The Black Ball Of Death

CHAPTER XIII

PROPPED up in the lobby of the Fifth Avenue building where the Waverley Studio did business, Steve Huston had little trouble picking up Maxine Hillary when she stepped out of an elevator, about an hour after he started his vigil.

Recognizing her immediately from the Phantom’s graphic description, the little reporter, who admired a good-looking girl the same as anyone else, drifted along behind her as she started north up the famous avenue of shops and stores.

She walked with free-limbed grace, swinging on at a good pace, apparently oblivious to the admiring glances cast in her direction. Steve had to hurry to keep up. But he stuck resolutely to dodging in and out of the crowd, until at 43rd Street Maxine Hillary turned east.

Several doors down the street she descended the steps of a bar-grill with the name “Fowler” over it.

To Steve, that made it a hundred percent. It was close to noon and the metropolitan lunch hour. If the girl he followed was catching herself a bite there, he could pull up a chair at a nearby table and get his own lunch. He wasn’t hungry. The seven o’clock breakfast always sharpened his appetite when high noon rolled around.

Steve entered Fowler’s leisurely, hung his hat on a peg with a half dozen others, and spotted his quarry at once. Maxine Hillary had taken a table in the rear of a stone-floored room where the pine tables were covered with turkey-red cloths.

A few other early diners were scattered about Steve Huston sat unobtrusively down at a table in an opposite corner.

Twenty minutes later he had the thrill of his life. A blonde girl entered Fowler’s. One glance was enough for Huston to see that she matched the pastel sketch in his pocket. She wore a green dress and short coat, but in any color she would have been gorgeous. Vicki Selden! Steve’s pulses drummed. The girl who had been at the lodge with Arden on the murder night!

The girl the Phantom Detective had to find.

Steve’s glance showed him Vicki siting down at Maxine Hillary’s table. It showed him something else – a strained, apprehensive uneasiness she displayed in her pretty face and posture.

Steve had noticed a public telephone booth in the front section of Fowler’s, back from the bar. He pushed its door shut after him, fumbled for a nickel, and called his boss.

Frank Havens listened to what he said and added, “The Phantom is waiting to hear from you. I’ll get in touch with him at once.”

“Fowler’s, Forty-third Street, just east of Fifth,” Steve repeated and rang off.

He had lost interest in his lunch. Now, Steve Huston realized, he had two girls to shadow. He hoped the Phantom would arrive promptly and take over. He wasn’t quite sure of what to do next.

No more than fifteen minutes elapsed before the little reporter caught a glimpse of the Phantom coming down the steps. Instead of bustling into the dining room, the Phantom stopped at the bar. There, with a lime-and-seltzer, he rested an elbow on the mahogany and glanced casually into the rear room.

He made no move, did nothing to indicate he saw Steve – or the two girls at their table. He was careful to keep out of Maxine Hillary’s eye range. She knew him, and the Phantom didn’t want her to give the Selden girl any warning of his presence.

While he stirred the ice in his innocuous drink, the Phantom waited.

Maxine Hillary, evidently with another posing appointment, got up suddenly, and said goodbye to her friend. The Phantom turned his back to her when she paid her check and went past him. He watched her symmetrical legs hurry up the steps before he turned and walked into the dining room.

He gave Steve a finger signal to stay put and, at the corner table, helped himself to the same chair the Park Sunderland model had just left.

VICKI Selden gave an involuntary start as the Phantom sat down. Red lips parted, gray-green eyes widened. The color under her makeup faded fast.

“Probably Miss Hillary warned you about me,” the Phantom said, quietly. “I want to help you, and I expect you to help me. That is, if you want Arthur Arden’s murderer found.”

For a long minute she sat apathetically silent. The Phantom saw the glint of tears in her eyes. Finally, she nodded.

“What do you want to know?”

“You were with Arthur at the lodge at the lake the night he was killed?”

“Yes. We had dinner in town and drove down to the lodge later.” Her voice was low and husky.

“What time did you leave the lodge?”

“About nine o’clock, maybe a few minutes after that.”

“Did Arden say anything about expecting a visitor?” the Phantom asked.

Vicki raised her water glass and took a slow sip. Over the rim of it, she eyed the Phantom intently. “I’m not sure if I trust you,” she said candidly. “Why did you insist upon meeting me here and asking me these questions in such a public place?”

