Culligore drew the palm of his hand across his mouth as if to stifle one of his infrequent grins.
“Keeping something up your sleeve again?” demanded the inspector, who had noticed the gesture. “If you’ve got something on your mind, why don’t you spring it?”
The lieutenant shifted his lanky figure in the chair. “I’ve been trying all day to get a line on Fairspeckle,” he said slowly, without directly answering the inspector’s question. “Queer how that old duffer vamoosed. I tried to question the Jap valet, but all he knows is that there are two bumps on his head where there was only one before. The doctor and the nurse got rough treatment, too. Of a sudden the lights went out, and old Fairspeckle seemed to go out with them. Anyhow, he was gone when the doctor came to.” Culligore paused to light one of his vicious-looking cigars. “Something queer about that old goat’s disappearance—eh, inspector?”
Stapleton stared hard at his subordinate, as if trying to read the thoughts stirring behind his stolid countenance. “Of course there is,” he said irritably. “There’s something queer about every disappearance. Just what are you driving at? You don’t doubt that Fairspeckle was kidnaped by Mr. Shei’s agents?”
“I doubt everything, inspector. Know of any reason why Mr. Shei should go out of his way to abduct the old geezer?”
“No, I don’t,” admitted Stapleton after some thought. “The kidnaping of Fairspeckle doesn’t seem to fit into the pattern of Mr. Shei’s scheme. What’s your idea, Culligore? You don’t suppose Fairspeckle kidnaped himself?”
“Stranger things have happened, inspector. By the way,” and the lieutenant reached into his pocket and took out several typewritten slips, “I meant to hand you these yesterday, but was too busy with other things. I found them beside the typewriter on Fairspeckle’s desk. What do you make of them?”
Stapleton picked up the slips and glanced at them. His eyes widened into a stare as he read the typewritten lines. He read them twice, and then he transferred his gaze to Culligore.