“Not a sound. Suppose he shouldn’t come out at all, ‘Toots’?”
“What’s in has got to come out. He’ll come acrawlin’ this way by ‘n’ by. Don’t you worry.”
The whispering voices were unrecognizable, and the names were not illuminating, but the Phantom did not think that the speakers were officers. More likely they were members of the Duke’s band and had gained entrance to the house during the absence of Doctor Bimble and Jerome. It was even possible that they had trailed the Phantom to the anthropologist’s residence.
Again the man named Toots spoke. “I don’t like this job a little bit. The Phantom’s a bad customer—a reg’lar devil.”
“But we’ve got him this time. He’ll come this way as soon as he notices the draft. He won’t be suspectin’ a thing, and all we’ve got to do is grab him. It’ll be as easy as picking a banana out of the peeling.”
Toots was silent for a time. Evidently he stood in great awe of the Phantom. “What about the dick?”
“Oh, he’s taken care of. The boss is handlin’ him. No danger of him buttin’ in on us.”
The Phantom listened intently, but was barely able to distinguish the faint whispers. Slim’s last remark was interesting. If Culligore had been attacked and overpowered while searching the cellar, then the Phantom was in no danger from the police just at present. His only immediate problem was how to deal with the two watchers.
“What’s the lay, Slim?” Toots was asking. “Why is the big chief so all-fired anxious to get his mitts on the Phantom?”
“Orders from the Duke. There’s a big job on, but only two or three are in the know of it. All you and me got to do, Toots, is to keep our mouths shut, ask no questions, and collect our little bit when the time comes. The boss will do the thinkin’ part.”