The reporter’s flushed face and the bottle at his elbow showed that he had been drinking. As the Phantom’s sharp command rang out, his nervous fingers dropped the revolver which he had been pointing at a lanky, dull-faced figure standing against the wall.

“Culligore!” exclaimed the Phantom, “How did you get here?”

The lieutenant smiled. “Oh, I’ve been in this house for some little time—ever since that confounded ‘doc’ shot me in the leg. He put me to bed and tied some ropes around me. How I got loose is a long story. I guess the ‘doc’ would have taken a little more pains with the ropes if he had known that the wound in my leg wasn’t so bad as I let on it was. I was strolling around a bit and finally I bumped into our friend Granger here. He’s a real hospitable guy. Handed me a drink with one hand and flashed a gat on me with the other.”

Granger, blinking his heavy eyes and staring blankly at the two intruders, leaned back against his chair. Evidently the weapon in the Phantom’s hand convinced him that the game was up, for he made no move to recover the pistol he had dropped.

“He felt so sure I wouldn’t get away from him alive that he told me the whole story,” Culligore went on. “Of course, I had pieced together most of it already from the scraps of fact I had. I’ve had my suspicions about Granger ever since the department turned him loose. I thought that was a big mistake, but I didn’t have any evidence until just the other day. Then I searched his room, and what do you suppose I found?”

“What?” asked the Phantom and Helen in unison.

Culligore laughed softly. “It’s queer how clever rascals like Granger always make some childish blunder. He didn’t have sense enough to throw away the Maltese cross—that bit of phony jade that the murderer took from Gage’s desk—but hid it in the false bottom of his trunk. Well, I guess that alone will give him a start toward the electric chair, though it isn’t the only piece of evidence I have against him.”

“Then, Culligore,” asked the Phantom, “I suppose you’re convinced I had nothing to do with the murders?”

The lieutenant grinned. “Well, you sized me up about right while we were stalling each other in the basement. From the first I didn’t want to believe you were mixed up in the dirty deal. I had a sort of bet with myself that the Gray Phantom would always play the game according to the code. Anyhow, it wasn’t long before I began to suspect that the whole thing was a frame-up. Granger has just told me all about it. Seemed proud of his achievement. The Duke had mapped out a nifty plan for Bimble to work on. None of the flossy details were omitted. Gage was to be murdered and you were to be the goat. If possible, the man put on the job was to be someone resembling you, so that if he were seen on or near the scene of the crime the evidence against the Gray Phantom would be strengthened.

“I guess you know what a thoroughgoing bunch the Duke’s men are. They combed the country till they found a man looking like you. Granger seemed to fit the specifications, and they offered him a big bunch of money if he would do their dirty work. Granger tells me he has always had his eye on the main chance, that he was sick and tired of the newspaper grind, and was ready to do almost anything to get out of it. I suppose his conscience troubled him a bit, but the Duke’s gang gave him all the whisky he wanted, for they knew he had the knack of keeping his mouth shut even when he was drunk, and liquor is a pretty good antidote for a troublesome conscience.

“The threatening letter was forged, of course. The job was done by one of the cleverest forgers in the world, a member of the Duke’s organization. After the murder——”

“Not quite so fast,” interrupted the Phantom. “How did Granger get into Gage’s bedroom?”

“Through the tunnel connecting with Bimble’s residence.”

The Phantom looked puzzled. “But I satisfied myself that the revolving frame could not be manipulated from the outside.”

“It wasn’t,” said Culligore. “Gage himself admitted his murderer. It wasn’t the first time that he had received a visit from one of the gang that way, and he did not know that the organization had condemned him to death. So when Granger gave the customary signal, Gage thought somebody who didn’t care to be seen was bringing him an important message.”

“I might have guessed it,” murmured the Phantom. “Evidently I was not cut out for a detective. Granger, of course, made his escape through the tunnel after committing the murder?”

“He did, and that’s what made the crime look so mysterious. It was part of the plan, for it convinced everybody that no one but the Phantom could have committed it. But Granger had no sooner committed the murder than he began to be nervous. Somehow he got it into his head that the housekeeper was wise to him. Maybe she was; we will never know that for sure, though I have a private hunch that Mrs. Trippe had guessed the truth. Anyhow, Granger decided that he wouldn’t be safe unless the housekeeper was put out of the way. He locked her up in the bedroom; then went out for a drink. He was bent on murder, and he needed a bracer for his nerves. When he came back——”

“In the meantime,” interrupted the Phantom, “Mrs. Trippe tried to escape by way of the revolving window frame. Probably she knew there was a hidden exit somewhere in the room. At any rate, she had discovered how to open it just before Granger returned. I was in the aperture in the wall and saw the murderer’s hand as he drove the knife into her body. Granger either knew or guessed that I was there. He did not see me, but he heard the housekeeper addressing someone just before the blow was struck, and he probably surmised who it was. To make sure I wouldn’t get him into trouble, he ran around to the Bimble residence and blocked the other end of the tunnel. But there is one thing I don’t understand. How did it come about that Granger was suspected of treachery?”