The Phantom shrugged. “I’ve been hunting you for quite some time, Miss Selden, and now that I’ve found you, I want to settle this business as quickly as possible. There’s a chance you might – well, vanish again.”

“Vanish!” She gave a ladylike snort. “A fine chance I have of doing that with your detective following me.”

The Phantom raised his head and looked around quickly. He saw no one familiar to him. “What detective?” he asked, swinging his gaze back to Vicki.

She gasped and put the glass of water down. “Do you mean that the man who has been following me for the past two or three hours isn’t a detective?”

The Phantom studied her carefully for a moment. “Miss Selden,” he said, “I couldn’t possibly have had anyone trailing you because until a few moments ago I had no idea where you were. What sort of a man is he?”

“There is something wrong with his ear. The left one, I think,” Vicki said.

“Look about this room. Do you see him now?”

“No.” She searched all corners for him. “When I came in, he just parked against a building wall outside. Look, mister, if he isn’t a detective, who is he?”

“Perhaps the man who killed Arthur Arden,” the Phantom said. softly. “At any rate, he is involved in the murder. I’m certain of that; because I’ve met the gentleman. I don’t like him, which is an understatement. Miss Selden, I’m a fair judge of people. I think whatever your part in this case happens to be, it is an innocent one. Therefore, I’ll tell you who I really am.”

The Phantom dipped a hand under his coat, removed his jeweled badge from its hiding place and showed it to her, nestled in the palm of his hand.

“You’re the Phantom,” Vicki said softly. “Oh, I’m glad. I didn’t want to become involved with the police. Anything against my record would ruin my career as a model. That’s why I – I didn’t come forward. And yet, I wanted to tell what I knew.”

“Good.” The Phantom returned the badge to his hidden pocket. “You might start at once.”

“Arthur and I were to be married,” Vicki said with a tremulous note so genuine that no actress could have accomplished it. “As soon as he had money enough.”

“His finances were not good, then?”

She shook her head. “Before Arthur met me he was a playboy, with all that the word implies. He spent money like water, most of it on sponging friends. It was money his mother had left him. His father made no attempt to stop him from going through this small fortune, but once it was gone, his father also refused to give him any more money. Even Arthur didn’t blame him for that.”

“Why did you and Arthur go to the lodge at Lake Candle that night?” the Phantom asked.

“He wanted me to drive him there. He had an appointment. Let me go on, Phantom. When I’ve told all I think I know, you can ask your questions.”

“We’ll get along,” the Phantom told her with a smile. “I’ll be quiet.”

“Arthur maintained a small apartment here in town. I have a key to it, but I haven’t dared go there. I don’t know whom Arthur expected to meet at the lodge, but it was an important meeting because from it he believed he would add to what money he had left in amounts that would soon make him a wealthy man. That was why we were both excited about it. Once Arthur got this money we were to have been married.”

“I understand, Miss Selden. Go on.”

“Arthur said the meeting was to be private. We had a drink – a martini – to toast the success of the meeting. Then I left the lodge and drove back to town.”

“Were you wearing a gardenia, Miss Selden?”

“Why – yes. I lost it somewhere.”

“It was picked up outside of the lodge after Arthur was murdered. In my opinion, the murderer also discovered signs of your presence and possibly got Arthur to talk about you. Now the killer isn’t certain how much Arthur told you. Therefore, you may be in considerable danger.”

She nodded. “That’s why I tried to leave no trail behind me. I was frightened when I heard of Arthur’s death. How can I help find the man who killed him – the man who robbed Arthur of life and me of my happiness?”

“There was a billiard ball at Arthur’s feet. The number eight ball,” the Phantom said. “Do you attach any significance to that?”

“Why, no. I hadn’t heard about an eight ball being found at his feet.”

“The matter was not considered important enough to be publicized,” the Phantom explained. “But I think it was important. Very important, and I was hoping you might have some idea what it was about.”

She said, slowly and thoughtfully, “I wonder if it was the eight ball – is that a black billiard ball, Phantom?”

“Yes,” he said eagerly.

“Arthur was always mad about billiards. In his New York apartment, he insisted upon installing a billiard table. Only the night before he was killed, he and I were at the apartment. He showed me the table, and he picked up the eight ball and told me to take a good look because it meant a way out of all our financial troubles. Phantom, there must some significance.”

