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THE GRAY
PHANTOM’S RETURN
By HERMAN LANDON
Author of
“The Gray Phantom”
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
Published by arrangement with W. J. Watt & Company
Printed in U. S. A.
Copyright, 1922, by
W. J. WATT & COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
To Pal
1THE GRAY PHANTOM’S RETURN
CHAPTER I—FROM DYING LIPS
Patrolman Joshua Pinto, walking hisbeat at two o’clock in the morning, hummed ajoyless tune as he turned off the Bowery andswung into East Houston Street. It was a wet night,with a raw wind sweeping around the street corners,and Pinto walked along with an air of dogged persistence,as if trying to make the best of a disagreeableduty. His heavy and somewhat florid featureswere expressionless. For all that his face indicated,he might have been thinking that it was a fine nightfor a murder, or wishing that he was in plain clothesinstead of uniform, or picturing himself in his cozyhome playing with his baby, whose lusty “da-da’s”and “goo-goo’s” he was pleased to interpret as wonderfullinguistic achievements.
Perhaps it was nothing but instinct that causedhim to slow down his pace as he passed a squattyand rather dilapidated building in the middle of theblock. So far as appearances went, it did not differgreatly from its drab and unprepossessing neighbors,yet Pinto cast a sharp glance at the ground-floorwindow, which bore a lettered sign proclaiming thatthe premises were occupied by Sylvanus Gage, dealer2in pipes, tobacco, and cigars. As if the building hadcast a spell of gloom upon him, the patrolman ceasedhis humming, and his lips were set in a tight line ashe proceeded down the block.
Being an ambitious and hard-working officer, Pintomade it a practice to cultivate the acquaintance of asmany as possible of the people living along his beat.He knew Sylvanus Gage, a thin, stoop-shoulderedman with a flowing beard, a black cap adorning hisbald skull, and mild blue eyes that had a habit ofgazing lugubriously at the world through thick lensesrimmed with tarnished gold. Despite his patriarchalappearance, he was reputed to be using histobacco business as a cloak for a flourishing trafficin stolen goods. So deftly did the old man managehis illicit enterprises that the police, though morallycertain of their facts, had never been able to produceany evidence against him. Little was known ofhis housekeeper, a sour and sharp-tongued slatternof uncertain age, but there were those who suspectedthat she was not entirely innocent of complicity inher employer’s clandestine activities.
It may have been of this Pinto was thinking as heplodded along with the measured gait of the seasonedpatrolman. The soggy sidewalks glistene