He fairly shouted the last word, but The Phantom doubted whether his thin and rasping voice went farther than the walls.
“Haiuto!” Again Mr. Fairspeckle’s voice rose to a shrill but inadequate crescendo. “That confounded Jap’s pretending he is deaf again. Excuse me, will you?”
He strode irately from the room and slammed the door. A wrinkle of deep perplexity appeared on The Phantom’s brow. Mr. Fairspeckle puzzled and intrigued him. Either he was a very slippery individual, or else ingenuousness itself. When he returned and announced that Haiuto would serve their coffee in a few minutes, The Phantom searched his face in vain for a sign of guile. If anything, he was a little more affable than on leaving the room.
“That fool doctor of mine tells me I mustn’t drink coffee,” he confided. “Tells me it’s bad for my nerves and keeps me awake. But my nerves are worn to a frazzle, anyhow, and I never can sleep except when I want to stay awake. What were we talking about? Oh, yes—Mr. Shei.”
He clasped his hands across his diaphragm. A queer smile, at once beatific and diabolical, came over his face.
“Do you know,” he went on in confidential tones, “that I don’t care a rap if Mr. Shei carries out his scheme as far as the other six are concerned. Of course, I don’t know for certain who they are, but it’s a safe bet that they are no friends of mine. I have a hunch that every one of them belongs to the old ring that fought me tooth and nail while I was climbing up in the world. It’s a long story, and I’m not going to bore you with it, but you can see why I have no love for them. I could die happy to-morrow if I could see them lick the dust to-day. I feel different toward you, Vanardy. We had a tilt once, but you fought fairly. The others tried to knife me in the back. They can go to blazes for all I care.”
“Then you and Mr. Shei seem to have at least one aim in common,” The Phantom pointed out. He smiled genially, but his eyes were studying every shifting expression in Mr. Fairspeckle’s face. For once he felt certain that the older man was not dissembling. The glint of wrath lurking in the depths of his weak eyes and the vindictive sneer about his lips told that he had spoken in all sincerity.
“We have,” he declared grimly. “I hope he sends the other six to the poorhouse. But I have no intention of letting him pluck me, you understand. That’s where our aims clash. He can go as far as he likes with the others, but I’ll fight like a drunken Indian before I give him a red cent. I’ll see myself in Hades before I——”
A knock and the opening of the door interrupted him. A Japanese with a face as expressionless as mahogany entered with a tray and served them coffee.
“Queer character, Haiuto,” observed Mr. Fairspeckle when the servant, silent as a wraith, had retired. “I think he would cheerfully commit hara-kiri if I asked him to do such a senseless thing.” He sipped his coffee with an air of keen enjoyment. “Great bracer for fagged nerves, eh? Would you believe that for days at a time I live on nothing but coffee? But let’s get back to the subject. What shall we do with this pestiferous Mr. Shei?”