“Very bad habit, Granger. Well, my man saw finger prints on the smooth and shiny surface of the desk, right where you had been sitting. He touched them up by sprinkling a little gray powder over them, after which they were photographed. It didn’t take very long to identify them. Steady now! This little toy of mine can be real ugly when it gets mad. What I want you to explain is how Tommie Granger’s fingers happened to leave the Gray Phantom’s finger prints on Fessenden’s desk.”
CHAPTER XXII—THE PHANTOM TURNS A SOMERSAULT
There was a humorous glint in Lieutenant Culligore’s lazy, mouse-colored eyes as he noted the look of consternation that was slowly creeping into the Gray Phantom’s face. He drew a step nearer, and now the menacing muzzle was less than six feet from its target. There was a touch of carelessness in his manner of handling the weapon, but his aim was sure and a slight pressure on the trigger would have meant death.
But the Phantom’s look of dismay was not due to fear. Many a time he had laughed in the face of dangers far more serious than the present one. The thing that appalled him was the realization that twice within a few hours he had committed a stupid blunder. The Gray Phantom, once the astutest and craftiest of rogues, had bungled like an amateur.
The thought was galling. Was it that his hand had lost its old-time finesse and his mind its keen edge, or had his mental stress and fagged nerves been the cause of his bungling? Again, perhaps he had been distracted by the haunting vision of a pair of troubled brown eyes.
He looked hard at Culligore. Some faces were like an open book to him, and this was one of them. The lieutenant was no man’s fool. Behind the mask of dullness and stolidity were shrewdness and quickness of wit, and he knew that the man before him would not permit private inclinations to swerve him from his duty. Culligore was as dangerous an adversary as he had ever faced. But there was still another quality behind the mask, and it was this that gave the Phantom his cue.
Quickly he looked about him. The way to the basement door was barred by the lieutenant, but the stairway leading to the laboratory was unobstructed. With an appearance of utmost unconcern the Phantom turned away and started to ascend the steps.
“Stop!” commanded Culligore, following the retreating man’s movements with his pistol. “I’ll pop you if you take another step.”
The Phantom stopped, turned, and grinned. “Oh, no, you won’t,” he drawled.
“Can’t you see that I’ve got you covered?”