The Phantom searched the almond-shaped eyes for a sign of a twinkle, but found none.
“Peng Yuen, you are lying like a gentleman. It grieves me to shatter such beautiful ignorance, but it must be done. I did not commit the murder of which I am accused. For reasons of my own I desire to find the murderer and hand him over to the police. I am seriously handicapped by the interest the authorities are taking in me, which makes it unsafe for me to move a single step. I have thought of a ruse by which that obstacle may be removed.”
The Chinaman lifted his brows inquiringly.
“This gentleman,” continued the Phantom, indicating the inebriate, “is Mr. Thomas Granger, a reporter on the Sphere. As you may have noticed, he looks something like me. The police, deceived by the resemblance, took it into their heads to arrest him. He was able to give a satisfactory account of himself, of course, and his finger prints quickly convinced the authorities they had made a mistake. They are not likely to make that kind of mistake a second time. You follow me, Peng Yuen?”
The ghost of a grin flickered across the Chinaman’s face. “Your words, my friend, have their roots in eternal wisdom.”
“Thanks for that kind thought, Peng Yuen. I knew you would see the point. Granger has seen it, too, though his mind is not functioning with its usual brilliance to-night. He has consented to disappear for a few days and has agreed to let me borrow his identity in the meantime. As the Gray Phantom I can scarcely move a step. In the rôle of Thomas Granger, newspaper reporter, I shall be able to move about unmolested. What, Granger—not backing out of the bargain, I hope?”
A seemingly careless gesture with the pistol, together with a warning look, quickly silenced the protests on Granger’s lips. After a few moments of fidgeting and indecision, he accepted the situation with a good-natured grin, as if its humorous side had appealed to him.
“Excellent!” drawled the Phantom. “I knew you would be reasonable. Now we strip.”
He handed the pistol to Peng Yuen, placed his metal case on the table, and began to remove his clothes. Granger followed his example, and in a few minutes the two had exchanged garments. The reporter was addicted to vivid hues and extreme designs. At first the Phantom felt a trifle uncomfortable in the strange garb, but he knew it was necessary to the rôle he was assuming. He studied the reporter carefully while he took a number of tubes and vials from his case. Granger was a younger man, his eyes were of a slightly different hue from the Phantom’s, and there were other differences which were easily discernible to the keen eye.
The Phantom, viewing himself in a cheval glass, daubed a dark tint over the gray at his temples. With an occasional backward glance at the reporter, he dappled his cheeks with a faintly chromatic powder, traced a tiny line on each side of the mouth, poured a little oil on his hair and patted it till it lay smooth and sleek against his head, performing each touch with such a delicate skill that, though the resemblance was greatly enhanced, there was scarcely a suggestion of make-up.