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  They headed for the mainland.

  Diana, with the borrowed towel round her shoulders, leaned back in the passenger seat of the Phantom's Alfa Romeo. "So Chris Danton put the keys in that launch," she said. "Figuring we'd then take the other one."

  "A simple trick," said the Phantom. He was wearing his tan raincoat now and dark glasses. "I should have recognized it."

  "It's all right," said the dark-haired girl. "We're back safe in Santa Barbara and I'm off that island. All's right with the world, more or less." She put her hand on his.

  The Phantom headed the car into the hills. "Danton may make another try," he told the girl. "Once he finds out we weren't killed."

  "As soon as we tell somebody about him," Diana said, "the whole business will be all over. I mean, they can raid San Obito and they'll find the secret rooms and so on."

  "When we reach your uncle's, IH put through a call to a friend of mine up in San Francisco," said the Phantom. "He'll let me know who to contact here in Santa Barbara."

  Diana watched him for a few silent seconds. "Then youH be able to stop for a while, Kit? Stay here, a few days anyway."

  "Yes." The Phantom smiled, but the smile slowly faded. "But first, I want to make sure Chris Danton is caught. I don't like what he tried to do to you on that island."

  Her hand pressed tighter on his. "Let the authorities take care of him. I don't want you to—"

  "I have to," he said.

  "Yes, I understand."

  The Phantom parked a half block away from the house of Diana's uncle. After the engine died, he sat looking out at the misty street. There were only two cars parked on this quiet residential avenue. And no cars showing in any of the driveways.

  "Stay here a moment," he said to the girl as he stepped out onto the night street. Standing next to the car, he surveyed the area with narrowed eyes. The fog had thinned somewhat. A brief frown touched his forehead.

  "What is it?" asked Diana, leaning across the car toward him.

  He shook his head. "Nothing. It seems to be safe." He came around and opened her door.

  Uncle Dave met them on his porch. "Di, you're okay!" He put his arms round her.

  "Yes, I'm fine, though a bit soggy still."

  "I noticed, I noticed," said Uncle Dave. "What happened?"

  "We'll talk inside." The Phantom urged them into the house.

  In the living room, Uncle Dave walked to the big windows facing the patio. "Let me close these darn drapes," he said. "I've been thinking about you two and forgot all about it."

  As the old man's hand reached for, the draw cord, a bullet came shattering through the glass.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The shot passed within inches of the Phantom's head. He shoved Diana to the floor. "Stay down!"

  "You all right?" said Uncle Dave, who had thrown himself back away from the wide windows.

  The Phantom turned on his heel, ran from the room, and into the hallway.

  Another bullet smashed its way through the patio window.

  Quietly, the Phantom eased his way through the dark kitchen. He took hold of the knob of the door leading outside, silently turned it, and pushed the door open an inch.

  The fog was even thinner now and he could see nearly twenty feet into the large patio area through the slit of an opening.

  There was no one near this part of the house.

  The Phantom moved out into the night, crouched, staying in the shadows. He slid his right-hand automatic out of its holster.

  Then he spotted a figure moving near the stucco wall which fenced the far side of the patio. A small slim figure, half-hidden by giant ferns and big-leaved bushes.

  The Phantom began to run, out of the shadows and along the pool edge.

  The figure turned and sent a rifle shot in his direction. -

  He was already diving through the air. The bullet whizzed through the mist above him.

  Landing in a bed of red flowers, the Phantom fired at the figure. That one went wide. Before he could fire again, the Phantom realized he was facing a girl.

  She was on the move again, lost for a moment among the tangled growth.

  Next he saw her poised on the tile top of the

  wall.

  "Stop right there!" he ordered.

  The girl, red hair fluttering out behind her like a streamer, leaped from the wall.

  In an instant, the Phantom was scaling the wall. From the top, he saw the small girl, her rifle held out at the end of her straight right arm, running along the sidewalk.

  He jumped to the ground and took off after her.

  She sped around a corner, narrowly missing bumping into an oak tree growing near the curb.

