Authors: Lee Falk
"I can see you," came a girl's voice. "In case you were thinking about pocketing something. Though, on second thought, you look too substantial for that."
The Phantom turned toward a curtained rear door to see a pretty black girl step through. She was tall, utmost five feet eleven, wearing a sleeveless orange |n scy and tan corduroy bellbottom pants. There was n gold pin at her left breast but it was not a golden arrow. "You're not Sweeney Todd," said the Phantom.
"You're very perceptive," replied the Negro girl as shecame nearer. "You always wear shades indoors?"
"Not always."
"Not that I don't know a lot of folks who do," said the girl. "You look too straight, though, to be one of that kind." She circled him, one hand on her chin, her elbow held in the other hand. "No, I'd say you were maybe in . . . well, maybe in communications. Except your hair isn't long enough and your tan's too good."
"I do a lot of outdoor work. What's your name, by the way?"
"Nita."
"Nita," the Phantom repeated. "Well, Nita, I'd like very much to talk to Sweeney Todd."
"Um." The pretty black girl looked over her shoulder at the old-fashioned Regulator clock mounted on one bare wall. "Not quite two o'clock yet. He's not even likely to be on his feet yet. And as to when he'll be dressed and presentable, who knows?"
"He lives on the premises?"
"Nope," grinned the girl. "Only me, me and a sizable army of cockroaches live on . . . the premises."
"I'm anxious to see him," the Phantom said, "on business. Business which could benefit him." "Don't tell me you're selling insurance or something?"
"No, I'm buying," he answered. "Could you give me his home address."
"Nope, no way." She had her chin on her fist again and was making another circuit of him. "Tell you what."
"What?"
'1 know for a fact exactly where Sweeney Todd'll be tonight," said the girl. "I can sell you a ticket."
The Phantom laughed. "Is he that tough to see, that I have to buy a ticket?"
"He's working on the committee for the Artists' & Writers' Charity Ball & Folk Rock Concert," explained the black girl. "That's going to be tonight, starting at ten o'clock over in the Westlake auditorium on Houston Street. Seven fifty for a ticket. This way you'll be sure to see him."
The Phantom took a ten dollar bill from his new wallet. "Okay, I'll try that, Nita."
"I probably will be there myself," she said as she pulled the bill from between his fingers. "Hey, and you'll need a costume."
"I think I can come up with something," the Phantom told her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The big, domed room was filled with people, soft shadows, and splashes of pastel fight. Six' iron pillars rose up to the ceiling. From a narrow balcony festooned with giant posters and blown-up photos a light machine was snapping flashes of pale yellow, crimson, and underwater blue down on the mingling, roaming, dancing crowd of costumed people. The air was hazy, Viuiously scented.
The Phantom was in his tight-fitting costume and mask now. In the crowd of revelers at the charity function, he looked almost sedate and conservative. A sparsely clad jungle girl bumped into him, murmured, "Sorry, man," and drifted on to catch hold of I lie arm of a young man with a pumpkin for a head. On a dais at the room's far end, five young men writhed, struggling with their electronic instruments to bring forth a blues' tinged blare.
A gorilla fell against the Phantom, causing him to step into a group of two girls and a black man. The Negro was got up as a gunslinger. The platinum- haired girl was chubby, disguised as a medieval queen. The other girl was dark-haired, oddly pretty. She was wearing a crisp ballerina costume, a lace trimmed domino. On the left side of her bodice was a golden arrow pin.
This dark-haired girl smiled at the masked man. "I'm trying to figure it out," she said.
"Figure what out?"
"Who you're supposed to be?"
"Some kind of superhero," suggested the black cowboy.
"Beau is into comics," said the dark girl, "and sees everything in that light. But really . . . what?"
The Phantom took hold gently of the girl's arm "Let me buy you a drink and we'll see if I can explain."
"Okay, you're on. Bye, group." The girl took the lead, pulling him after her through the costumed crowd.
"Hi, Mimi," called a passing clown.
"Is that you?" asked the Phantom. "Mimi?"
"Right. And you?"
"You can call me Devlin."
She looked back ova: her shoulder at him. "Okay, Devlin."
Up ahead a half-dozen brightly garbed people were clustered around a tall thin old woman, who was dressed in a fairy princess outfit. She wore a narrow royal purple mask, with similarly colored patches of makeup on her wrinkled cheeks. Round her neck hung a glowing scarlet ruby.
"Hey, look at that," said Mimi, slowing down to point. "The queen of the ball herself."
"Who is she?" asked the masked man.
"Oh, don't you know Mrs. Mott-Smith, Devlin? I thought anyone who was anyone in Manhattan knew the old girl."
"I guess I'm not anyone at the moment"
"Mrs. Mott-Smith is fantastically rich," the dark- haired Mimi explained. "One of the sponsors of this thing tonight. And that rock is real."
"Is it now?"
"Sure enough. They call the thing the Eye of Isis," said Mimi. "If a stone like that were mine, I'd wear it only in the privacy of my own home, with all the doors double-locked. But the old girl seems to subscribe to the philosophy of ... if you've got it, flaunt It."
"Yes," agreed the Phantom. "Speaking of decora- lions, Mimi, that's an interesting pin you're wearing, ii golden arrow. I don't believe I've ever seen one like II before."
