“Culligore!” exclaimed the Phantom, “How did you get here?”
The lieutenant smiled. “Oh, I’ve been in this house for some little time—ever since that confounded ‘doc’ shot me in the leg. He put me to bed and tied some ropes around me. How I got loose is a long story. I guess the ‘doc’ would have taken a little more pains with the ropes if he had known that the wound in my leg wasn’t so bad as I let on it was. I was strolling around a bit and finally I bumped into our friend Granger here. He’s a real hospitable guy. Handed me a drink with one hand and flashed a gat on me with the other.”
Granger, blinking his heavy eyes and staring blankly at the two intruders, leaned back against his chair. Evidently the weapon in the Phantom’s hand convinced him that the game was up, for he made no move to recover the pistol he had dropped.
“He felt so sure I wouldn’t get away from him alive that he told me the whole story,” Culligore went on. “Of course, I had pieced together most of it already from the scraps of fact I had. I’ve had my suspicions about Granger ever since the department turned him loose. I thought that was a big mistake, but I didn’t have any evidence until just the other day. Then I searched his room, and what do you suppose I found?”
“What?” asked the Phantom and Helen in unison.
Culligore laughed softly. “It’s queer how clever rascals like Granger always make some childish blunder. He didn’t have sense enough to throw away the Maltese cross—that bit of phony jade that the murderer took from Gage’s desk—but hid it in the false bottom of his trunk. Well, I guess that alone will give him a start toward the electric chair, though it isn’t the only piece of evidence I have against him.”
“Then, Culligore,” asked the Phantom, “I suppose you’re convinced I had nothing to do with the murders?”
The lieutenant grinned. “Well, you sized me up about right while we were stalling each other in the basement. From the first I didn’t want to believe you were mixed up in the dirty deal. I had a sort of bet with myself that the Gray Phantom would always play the game according to the code. Anyhow, it wasn’t long before I began to suspect that the whole thing was a frame-up. Granger has just told me all about it. Seemed proud of his achievement. The Duke had mapped out a nifty plan for Bimble to work on. None of the flossy details were omitted. Gage was to be murdered and you were to be the goat. If possible, the man put on the job was to be someone resembling you, so that if he were seen on or near the scene of the crime the evidence against the Gray Phantom would be strengthened.
“I guess you know what a thoroughgoing bunch the Duke’s men are. They combed the country till they found a man looking like you. Granger seemed to fit the specifications, and they offered him a big bunch of money if he would do their dirty work. Granger tells me he has always had his eye on the main chance, that he was sick and tired of the newspaper grind, and was ready to do almost anything to get out of it. I suppose his conscience troubled him a bit, but the Duke’s gang gave him all the whisky he wanted, for they knew he had the knack of keeping his mouth shut even when he was drunk, and liquor is a pretty good antidote for a troublesome conscience.
“The threatening letter was forged, of course. The job was done by one of the cleverest forgers in the world, a member of the Duke’s organization. After the murder——”