“Well, I don’t suppose you would be here unless it did. Your object in coming here wasn’t to interview the skeletons upstairs, was it?”
Culligore laughed softly. “I might put the same question to you.”
“Then we’re on an even footing. And, since we don’t seem to get anywhere, we might as well drop the subject of our mutual presence here. Each of us can take it for granted that the other has a tip which he wants to keep to himself. Seen anything of the Gray Phantom lately?”
“Not exactly.”
“What’s the idea of the ‘exactly’? You either have seen him or you haven’t seen him. Which is it?”
“Neither the one nor the other,” said Culligore mysteriously. “With a man like the Phantom you can never be sure. Even when you think you see him, he isn’t always there. Say that was a queer case you tipped me off on this morning.”
“It was. Simple enough, though, as far as the murder of the housekeeper is concerned. Apparently there’s not the slightest doubt that the Phantom did it.”
“Think so?”
The two words, spoken in low and casual tones, caused the Phantom to raise his brows. “Don’t you?”
Culligore tilted his head to one side and squinted vacantly into space. “Things aren’t always what they seem,” he drawlingly observed. “I’ve been seesawing up and down ever since I was turned loose on this case. One hour I feel dead sure the Phantom did it; the next I don’t know what to think.”