“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.