  When the Phantom rounded the same corner, I he girl was half a block ahead of him. As he passed the big oak, he heard, a shuffling sound.

  Before he could look around, something hit him incredibly hard across the back of the neck. He look three more wavering steps before toppling down to lie still on the gray concrete.

  Agent Marcus was sitting in the middle of the swayback couch in his small inland apartment. It was a shade after 2:00 A.M., and he was smoking a menthol cigarette while he watched a Los Angeles talk show. Three rumnled men on the screen were discussing the possibility of communication after death with the less rumpled host.

  The phone rang. Marcus reached over to grab it. "Yeah?"

  "Maybe we have something," said Busino. "Is there somebody there with you?" "Two sniritualists and a medium." Marci turned off the sound. "What have you got?"

  "Well, one of my sources," said Fimno, "phoned me a few minutes ago with a tip. Now, I don't know, this mav not be worth anything, but see what you think." There was, at a distance, some one howling in the background.

  "Who's that screaming?"

  "Skippy," answered Busino. "He's teething. You know how it is."

  Marcus, a bachelor, replied, "Sure. Now what about this tip?"

  "Hold on. Buzzy is awake and wants a glass of water." The phone was set on the table with a clack.

  Marcus watched the silent screen and tried to guess what the four tiny men were saying. One of them was flapping his arms.

  "See what you think." Busino was bark on the phone. "Now, maybe we can just as well wait until morning. Still I figured I ought to . . ,"

  "So tell me already."

  "My source says—and this kid's always been pretty reliable—he says that this girl we were talking about is in on the junk-smuggling racket."

  "Which girl is this?"

  "Diana Palmer."

  "You mean Dave Palmer's niece?"

  "It does sound unlikely, doesn't it?" said Busino. "But this kid, you know, has always been pretty reliable. He swears Diana Palmer is out here to oversee a big shipment of heroin being brought in from Mexico. Not only that, she's got some of the stuff stashed at her place richt this minute."

  Marcus gave a snort. "Some junkie's dream," he said.

  "Maybe so," admitted Busino. "Still she has

  been real close with Chris Danton since she hit Santa Barbara."

  After taking a couple puffs on his cigarette, Marcus said, "There is that, yeah," he said. "Well, I suppose we better look into it."

  "Want me to let the local boys in on this?"

  "No," said Marcus. "I want to handle this thing quietly. They have a tendency to bust down doors."

  "Yeah, they do come on like gangbusters."

  "What?"

  "I say they kind of come on like gangbusters."

  "What't that mean?"

  "You know, there used to be a radio show when we were kids," explained Busino. "That was the name of it, Gangbusters, and everybody now

  says—

  "Pick me up here in fifteen minutes," said Marcus.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  There were enormous orange-and-yellow flowers beneath him. He lifted his head slightly, said, "Ouch."

  "Take it easy, Kit," said Diana.

  Wincing, the Phantom pushed himself up furthe
r from the gaudy bedspread. "Everybody okay?"

  "Yes, you scared them off apparently," said th girl. "When you didn't come back after a few minutes, we went out looking and found you lying on the sidewalk around the corner."

  Gingerly, he touched the back of his head. "I didn't see who hit me at all."

  "I think we'd better get a doctor for you. If you didn't wake up soon, I was going to call one anyway."

  "No, I'm okay. This is not all that serious."

  "Well, maybe the police will insist on your going to the emergency ward."

  "Police?" Very slowly, the Phantom rolled over onto his back.

  "They're up front in the living room, talking to Uncle Dave," she replied. "Santa Barbara is a relatively conservative town. You can't shoot off rifles in the middle of the night and not attract p lice."

  He touched at his face. "Got my glasses?"

  The girl reached to a bedside table. "Here."

  Putting the dark glasses on, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

  She asked, "Did you see who tried to kill us?" "One of them. It was a girl, a small girl in her twenties with red hair."

  "Red hair?"

  "That means something to you?"

  "Yes, one of the so-called guests on Chris Dan- Ion's island was a redhead named Laura Lever- son," answered Diana. "She's the one who called my uncle with that phony message about my staying on."

