He stepped into a small rear hall with a low-power frosted bulb burning overhead. It was that which had made the glow in the transom. The Phantom glanced at it, glanced away. There was another door beside him, curtained with heavy, dirty drapes of soiled velvet, and from behind them came clearly now the sound of breathing.
The draperies gaped open just far enough for Van to see that there was no light beyond. It was a bedroom apparently, behind the shop, and it was occupied now by at least one sleeper.
Van took out his flashlight. That breathing seemed to indicate deep slumber. He risked opening the draperies wider and angling his body through, He stood still for a moment, saw nothing, but waited till he was sure the breathing was still steady. Then he cupped his hand over the lens of his flash so that only a thin ribbon would show, and turned it on cautiously.
It was a sleeping chamber. There was a big white enameled bed at the side of the room. On this was a man’s body, with a huge, bloated, piglike head on one end, half buried in dirty pillows. The man was of enormous size, with unshaven cheeks and a mop of greasy black hair. His mouth was slack. His broken teeth showed, and he was breathing noisily. The light of Van’s cautious flash didn’t wake him.
There was no one else in the room but, close by, on a small wall shelf, was a phone, As Van stood there eying it the bell commenced ringing violently.
Coming so suddenly in the stillness of the night, with Van’s nerves taut, the sound seemed to blast against his eardrums. As the phone bell sounded, the huge sleeper stirred.
Van’s hand was in his pocket, holding his gun. He expected a man of such ponderous proportions to wake up slowly, roll over perhaps, and yawn. He thought he had time to slip back out of sight behind the draperies.
But instead of waking slowly the big man appeared to snap into life like an uncoiling spring.
VAN had never seen a man awaken so fast. With one motion the man’s eyes opened, caught Van’s silhouette against the half-open draperies, flung the covers off, and twisted himself from the bed. His reaction was automatic.
He was up and lunging at Van with his huge hands clawing like a frenzied grizzly. The Phantom for once was taken by surprise.
He couldn’t get his gun out. The man’s vast weight struck him, pinioned his right hand in his pocket, toppled him backwards. Van fell with the unshaven human giant almost on top of him.
“Thief! Murderer!” the big man snarled.
His stubby fingers were reaching to throttle Van, squeeze the breath from him. But Van had recovered from the first instant of paralyzed surprise. He twisted from under the weight of the huge body. The draperies came down as the giant pulled at them, tangling Van, who fell again, and light from the hall outside poured through the door.
Van got his right hand free, lashed out with his fist as the man came at him. His knuckles struck that ugly, piglike face. But the blow only dazed the stranger and didn’t stop him. He cursed, arms pistoning, opening and shutting his big mouth. Van untangled his feet and rose as the giant struck down at him.
He met the man’s next attack just in front of the bed. They got close and fought standing face to face for a moment as the telephone continued to sound. It was the incessant clamor of that bell that made Van’s heart beat faster, made him want to end this battle quickly. This great, stupid hulk of a man was obviously only a minor cog in the black murder machine that Van was investigating. But that phone ringing in the dead of night might hold an answer to the riddle.
Van got his left hand free. Reaching up and back, he tried a paralyzing jab at the base of the big man’s skull, a jiu-jitsu blow that was calculated to knock most men cold. But the giant was so padded with fat that the blow missed fire.
The big man swore again, swayed on his feet, but struck chopping, frenzied blows. This was no time for niceties. There was murder in the offing. Van let drive straight at that sagging, flabby paunch of a belly. The man grunted, staggered back. Van followed it up with a savage swing at the big man’s jaw. Even at that the giant could take such punishment that he mightn’t have fallen if he hadn’t tripped on the woven rag rug. He stumbled backwards, beat the air desperately, and fell against the foot of the white enameled bed. There was a thud as his skull struck metal. His big body sagged to the floor. The room was suddenly still – except for the persistent jangling of the phone.
Van crossed to it catlike, lifted the receiver.
“Hog-face, you damned lazy fool!” a voice almost shouted at him. “Can’t you wake up! I’ve been calling for the last five minutes. Quick, you big dough-belly, connect me with Blackie.”
His heart hammering, Van recognized the voice of the gang leader, Bowers. He grunted thickly, deep in his throat, like a sleepy, stupid man, while his eyes roved around the edge of the phone box. Bowers had said “connect me with Blackie.”
And then Van saw the short, black, metal-pointed cord hanging below the phone box, with a plug-in place in the wall. It was an extension. Here was the function of the hog-faced giant. The candy store served as a front for a switchboard. Hog-face was its operator.
Van plugged the metal points in, still holding the receiver to his ear, and heard a signal bell sound in the distant extension. Then there was a click as another receiver was lifted. A different voice came, a strange one to the Phantom.
“What’s eatin’ you, Bowers? I said I’d come, didn’t I?”
BOWERS, so hoarse he was almost incoherent, spoke again. “That’s what I wanta tell yer! Don’t go to the shack, Blackie! I’m not there now – I’m callin’ from a pay station. All hell’s broke loose. A guy made up like Dopey came back with the boys. I don’t know where Dopey is, but this guy wasn’t him. We tried to smoke him, but he got away. We knew he’d bring cops, so we blew and set fire to the dump.”
Blackie swore so fiercely that the phone diaphragm rattled. “You thick-headed heel! You let this man get away – after I warned you about the Phantom! The Chief will have something to say about this, Bowers. He’ll probably can you.”
“How’d I know this guy who looked like Dopey was the Phantom?”
“You should keep your eyes open. That’s what you’re paid for. I tell you the Chief is gonna be so burned up he’ll blast the lid off Hell!”
The Chief! Van felt a sense of disappointment. Even this mysterious man, Blackie, then, wasn’t the murder gang’s head. There was more behind the thing than appeared, angles that steadily grew more puzzling. But whoever the Chief was, Blackie seemed to be the contact man. He was in a position to give orders to Bowers. He gave them now, after Bowers had told him the details of what had happened at the garage.
“There’s only one thing you can do, Bowers. Take your damn mugs and go to the other place I told you about. You’ve got a key. Lay low there. We don’t know how many of our heels the Phantom may have spotted. Until he’s dead you won’t any of you be safe. But go ahead with the job tomorrow evening. Call me back if anything more turns up. I’ll see you when I come to talk to the Chief tomorrow night.”
Blackie hung up. Dick Van Loan stood in tense silence. He had heard just enough to complicate still further the sinister riddle. He was getting closer, but the man called Blackie hadn’t given the location of the gang’s new hideout.
And he hadn’t said what the “job” was tomorrow evening. Van could guess that – another hideous murder! The links in the chain of death were not yet complete. Blackie had said that he would come to the hideout tomorrow night to speak to the chief.
That interested Dick Van Loan most of all. But to learn the identity of the Chief he must first get acquainted with Blackie. There was only one possible way to accomplish that. He’d have to trace that extension.