In the shops, where shoes and cheap mining machinery were manufactured by convict labor, the rows of lathes, presses, cutting machines and drills were grotesque shapes poised in grim stillness, waiting for the maw of morning when they, would grind again into endless, heartbreakingly monotonous motion.
Van took particular notice of the enormous foundry as he and the deputy passed through its shrouded darkness. The high-ceilinged shop with its two big blast furnaces was peculiarly well equipped, and there were extra night guards stationed around its thick walls.
"That's the hospital over there," the deputy announced when they came out into the prison yard again.
He pointed at a four-story stone building set against the grey prison wall. It was dark, except for a red light over the entrance and a glow from one of the windows on the top floor.
"I'd take you in there," Deputy Rowan stated with finality, "except there's an iron-bound rule against visitors, official or not, going there at night. Black-Jack Bluebold would kick hell out of me if I let you in. Anyhow, the place is locked and I haven't got the key on me."
"Who keeps that key?" Van asked.
"Dr. Jessup, when he's inside the prison," Rowan answered and eyed Van distrustfully. "Other times it's locked up in the warden's safe. There's a fire exit that can be opened from inside the hospital, if that's what's worrying you."
The Phantom shrugged. There was no use his trying to break through the official reserve of these prison officials any longer. They were telling him just so much, and no more. But there was another way of getting past their loquatious, calculated barriers.
"Where's the death house cells?" he asked.
"See that light on the top floor of the hospital building?" Rowan said, his voice hardening. "That's it. There's two guys in there now, Sam Robbins and Joe Sholtz. We're frying Joe tonight. The electric chair is where that light shows. They're getting it ready."
The Phantom studied that grim window with the drawn shade a moment, his grey eyes slitted, his features masking the intensity of his sharp scrutiny. The shade of death would be drawn across that window in a few brief hours.
"I've seen enough," he said abruptly. "I'll fix up my report to the bureau from what information you've given me."
Relief showed on Rowan's face as they walked back to the main cell blocks and on through to the turnkey's double-doored cage.
Van thanked the deputy, shook hands with him, and was let out into the starry night. But the Phantom's eyes had become strangely restless.
Chapter Twelve.
Fast Flight
When he got back to town Van stopped at an all-night restaurant. He had almost forgotten that he was ravenously hungry. But his mind was not on the food he ate.
He calculated the flying time from New York City to Mountainview, Pennsylvania, decided that Lannigan and Havens would land at the small local airport at about two o'clock in the morning. He needed sleep, but he could sleep in the plane, after he'd convinced Havens of the necessity for the queer, dangerous action he was planning.
Speed was essential; and next to that, Havens' influence as a public figure. He'd need Jerry Lannigan, too.
Van had left nothing at the hotel. He went directly to the airport from the restaurant, found the two small hangars locked and the field deserted.
He waited impatiently at the edge of the single short runway, keeping himself awake with cigarettes and frequent nervous pacings, while his mind went over and over the details of his plan.
At ten minutes past two in the morning, an hour and a half after the Phantom had reached the forsaken airport, he heard the first faint drone of an airplane motor. He stared skyward, caught sight of the red, green and white triangle of the ship's flying lights.
The moon was still out, making landing flares unnecessary. A half minute later the beat of the motor ceased and the ship drifted down toward the field, spiraling as Lannigan maneuvered for a short landing. The twin wing lights flashed on as the ship slid down and settled on the ground.
Van was at the door of the plane's cabin before Havens had it unlocked. He jerked it open, flashed his platinum and diamond insignia at the publisher, and pulled himself into the cabin.
"Get into the air again, Champ!" he ordered.
The roar of the motor as Lannigan taxied rapidly and turned into the wind, taking off again, gave Van a chance to greet Havens and slap the big red-headed Irishman on his beefy shoulder. When the ship was above the mountain ranges, leveling off, Van said determinedly to Havens:
"You've got to see the governor of Pennsylvania for me right away, Frank. Is he at the capitol in Harrisburg?"
Havens shook his head, reached forward and tapped Jerry on the arm. "Pittsburgh, Lannigan," he directed, and turned to Van. "Governor Young is in Pittsburgh tonight. I talked with him on long distance after Lannigan got through to me and said you were down in a Pennsylvania coal mine near Mountainview."
The publisher smiled wanly and added, "I wanted Young to have a detachment of National Guardsmen ready in that district, in case I didn't hear from you within the next twelve hours."
"That wouldn't have helped any," the Phantom declared flatly. "That region is honey-combed with connected mines, for miles around." He glanced at Lannigan, asked him. "How'd you get out, Champ?"
"I hung onto that elevator until it stopped," Jerry said over his shoulder as he banked and headed for Pittsburgh. "Then I got into the shaft bracing beams and climbed on up. I was still in the mine, but those hoods had disappeared, so I smacked a couple of guys that got in my way, and found a drift that led me out finally. Jeez, I had to walk about five miles to get to a phone. A miner drove me to the Mountainview airport and I chartered a plane. What happened to you after I scrammed?"
Van's eyes held a faraway look for a moment as he recalled the burly figure of Lannigan hanging to the bottom of that mine cage. Then he gave the two men a swift account of his own attempts to penetrate the hooded mystery.
As he talked, Frank Havens' age-lined face darkened into a frown of grim worry that matched the graveness of his steady gaze.
"Phantom," he said, "you've taken too many risks already." He looked down through the cabin windows at the dark, ragged tops of the mountains. "But we've got to keep on until the Imperator is stopped! Governor Young will use his soldiers—"
Van cut him off with a shake of his head.
"It can't be done that way, Havens," he insisted sternly. "Even if the entire district was surrounded, these members of the Invisible Empire could come and go as ordinary miners—most of them are workingmen who've been duped into joining this legion."
"Got to nail the bird who calls himself the Imperator," Jerry declared. "I was in those mine tunnels myself, and I know! You couldn't even blast 'em out with that stuff that blew up Rock Canyon Dam!"
"You see, Frank," Van went on, "the members are too afraid of their leader to talk, even to save themselves. And he knows that nothing can drive them out into the open so long as he remains an unseen emperor, and continues to pay them off. Remember, if any member is killed, that man's family is guaranteed financial independence for seven generations! It's a weird idea but it holds them, makes them willing martyrs."
"Can't he be cut off through his finances," Havens demanded. "Money can be traced!"
"Not the way he handles it, evidently," Van persisted. "Don't forget all the small bank robberies, the blackmail pay-offs, the things he can do with that explosive