  "Looks like she does more than deliver messages."

  "Chris is very determined to kill us," Diana said. "But, Kit, how could he know so soon that we hadn't died in the boat explosion?"

  "He probably didn't," the Phantom told her. "He's simply covering all the bases. He must have told his red-haired sharpshooter to keep an eye on I his house. The assumption being if we got out of the ocean alive we'd come back here."

  "Laura missed, but Chris isn't likely to give up. Is he?"

  "I think he'll have to give up now," replied the Phantom. "He's going to have to concentrate on getting himself safely away." He glanced at the phone. "Let me make a call to my federal-agent friend up in San Francisco."

  Diana was watching the partially open door of the bedroom. You could hear the voices of the patrolmen who were in the living room with her nncle.

  At the phone, the Phantom punched out a special number.

  "Hello?" answered a wide-awake voice.

  "Terry, this is Walker."

  "Hi," said Agent Terry, "you still here in SF?"

  "Down in Santa Barbara," he said. "And I've

  got quite a lot of information on that gentleman known as Chris Danton."

  "Great. What have you got?"

  "I think I know where he's keeping some of the narcotics."

  "Good. We think he's got another shipment due in from the South in the next day or so. We can set up a—"

  "Time is something we don't have," cut in the Phantom. "Danton knows I know. He's tried to kill us twice. Since he's failed and knows it, I think he'll run for it."

  "Us? Who's us?"

  Ignoring the question, he asked, "Who can I get in touch with here in the Santa Barbara area. We have to hit this island of his right now, tonight if possible."

  "Call Marcus." Terry gave him a local number. "He's a good man, just recently transferred in from the East."

  "Ill talk to him."

  "Let me know as soon as something cracks," requested Terry. "I've been trying to get something positive on this Danton guy for too long now."

  "I will."

  The bedroom door was pushed slowly open. Uncle Dave entered, his face strangely immobile and pale.

  "What is it?" Diana asked as she walked toward him.

  "Somebody wants to talk to you, Di."

  "More police?"

  "No, this is a federal man," said Uncle Dave. "An agent named Marcus."

  Agent Marcus lit a menthol cigarette as he circled slowly around the sofa in the den. "So you say you never knew Chris Danton before you arrived in Santa Barbara, Miss Palmer?"

  Diana was sitting on the dark sofa next to the Phantom. Her uncle was behind the wooden desk. "That's right, I met him here," she said. "At a party of my uncle's, the day I got in."

  "You have no idea what kind of business he's in?"

  "Yes, he's smuggling drugs," answered the girl.

  Marcus was around in front of the sofa. He halted. "You mean you—?"

  "Look," the Phantom told him, "right now Danton is probably clearing off of San Obito."

  Exhaling smoke, Marcus said, "I prefer to handle this thing my way . . . Mr. Walker. Now, Miss Palmer, how long have you been aware that—?"

  "What are you trying to tie Diana in with?" Uncle Dave wanted to know.

  "I'm trying to find out exactly what her connection with Danton is," Marcus replied. "I have a great deal of respect for you, Mr. Palmer, and your reputation. But—"

  The Phantom said, "You must know Terry."

  "Up in Frisco? Yeah, I know him. Why?"

  "I was just on the phone with him. He told me to get in touch with you about Danton."

  "So you know Terry, huh?" Marcus crossed to the desk to snuff out his cigarette in a seashell ashtray.

  "Call him now and confirm it."

  "I'll do that," promised Marcus. "But first, I want to ask Miss Palmer a few more questions. For instance, how does this shooting here tonight link up with your relationship to Danton?"

  "Danton's behind it," answered Diana. "He wants to kill us. With you around, though, that hardly seems necessary."

  Uncle Dave was standing up, angry. "Why'd you come here, Marcus? Did you get some kind of tip?"

  Marcus lit a fresh cigarette, concentrating on that, not meeting the old man's eyes. "Well, okay, ; yes," he said finally. "We have information indicating Miss Palmer may be involved with Chris Danton in his alleged narcotics operation."