"It's a family heirloom," replied Mimi. "Come, Devlin. Let's push on to the bar."
"An heirloom? Then I suppose I couldn't get one like it."
"Not a chance, no way." The girl's head turned to the right and then the left. She seemed to notice someone or something and nodded very quickly. She hurried on ahead dodging a fat man with a gigantic egg for a head. "It occurs to me, Devlin, you are very fond of asking questions."
"Am I?" He grinned at her.
After a second, she returned the grin. She said, Success is near, Devlin. There's the bar right up ahead. What say you fight through and get me something simple with scotch in it?"
The Phantom again took hold of the pretty dark girl's arm. "Let's try it as a team, Mimi."
"Be easier if you go. Don't worry, Devlin, I won't vanish like Cinderella. It's a long way to midnight yet."
Letting go, the masked man made his way to the makeshift drink counter. The bartender noticed him at once, served him in under a minute.
When the Phantom returned to the spot where he'd left Mimi, she was gone.
His eyes narrowed behind his mask. The girl didn't seem to be anywhere in the immediate vicinity.
"If you've got nothing else to do with that drink, I can use it."
The long, tall black girl who worked for Sweeney Todd was standing beside him, dressed in a full- length cloak with golden fastenings, "Good evening, Nita," said the Phantom.
One bare arm extended itself through a slit in the cloak to tap at the glass. "What is that, bourbon?"
"Scotch," answered the Phantom. "Originally intended for a girl named Mimi. Know her?"
"Nope, sorry," said the tall Nita. "But, listen, the reason I sought you out is that I have a message for you."
The Phantom passed the chill plastic glass to her. "A message from Sweeney Todd maybe?"
The girl sampled the scotch, then wrinkled her nose and puckered her hps. "Um, that's surely quality stuff," she said. "Yes, Sweeney Todd's in attendance and would like to talk with you."
"Fine. Point him out."
Nita's other bare arm extended from the cloak. "He likes privacy when he talks business, so he tells me. He's waiting for you in that room off the auditorium. See the door marked Private, Employees Only? There's a guy in a deep-sea diver suit leaning just to the right of it."
The Phantom nodded. "Thanks, Nita. Ill talk to you again later on." He turned his broad back on her, strode rapidly off through the crowd
He stopped before the metal door Nita had indicated. Two ghosts and a chubby vampire were talking to the young man in the diving suit They paid no attention to the masked man when he turned the handle and stepped across the threshold.
The heavy door closed behind him with a metallic click there was no light in the musty smelling room.
Sweeney Todd? called the Phantom
Right behind you called a throaty voice me and this gun.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Chewing on a donut, Lt, Colma circled his venerable desk, scowling. The night city outside was loud and bright. "Jim-dandy," he said at last. Open on the desk top were two suitcases which the railroad had turned over to him. The luggage contained the clothes and other belongings of the man known as Walker.
In the door slouched the huge VerPoorten. He watched the lieutenant rummaging through the clothes and gear. He held a greasy white donut bag in one hand, a sheaf of memos and notes in the other. "Nothing?"
Not replying, Colma stuffed everything back in a rough approximation of its original order. He slammed each tan suitcase shut and walked away from the desk. "Either ready-made brands, or no labels at all," he said, watching the worn floor. "And not a letter, note, scrap of paper, or even a ticket stub."
"This Walker guy," said VerPoorten, "is starting to look like what you call a mystery man." He waved his handful of new memos. "No trace of him after his little escapade in Thornburg."
"Nobody saw that dog of his, or wolf or whatever it is?"
"No, nobody," answered VerPoorten. He dropped the papers on the nearest suitcase, then reached into
the sack for a donut. '1 like this kind, with maple frosting smeared on top."
Colma asked, "What about Chicago?"
VerPoorten shook his head. "Couple of railroad people remember Walker and his ... his pet, remember seeing them at the train station there in Chi. But so far, we can't trace him further back than that. Nothing as to where he was before he caught the train."
Lt. Colma got out Ms pack of cigarettes. Before taking one, he counted those remaining. "Huh, looks like I smoked two less today. Good." After lighting a fresh one, he asked, "How about those three dames?"
VerPoorten shrugged his big shoulders, gesturing with the half-consumed maple donut. 'Without any descriptions, it's pretty tough," he said. "Too bad you didn't get more details out of Walker before he did his dive. Anyway, no one on the train noticed three suspicious looking ladies. And that Toshiko girl hasn't any idea who swiped her spare outfit."
Colma was at his office window. The night was black against the smeared glass. "That's jim-dandy," he said finally. "Four people, four people plus a gigantic dog. They all vanish into thin air."
"You want to look in on that charity ball?"
Stretching his arms up over his head, the robbery division lieutenant said, "Might as well take a look at Mrs. Mott-Smith's Eye of ... what was it?"
"Isis."
"Yeah. Okay, let's head over to the place."
Verpoorten asked, "Want another donut?"
"No, I have to watch my carbohydrates."
"Maybe they'll come up with a health food donut," said the big detective, following Colma out of the office.
A girl in a grass skirt passed them, rustling, and
remarked, "Those aren't much in the way of costumes."