Down the Post Road they drove. Already dawn had put the night to flight. Already the birds filled the air with melody. The air was soft and cool. Autumn leaves browned the mountain-tops that rose beside the Hudson. Dick Van Loan, very much aware of the slim hand that was tucked through his arm, sighed.
A pair of eyes stared up at his mask anxiously.
“You must be awful tired,” said Muriel. “Shall I drive?”
He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m not tired. I’m just thinking.”
For the Phantom who had just won a tremendous triumph, was thinking of the girl beside him. He was thinking that had he been a normal man, a man whose life was clean and simple, he could perhaps kiss this girl, could perhaps ask her to marry him.
But the Phantom could never ask any woman to do that. He had dedicated his life to the wooing of death, and he well realized that it was a suit which would some day succeed. Romance was not for him. And as he came to this conclusion he felt a little twinge in his heart.
The remainder of the journey was made in silence; and less than two hours later, when Muriel had been delivered to her father by the Phantom, Dick Van Loan sat over his breakfast coffee with the publisher. Havens regarded him fondly.
“Dick,” he said, “I owe you something I can never repay. You’ve saved both my life and Muriel’s. I’ll never forget it.”
He proffered his hand. Van took it and smiled. Like all men of action he was slightly ashamed of emotional outbursts. He essayed to pass it off as a joke.
“That’s nothing,” he said. “It’s just a scoop for your papers. You pay reporters fifty a week for things like that.”
Havens shook his head. “There’s not enough money in the world to pay for some things,” he said gravely. “Things like friendship, honor — love.”
Van thought suddenly of Muriel, and something stirred within him as he agreed. But he spent little time in vain regrets.
The Phantom was his life. He had chosen, and now he would abide by that choice. Love had been eschewed.
“Yes,” he said after a short pause. “You’re right, Frank. But I’ve no time for romance. I must go home and get some rest. Perhaps the Phantom will have a new case soon.”
“Perhaps,” said Havens.
And neither of them knew then how truly they spoke. Neither knew of the cunning brain, the distorted genius who was already plotting deeds the solution of which would tax the Phantom to his utmost.
THE END
The Emperor of Death Page 17