“You have just told us that he tried to kill you,” said Culligore. “Well, that was the reason. The doc had given strict orders that you were to be taken alive and were not to be killed under any circumstances. Granger violated those orders when he tried to smother you to death in the tunnel. Shortly after that he disappeared, and that made it look all the worse for him. The ‘doc’ didn’t know that you had kidnaped him. All he knew was that Granger had vamoosed, and he thought he was doing the gang dirt and pulling some kind of treacherous stuff.”

“That explains the note Dan the Dope handed me,” observed the Phantom. “Everything is clear except Pinto’s part in the affair. His statement cleared up a good many things, but not all. For instance, he was startled when I showed him the ducal coronet. Tell me,” and the Phantom lowered his voice as a new thought occurred to him, “is, or was, Pinto a member of the Duke’s crowd?”

“Not exactly.” Culligore spoke with a hesitant drawl. “I’ll tell you something if you promise to let it go in one ear and out the other. For some time I’ve had a private tip to the effect that the Duke’s outfit wanted someone on the inside of the police department. They made Pinto a pretty attractive offer, and Pinto nibbled at the bait. He might have swallowed it if the Gage murder hadn’t happened along.”

“No wonder he acted so shaky,” murmured the Phantom. “Well, I am glad the ugly mess has been disposed of. The wily old Peng Yuen must have had an inkling of the truth when he quoted something to me from one of the Chinese philosophers. I didn’t get his meaning then, but I do now. Anyway,” with a soft laugh, “the bloodstain has been washed from the Gray Phantom’s name. There will never——”

Granger, who had been leaning back against his chair as if in a drunken stupor, made a sudden movement. The Phantom was about to interfere, but the reporter was only pouring himself a drink from the bottle. He rose unsteadily and held the glass aloft.

“It was fun while it lasted,” he declared thickly. “I’m going to have one more drink—just one. Here goes!”

He gulped down the contents of the glass, swayed for an instant and regarded the others with an odd expression. Then, before either of them could interfere, he picked up the pistol he had dropped upon the Phantom’s entrance.

A crack sounded. Helen uttered a sharp cry, and Culligore limped toward the reporter’s chair just as Granger went staggering to the floor.

“Killed himself!” muttered the lieutenant. “Shot himself through the heart. Well, that’s one way of dodging the electric chair.”

Helen shuddered convulsively and the Phantom led her gently toward the door. He drew the doctor’s keys from his pockets and tossed them to Culligore.

“I forgot to tell you,” he remarked in casual tones, “that Bimble and his gang are locked up in the basement. Miss Hardwick and I rounded them up and took their guns away from them while you and Granger were discussing the crime. I understand, too, that there’s a large amount of swag salted in the cellar. It will be quite an important catch for you, Culligore, and ought to help toward promotion for you.”

The lieutenant stared.

“Well, I’ll be hanged!” he muttered at last.

The Phantom smiled. “I believe there are several outstanding charges against myself,” he observed. “To arrest the Gray Phantom would be almost as big an achievement as the rounding up of the Duke’s gang.”

Culligore seemed to hesitate. “Well,” with a broad grin, “I suppose I ought to pinch you, but my leg still hurts a bit and you can run a lot faster than I can. Anyhow, I’ll get plenty of credit as it is. You two might as well go away. I’ll wait ten minutes before I telephone headquarters.”

“Thanks, Culligore.”

He gripped the lieutenant’s hand and held it while each man looked the other in the eye. Then he turned and led Helen from the room. In a little while they were out on the street, and her face brightened as the morning breeze fanned it. The Phantom hailed a passing taxicab.

For a time they sat silent, and there was a touch of reverence in the Phantom’s attitude as he gazed at the girl.

“Helen!” he whispered.

The soft brown eyes looked into his own.

“Gray Phantom!” she murmured.

He found her hand and held it. “It was a great adventure—the greatest of my life. Who would ever have dreamed that the Gray Phantom would go to such extremes to clear himself in the eyes of a girl?”

She looked up again, and there was a warm, misty radiance in her eyes.

“Did my opinion of you really matter as much as that?”

“Why, of course; it meant everything to me. And Helen——”

There was a choking sensation in his throat. He turned his head and looked out through the window at a quiet street lined with brownstone fronts. He laughed sadly.

“I forgot for a moment that I am still a hunted man. I am still an outlaw, and all officers are not as generous as Culligore. My past is hanging over me like a great black cloud. But perhaps some day——”

She smiled as he broke off. “Perhaps some day,” she murmured, “the cloud will roll away.”

His fingers tightened convulsively about her hand; then he opened the door and called to the chauffeur. The cab swerved up to the curb and stopped.

“Good-by, Helen.”

Her lips trembled and for a moment she could not speak.

“Au revoir—Gray Phantom!”

He drew a long, deep breath as the cab glided away. He watched it till it was out of sight. There was a smile on his lips and his eyes held a tender light.

“Farewell, Brown Eyes,” he said, half aloud. “Wonder if we shall meet again, and if—” He did not finish the thought, but smiled whimsically. “I must hurry back and see what I can do with my gray orchid.”

Then he swung down a side street and walked briskly away, looking furtively to right and left with the habitual caution of hunted men.