“Did he?” asked the Phantom, guessing that the individual referred to was the autocrat who had ordered Granger bounced. “It was a large night, and I don’t remember the minor details.” He looked uncertainly about the room, as if his vision was a trifle clouded. “Where is the old fire-eater? Don’t see him around.”
“Of course, you don’t.” The spectacled man laughed. “Old War Horse is in bed, where he belongs. I guess you haven’t quite recovered your bearings yet, or you’d know that Slossdick is on the day shift. I see him looking this way, as if he had designs on you.”
The Phantom trailed the spectacled man’s glance to a glass-partioned cubby-hole at the other end of the room, where a bald and sharp-nosed man sat at a desk. He advanced airily, grinning in response to the knowing winks and well-meant banter that followed him, and boldly approached the scowling personage at the desk.
“Don’t you know you’re fired?” demanded Slossdick, jabbing at a page of “copy” with his pencil.
“Am I?” inquired the Phantom innocently. He spoke with a little catch, as if he had a slight cold, and he avoided the sunlight streaming in through the window. “It hadn’t occurred to me.”
“No? Old War Horse had you kicked out, didn’t he? You’d been insulting him again, I understand.” Slossdick’s devastating pencil ripped an entire paragraph out of the copy before him. “What’s biting you this morning?”
“Nothing,” said the Phantom blandly. “Just thought you might like to know that there’s been another murder at the Gage house.”
The slashings of Slossdick’s pencil ceased abruptly. He swept the Phantom’s face with a quick, searching glance. Briefly the impostor told as much as he thought prudent, describing the scene in the storeroom and at the head of the stairs, without telling of his own part in the night’s events or of Pinto’s mysterious conduct. He was not yet ready to accuse the policeman openly, and for the present it suited his purpose to leave the affair vague and mysterious.
There was a flicker of interest in Slossdick’s eyes. “Housekeeper murdered and policeman lying at the head of the stairs handcuffed to a dope. Rattling good yarn, Granger. But”—and a look of doubt crept into his face—“we’ve had nothing from the police on this.”
“Good reason. The police didn’t know of it till a few minutes ago. If you hurry, you will beat the other papers to it.”