Robert Wallace - The Dancing Doll Murders

Van watched, and felt at that moment that he was peering into a nightmare world of fantastic horror. For there was something utterly devilish about that round, black, up-thrust head. There was weirdness in the way the man was poised there just above the water, and in the whole manner of his appearance so late at night in the musty, ruined seclusion of this ancient house.

Blackie Guido seemed to feel the spell of the strange presence, too. His arrogance had left him, dropped off like a discarded cloak. He had grown visibly paler. His hands were clenched nervously around the arms of his chair.

The helmeted head turned toward him. The single round glass in front goggled at him like the inhuman eye of some giant crustacean. A voice, as sepulchral as though it came from a tomb and blurred by a buzzing diaphragm in the helmet’s top, sounded.

“Your report, Blackie!”

The Phantom, listening, trained to recognize and remember people’s voices, was at a loss now. Somewhere it seemed to him he had heard inflections like those of this goggled monster. But the distortion of that buzzing diaphragm was cleverly calculated to throw anyone off the trail.

Blackie Guido was trembling. “Svendal got the woman all right. Your plan with her worked out smooth as butter. She fell for the bait. Svendal roped her and pulled her out of the window right under the cops’ noses. Svendal’s the best guy for a strangle job there is in the country. He’d choke his own mother for an extra ten bucks. If only all the other boys were as good – I guess you know we’ve had some tough breaks, Chief?”

“Yes!” There was some contempt, reproval, menace in that single word.

“They did their best, Chief – honest! The only guy I really blame is Bowers. He had the Phantom trapped and let him go. I warned him to look out, too. He shoulda been more careful.”

“Yes!” said the helmeted man again. “And how about O’Banion and the other hopheads? They let one man, that same Phantom, get the best of them! And how about Joe Vanzanni whom you posted in your apartment to kill the Phantom?”

“You know about that, Chief?”

“I read of his death in the afternoon papers. Do you think I didn’t know where you lived under the name of Warburton? It was plain that the Phantom had traced your private wire, that you arranged for his death without consulting me, and that Vanzanni slipped up, just as Bowers did in the garage. I rather thought you’d show better judgment in your choice of employees, Blackie! I’m paying for the best – and I expected to get them.”

“There wasn’t time to get in touch with you when I tried to bump the Phantom. I tried to call Hog-face back, and when he didn’t answer, I thought there was something fishy in the air. So I got things all set just in case. It looked like a sure bet. I don’t know why Joe slipped up. It’s the Phantom that’s made it tough for us, Chief. Otherwise -”

“You’re sure he hasn’t followed you here?”

“Sure. I took everything away from the studio. The Phantom didn’t help himself any by bumping Joe. You’re the only one that knows I called myself Warburton. I don’t know how you found out -”

“How about that girl? Women are your weakness, Blackie! They’ll give you a free ticket to Hell yet.”

GUIDO’S Adam’s apple was bobbing and he looked positively sick.

“Listen! I – she – Nobody knows a damned thing about her except you. And, Chief, if that dame started to spill anything I’d smash her face in. I’m gettin’ fed up with her, anyway. I shouldn’t wonder -”

The Chief laughed sardonically.

“All right, Blackie. But just remember that every time one of your men makes a slip he’s fashioning another nail for your own coffin. You don’t know who I am; but I know who you are and all about you. If you fall down on the job I hired you for, the electric chair is waiting. It kills people dead, Blackie, dead as roasted rats.”

“I ain’t fallin’ down, Chief! As for Bowers – that guy’s already on the spot.”

“You might weed out a few other incompetents along with him and cut the payroll down,” said the Chief coldly.

“Sure! I’ll do that,” Blackie said eagerly. “I’ll have Doc give those two hopheads a dose they won’t wake up from. And now – maybe if you’d trust me a little more, Chief, I could work better. A guy can’t do his best batting in the dark. How many more of the Caulder family do you figure on getting rid of? And what’s the dope behind it?”

The Phantom listened, his heart almost stopping. This was what he wanted to know, too. He’d thought of drawing his automatic, thrusting its muzzle through the crack in the wall tiles, and sending a bullet straight at this sinister, unknown killer. But even supposing he was justified in doing it, he realized as soon as the impulse came that it would probably be futile.

A man as canny as the Chief, who had taken such pains to preserve his incognito and achieve self-protection, would have that diving suit lined with some sort of bullet-proof armor surely. Only a direct hit in the helmet goggle-glass would be effective. And under the circumstances that was a target too small for even the Phantom. So he waited tensely for the Chief’s answer to Blackie’s question.

That sepulchral voice sounded again. “You are not so very bright, Blackie. Has it never occurred to you that if the whole Caulder fortune fell into the hands of a man as spineless and easily frightened as Reggie Winstead it would be a simple matter for us to get it?”

“Blackmail, you mean?”

The Chief, Van noted, didn’t answer directly. He laughed harshly. “Winstead’s brother has been murdered,” he said with a mocking inflection. “One of his cousins is already dead. If the others were out of the way, if he were the last remaining heir, he’d be utterly spineless in the face of intimidation. To save his life he’d part with any amount of money.”

“So that’s the layout?” said Guido quickly.

There was a brief pause, and again the Chief was evasive. “Use your own judgment!”

“Aw, listen! I’ve played square with you. I’m only askin’ -”

‘Quiet!” The helmeted head was turned toward Guido with a fixity that seemed to freeze him. He remained silent, cowed, while the voice went on, “Don’t dare to question me nor try to penetrate my motives! You’re being paid handsomely for your services – more than you are worth. Your men failed to get Simon Blackwell. Until you rectify that error you certainly can expect no confidence from me.”

“I’ll do it, Chief! I’ll see that that old buzzard gets enough lead in his belly to sink him to Hell. Or I’ll get rid of him any way you say. What do you think -”

“I’m tired of thinking for you. How you get Blackwell is up to you. But get him! I’ll be here at the same time tomorrow night. If your report isn’t satisfactory -” The Chief didn’t finish. His head and shoulders began sinking below the surface of the stagnant, icy pool, and the goggle-glass in his helmet, up to the very moment he disappeared, remained fixed on Blackie Guido with malignant meaning.

When the last bubble had ceased coming up, Blackie rose fiercely. His face was working. His black eyes blazed. He was in a wicked temper. He threw open the billiard-room door.

“Bowers!” he called thickly. “I wanta see you a minute!”

The lumbering, black-browed face of the gang lieutenant appeared in the door.

“Did yer see the Chief? What’d he say? Any ord -”

Bowers’s sentence ended in a choking cry. Those were the last words he was destined ever to utter. For Blackie Guido had drawn a gun with such lightning speed and ferocity that the Phantom could barely follow it. Six reports made blasting echoes in that high-ceilinged room.