The Phantom shook his head. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed and fixed the reporter’s face with a keen and minutely searching gaze, as if exploring the depths of his soul.
“What’s the idea?” asked the reporter. “You look at me as if I were some kind of curiosity.”
There was a faint hint of doubt in the Phantom’s face, but it vanished soon.
“I think you will do,” he declared. “There’s just one quality in your face, Granger, that I can’t quite analyze. It’s a weakness of some kind—your craving for alcohol, perhaps. Anyway, I am willing to take a chance on it. You are going with me.”
The reporter sat up, his face all eagerness.
“Wait,” commanded the Phantom; “I want to be sure that we understand each other. I am making the biggest play of my career. I am going after the Duke’s crowd. My primary object is to get Miss Hardwick out of their clutches. My secondary one is to put the whole gang of sneaks and cowards behind the bars, where they belong. If I succeed, it will be as great a sensation as the Sphere ever sprang. You are welcome to it, provided you accept the conditions.”
“What are they?”
“I am very likely to get into trouble before the job is done. I may walk into the arms of the police, or into one of the traps set by the Duke. I may get shot, put in a dungeon, murdered, perhaps. You are to follow me at a safe distance wherever I go, never letting me out of your sight. If anything happens to me I want you to take up the search where I left off. Above all else you are to get Miss Hardwick away from those ruffians. Do you agree?”
Impulsively, without a moment’s hesitation, Granger put out his hand. The Phantom gripped it. As he held it for a moment, another look of doubt flickered across his face, but it was soon gone.
“Then get into your clothes,” he directed; “or mine, rather. We might as well keep up the masquerade a while longer. I am just a shade safer when I am hiding behind your personality.”