“Motive? Ah, yes! The Duke has a habit of recruiting his men in queer places. Once he had an assistant district attorney on his staff; at another time an associate professor of philosophy with a penchant for forbidden things. Why shouldn’t he have a hard-working patrolman?”
Pinto’s figure squirmed beneath his gaze.
“Such a man would prove useful to the Duke, especially if he wanted to frame an enemy,” pursued the Phantom. “Nobody suspects a policeman. A man in uniform is beyond reproach. Even if the circumstances of a crime point straight to him as the perpetrator, it is always easier to suspect somebody else, particularly someone who has a criminal record. I guess you banked on that, Pinto.”
His tones bespoke a free and easy confidence, but he felt none of it. He believed that the murderer of Sylvanus Gage stood before him, but his only reason for thinking so was that, so far as appearances went, no one else could have committed the crime. He was poignantly aware that his theory would be laughed at and derided, and that he himself would be subjected to the hollow farce of a trial which must inevitably result in his conviction. Once in the clutches of the police, his chances of clearing himself would be extremely slender. “Well, Pinto, what about it?” His tones were clear and faintly taunting, giving no hint of the swift play of his wits. “Did you take the precaution of arranging an alibi?”
“No, I didn’t.” The policeman spoke defiantly. For an instant he fumbled about his pockets, as if searching for something. Evidently the object he wanted was not to be found about his civilian garb. “I didn’t have to fix up an alibi. Say, Mr. Adair——”
He paused for a moment and came a step closer to the Phantom.
“Say,” he went on, “while you’re telling us so much, maybe you’ll tell us how long the Gray Phantom has been wearing a beard.”
Momentarily startled by the verbal thrust, the Phantom was unprepared for the physical attack that instantly followed. He felt the sudden impact of the policeman’s ponderous body, precipitating him against the farther wall of the chamber. In a moment, with unexpected agility, the officer had seized Mrs. Trippe by the arm and hurried her from the room.
Then a door slammed and a key turned gratingly in the lock. The Gray Phantom was alone, a prisoner.