He thumped the table with his fist. There was something so ludicrous about his grim earnestness that The Phantom could scarcely repress a smile. At the same time he was conscious of a suspicion for which he could not quite account. Mr. Fairspeckle’s indignation seemed not quite natural. Even the vehement thump of his fist against the table had an artificial sound. An intuition, flashing into his mind out of nowhere, held The Phantom spellbound for a moment. In the next instant he laughed inwardly at the absurdity of it, telling himself that he must hold his imagination in leash.
“It will be interesting to see how Mr. Shei intends to proceed,” he casually remarked.
“It will,” spluttered Mr. Fairspeckle. “You can trust him to work some devilishly clever scheme. He always does. Do you suppose,” and he bent his bony frame over the table and gazed searchingly at The Phantom, “that the murder at the Thelma Theater night before last was the first episode in this latest enterprise of Mr. Shei’s?”
“You mean the murder of Miss Darrow? There seems to be no doubt but that Mr. Shei had a hand in it. Everything points to——”
He paused of a sudden. All at once it occurred to him that there was something odd about Mr. Fairspeckle’s question. Immediately upon reading of the Thelma murder, The Phantom had suspected that it was the prelude to another of Mr. Shei’s spectacular adventures, but the suspicion had been wholly intuitive. As far as outward appearances went, there was nothing in the murder of Virginia Darrow to suggest that it was anything more than an isolated incident. It was curious, therefore, that Mr. Fairspeckle should look for a connecting link between the crime at the Thelma and Mr. Shei’s threat.
“Everything points to Mr. Shei as the perpetrator of the murder,” he guardedly went on, “but whether the crime has any bearing on Mr. Shei’s new venture is hard to tell. It doesn’t seem likely. How could he possibly further his scheme by an act of that kind? His plan is to separate seven of New York’s richest men from half of their wealth. How is the death of Miss Darrow going to help him in an undertaking of that kind?”
A sly smile twitched the corners of Mr. Fairspeckle’s lips. “Nevertheless,” he observed, “I think that you and I agree. I am a pretty good judge of faces, and your expression a moment ago betrayed you, Mr. Vanardy. My question seemed innocent enough at first, but on second thought it startled you. Suppose we be frank. Both of us believe that the Thelma affair was the beginning of Mr. Shei’s latest move. We can’t see how or why just now, but we know that his schemes run deep. Isn’t it so?”
The Phantom, momentarily baffled by the older man’s shrewd deductions, gazed pensively at the ceiling. A jumble of thoughts and questions shot back and forth through his mind. Did Mr. Fairspeckle suspect that Mr. Shei and The Gray Phantom were identical? Or was it possible that—— He did not finish the thought. The suspicion that had come to him several times during the interview seemed just as unreasonable as it was startling, and it had no firmer foundation than two or three puzzling circumstances and a tantalizing touch of mysteriousness in Mr. Fairspeckle’s attitude.
“It’s an interesting theory, and I’ve given quite a little thought to it,” he finally admitted. “Strange that the same idea should have come to both of us, isn’t it? Especially since there seems to be neither reason nor logic behind it. How did you happen to think of it, Mr. Fairspeckle?”
The other man stroked his lean chin with a self-satisfied air. “What’s that old saw about great minds traveling in the same channel? I don’t know just how the idea came to me, but I’m glad we understand each other. Now we can talk without quibbling. But first I want a cup of coffee. Hope you will join me. Haiuto!”