  "That's ridiculous," said Diana.

  "Another base covered," said the Phantom. "If he can't kill you, he can at least discredit you, for a while anyway."

  "Further," continued the federal agent, "we ! have reason to suspect some illicit drugs may be concealed on the premises here."

  "What?" demanded Uncle Dave. "Do you mean to tell me you intend to hunt for junk in my house without so much as a warrant?"

  "I can get one," Marcus assured him. "Out of deference to you, Mr. Palmer, I'm trying to keep this informal."

  "Oh, let them look," said Diana. "They're not-"

  "Excuse me." Agent Busino, rubbing at his | thinning hair with his left hand, came into the den.

  His partner asked, "Well?"

  "I'm afraid so," said Busino. "Found it in a hollow place under one of the stones out in the patio. ' Wasn't all that hard to locate." He held up a small clear bag of white powder. "Heroin," he said.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Chris Danton zipped up his black jacket with an angry flourish. Dawn was coming, the night darkness melting away to gray. On the jagged cliffside, Danton stood watching the last launch being loaded. "I've enjoyed this island of mine," he said.

  Chuck Piper was standing nearby, shoulders hunched and hands in pockets. "It's a damn shame," he said. "All on account of that nosf Palmer dame."

  "Don't forget the Phantom," said Danton. "We must not forget him. I have a score to settle with both Diana and the Phantom."

  "Who is that guy any way?"

  "I'll tell you all about the Phantom sometime, Chuck, everything I learned about him during my various sojourns in Bangalla," promised Danton. "Right now we have to make a few final arrangements in the house."

  "I just checked with the shore," said Chuck. "No sign of anybody heading this way yet."

  "It is unfortunately only a matter of time." Danton turned from his view of the sea, frowning. "It seems unusually warm this morning, and windy."

  "I think the Santa Ana's getting ready to blow."

  "Perhaps it's a good thing for us to leave then." Danton began walking back toward his villa. "It's a shame, though, that littl
e Laura is such a poor shot."

  "I don't think it's that. I think she's too impa-

  tient," said Chuck, falling in beside his employer. "She probably started shooting too soon. And then that guy she had backing her up, he should have gone a little slower, too. Instead of just decking this Phantom, he should have taken a little extra time to finish him off for good. Now, if I'd been . .."

  Danton laughed. "It's just as well," he said. "I think I'd like to put the finishing touches on the Phantom myself." He nodded several times, laughing again. "You've been in contact with the yacht?"

  "Yeah, we'll rendezvous with them a few miles down the coast," answered Chuck. "Then we'll all hightail it out beyond the limit."

  "Good. Now let me take care of my duties as a host."

  "Host? You're not going to be—"

  "Even when he is absent," said Danton, "a good host thinks of his guests."

  The small, pretty red-haired girl ran from her cottage with a heavy suitcase. Parked in the narrow driveway was a dusty station wagon. "Okay, all set," she said.

  The lean black man at the wheel said, "You sure you gathered up everything important, Laura?"

  "Well, there's still some dust under the bed," she said as she tossed the suitcase into the rear of the wagon.

  "I mean, you didn't leave anything behind that might tend to be, you know, incriminating?"

  "No," she said.

  "Because, and don't think I'm being critical, but you do tend to rush through things sometimes and . . ."

  "You sound like Chuck," said the girl. "If I'd taken my time I could have gotten rid of Diana

  Palmer and her mysterious buddy. If you'd taken your time, he at least would be dead."

  "I wasn't told to kill anybody," said the young man. "Right on the street is no place to do it anyway."

  Laura walked around the front of the station wagon to the passenger side. "Don't worry about it. Danton's got a lot of ways to kill people. He'll surely come up with something new for them."

  "Where are we supposed to head now?"

  "South," said the girl as she climbed into the passenger seat.

  Starting the engine, he asked, "You sure now you're not leaving anything important behind?"

  Laura snapped her fingers. "Thanks for reminding me." She hopped out of the vehicle and sprinted back to the little house. A moment later, she was back with a bundle under her arm.