The Phantom looked in the direction of the exit. “We’ll soon find out,” he told her. “I want you to leave here just as if you never saw me. I doubt our twisted-ear friend knows we met. Go about your affairs, and let him follow you. I’ll be trailing him.”

“I shouldn’t go directly to Arthur’s apartment?”

“No. And while I think of it, what about that apartment? Was it some sort of a secret nest? Arthur’s father never mentioned it.”

She colored slightly. “He never knew about it, Phantom. Arthur and I fixed up the apartment, and we were to use it after we were married. Meantime, he lived there. It was cheaper than a hotel.”

“What’s the address of this place?”

“It’s apartment Eleven B at Nine hundred and ninety-seven Eastern Boulevard. Uptown a bit, but quiet and clean. Just what we wanted.”

“Be there,” the Phantom said, “at exactly nine o’clock tonight. If the man with the malformed ear follows you, don’t let on you are aware of it.”

“I’ll do exactly as you say, Phantom. I’ve prayed I might find some way of helping avenge Arthur’s murder. Thanks to you, the opportunity is here. And I’m not afraid anymore.”

“Good girl. Run along now, and possibly by morning we’ll know what this is all about.”

RISING when the Phantom pulled back her chair, and with a confident smile at him, Vicki Selden walked out of the place. The Phantom followed, after a moment or two spent in paying the check. He quickly picked out the green outfit she wore; and, sure enough, Len of the twisted ear, was shadowing her.

She walked across town, turned north and entered a building which the Phantom had left not long before. It was the building where Park Sunderland maintained his small but swank model’s bureau. The Phantom wondered if she worked for Sunderland’s agency. She was certainly the type.

Twisted Ear hurried in too, and both of them disappeared in the busy lobby. The Phantom didn’t follow, but turned to the curb and flagged a taxi. He had himself driven to the address Vicki Selden had given him.

It was quite far uptown, as she had stated, and probably out of the fantastically high rent areas. Just the sort of a place for a man whose finances had slipped. The building was provided with a self-service elevator. The Phantom pressed the button for the eleventh floor. He listened outside the apartment door, heard no sound, and tried the knob. The door was locked, but this was a thirty-year-old building, and the locks were not too modern. One of the Phantom’s assets was a thorough knowledge of locks and lock picking. He used a thin bit of metal, wedging it between the door and its frame, manipulating the highly ductile instrument until it slid behind the ancient bolt. Then, with a quick twist of his wrist, he forced the bolt back just far enough so that the door opened under the pressure of his other hand.

He stepped into a modestly but nicely furnished living room. Everything was sparkling and new. In the bedroom closet, the Phantom discovered clothing that belonged to Arthur Arden. He opened bureau drawers, ransacking them. He went through the cabinets in the tiny kitchen, returned to the living room, and investigated the contents of a small desk. All he discovered was evidence to back up Vicki Selden’s claim that Arthur Arden had been almost broke.

In a smaller back room of the apartment, he found the billiard table. He located the eight ball in one of the side pockets. It looked and felt like any ordinary billiard ball. He dug at the surface with his penknife. The material chipped. Underneath it was just another billiard ball. Like the one found at the feet of Arthur Arden’s corpse, it was no different from a million other billiard balls.

The Phantom placed the black ball in the center of the pool table and left it there. In his mind a new idea was forming. If these eight balls meant nothing in themselves, then there was something about them that had a meaning. Perhaps the color, perhaps their silly reputation for being a symbol of bad luck. Perhaps even the number eight possessed some significance.

He returned to the living room for one last look around and noticed the plain Mason jar standing on the mantel of the imitation fireplace.

It was greasy and dirty, and certainly didn’t belong there.

The Phantom took it down and removed the flat glass top. He dumped some of the contents into the palm of his hand. The slight frown on his forehead grew deeper. That simple Mason jar contained more of that bronze colored powder which he had first seen near Arden’s corpse. The powder he had proved to be some metallic alloy. These clues at the Arden lakeside home were taking on more meaning.

The Phantom replaced the jar and its contents on the mantel, quietly left the apartment and the building, and paused on the sidewalk for a quick look around. Then he crossed the street and took up a position down a fairly dark driveway.