Robert Wallace: The Black Ball Of Death

“And back at my apartment I thought I was a good actor,” said Sunderland disgustedly. “You almost convinced me that Vicki really was in danger from Royal.”

“We’ll go to Police Headquarters, Steve,” the Phantom said.

“That’s where I’m going,” said Steve.

“Pennell, I think you’re a rather lucky man,” said the Phantom.

“You call being caught like this lucky?”

“In your case – yes. Because I think Mr. Sunderland was going to accept the money you conned out of Hoag, kill you, and make a neat getaway alone. Sunderland was certain everything was well in hand. That I didn’t suspect him, and I did suspect Hugh Royal and was on my way to get Royal before he could murder Vicki Selden. Of course I didn’t go very far, because I knew Sunderland was our man and not Royal.”

Sunderland tried a bit of bravado. “Phantom, I doubt you can prove anything against me. As a matter of fact, I didn’t know Pennell was a crook. I came here to meet him so I could invest some money in a wonderful new metal. He demanded cash, and that accounts for what is in the bag.”

“All that loot?” the Phantom derided. “By the way, if any of it is missing, we’ll know. Because I’ve a list of your models through whom I can locate your con-game victims and verify the amounts they lost. Your models unwittingly selected the victims. The victims were men they told you about, Sunderland. Those models of yours were unknowingly your best stock in trade for this con-game.”

Pennell didn’t seem to be listening. “Yeah – yeah, Sunderland had a gun,” he muttered, “and I never knew him to go heeled before. He wasn’t afraid of being caught. We both thought we were in the clear until tonight.” The dark man’s voice hardened ominously. “Yeah, he was going to double-cross me!”

“Keep quiet, Pennell!” Sunderland shouted. “Keep your mouth shut!”

The Phantom laughed. “It isn’t necessary to try and hush him up now, Sunderland. I’ve suspected you for some time. Ever since my first meeting with you when you helped me to locate Vicki Selden. When you learned that Maxine Hillary, one of your models, knew Vicki and where she was hiding, you sent Len Barker to trail her. Only you and I knew Maxine would contact Vicki. Certainly Len didn’t know – until you told him.

“Then you sensed the trap I set from the factory in New Jersey. Instead of falling into it, you sent Hugh Royal and Vicki to the hotel where one of your paid killers had demanded that you meet him. You thought I might be on hand too. Hugh Royal was trying to place Vicki with your firm, so he was eager to have you meet her, and they strolled into the trap. Then you phoned them, so they’d leave in a big hurry – to meet you elsewhere – and make it look as though Royal was tipped off and was running for it.”

Pennell had followed very little of this. He was still musing aloud. He looked back at the Phantom.

“I’m sure Sunderland was going to kill me,” he said. “I’ll talk if you guarantee I don’t go to the chair.”

“I promise nothing,” the Phantom said. “The chair is where you will undoubtedly land because you killed Arthur Arden and Dr. Winterly, to say nothing of the attempt on my life. Besides I don’t need your confession.

“Arden made a date to meet you at the Lake Candle lodge. When you found out he was wise to your scheme, and that he knew that Dr. Winterly wasn’t capable of inventing anything, you murdered him, got away across the lake in a stolen motor boat. You came back later, after Arden’s body had been found, to spy on me.

“Later, you took a few shots at me while I was rowing across the lake. You had a car parked on the other side, not far from Dr. Winterly’s place, and you used that to drive to New York in. But on the dock, you discarded an empty cigarette pack. You threw away another near the spot where you left your car hidden, and just a few minutes ago you dropped a third empty pack on the sidewalk. All three packs were twisted before being discarded. Twisted in exactly the same manner.”

“Sunderland made me kill Arden,” Pennell cried, all his courage gone. “He’d have killed me if I refused!”

“You fool, Pennell!” Sunderland shouted. “Keep still!”

The Phantom smiled. “Sunderland, you’re all done. So long as your organization held together, you were safe. But now it’s tumbled, and you’re standing all alone in a nice round spotlight of guilt. You needed money. Your agency didn’t pay well enough to satisfy your lust for big things. I found evidence of that in your office.

“Certainly you sent Pennell and Len to kill Dr. Winterly. That was because I’d told Vicki I was going to see Winterly, and you made it your business to contact her and make her talk about me and the crime I was investigating. She is quite innocent, of course. She believed you were curious only because the wrong publicity might affect the contract you dangled before her.”

Steve Huston turned a corner and headed for the curb. He stopped, got out, and held both doors open.

“Gentlemen,” he said happily, “come along, and see your new home. Complete with running water, cement floors, uniformed attendants, and – barred doors.”

Later, the Phantom emerged from Police Headquarters. He had listened to Pennell’s full confession, but he didn’t feel elated. There was satisfaction in having broken up a huge swindle racket and in bringing a pair of murderers to the justice they deserved, but he knew better than to gloat or plan a rest for himself.

Every moment of the day and night a new crime was committed. Some of these would reach tall proportions, involve sudden death and greed and avarice. There was no more rest for the Phantom Detective than for the newest member of the Homicide squad.

However, and he smiled a bit in contemplation, there might be a short time during which he would again be Richard Curtis Van Loan… during which Frank Havens would concentrate on publishing his newspapers and Steve Huston and Chip Dorlan perform their duties as reporters… a few short hours or days before some twisted mind concluded that it was superior to that of any other brain, and crime began to weave its web of death.