A mass of jagged, elongated clouds hovered like scowling specters over Azurecrest. A raw wind sighed moodily among the birches and hemlocks as The Gray Phantom reached the apex of the hill. Stopping within fifty yards of the high picket fence, he glanced toward the house that once had served him as a retreat and shelter against the activities of the police. The white trimmings of doors and windows gleamed faintly in the dusk and here and there a light twinkled through the trees.
The Phantom turned away and walked a few paces toward the fence. On the trip from the city he had tried to exclude Helen from his mind, for each thought of her was maddening, and he needed a cool brain and a steady nerve if he were to accomplish his purpose. By sheer force of will he had tried to forget the hysterical laughter he had heard over the wire and which had told him with grim eloquence what had happened to her. To keep disturbing thoughts from his mind, he had outlined several plans of procedure and prepared himself for the difficult and perilous task that awaited him.
After a brief search over the rugged ground, he stopped at the side of a huge bowlder and cleared away an accumulation of dry twigs, dead branches, and rotting weeds. After the obstruction had been removed, an opening barely large enough to permit him to crawl through appeared at the base of the rock. It slanted gently into the ground, then widened into a tunnel in which he was able to walk upright. During his sojourn at Azurecrest it had often occurred to him that an emergency exit might some day prove desirable, and he had built the tunnel in consequence. He had not happened to mention the existence of the passage when he sold the place, and he did not think it likely that the new owner had discovered it. Though he had never had occasion to use it during his occupancy, it now gave him a distinct advantage in that it enabled him to enter the house secretly and by an easy route.
Reaching the farther end of the tunnel, he fumbled along the wall until he found a spring deftly hidden in a crevice. Evidently the mechanism was still in good working order, for a door swung squeakily on unoiled hinges. He passed inside, touched another spring, and the door swung shut. In another moment he had switched on an electric light.
The room was narrow and almost square, and there were neither windows nor visible doors. It was supplied with air through ingeniously hidden ventilators and The Phantom had fitted it up for brief occupancy. Occasionally it had suited his mood to retire to the hidden chamber and read one of his favorite books.
Throwing off the light overcoat he had been wearing, he then examined his automatic and the little pocket case in which he carried a number of carefully selected tools that had stood him in good stead in numerous emergencies. Despite the advantages afforded him by the tunnel and the secret room, he would be surrounded by dangers at every step. He had no doubt Mr. Shei’s henchmen would kill him on sight, and he could not afford to toss his life away recklessly while Helen was in danger.
He glanced at his watch. It was only a little after ten, and sounds reaching him through the ventilator shaft warned him that the occupants of the house were still about. As soon as the house had quieted down a little, he would try the first plan on his programme. If that failed, he was holding two or three others in reserve.
For half an hour he waited, then a sliding panel opened at his touch on a spring, and he ascended a narrow spiral stairway that terminated in what appeared to be a blank wall. His hand touched a lever, and The Phantom passed through an aperture that instantly closed behind him. He was standing in a dark room in a seldom frequented part of the house. He advanced a few steps, then stood still, listening. Someone was laughing, and in the darkness the sounds impressed him even more forcibly than they had in the light of day. He walked on, trying desperately to exclude the agonizing accents from his ears. Hurriedly he opened a door, then as quickly drew it to again. Someone was passing in the hall outside.
He waited till the footsteps moved away, then looked warily out. A tall figure, walking with a brisk, swinging gait, was turning into one of the rooms farther down the corridor. As soon as the door had closed behind him, The Phantom followed on tiptoe. Noticing that the hall was deserted, he bent his ear to the keyhole. Two voices, one of them speaking with a distinct foreign accent, were talking in tones signifying that they had reason to be well pleased with themselves. They were discussing the progress of Mr. Shei’s adventure and congratulating themselves on the prospect of becoming immensely rich within a few days.
The Phantom, listening intently, was learning several facts of interest. The two speakers were addressing each other as Doctor Tagala and Mr. Slade, and he gathered from divers remarks that the latter was in charge of affairs at Azurecrest while Mr. Shei was watching developments in New York. Doctor Tagala seemed to be the scientist who had discovered the poison that was the chief factor in Mr. Shei’s scheme.
Having absorbed a great deal of useful information, The Phantom raised his head from the keyhole. Then, he flexed his muscles and drew the automatic from his pocket. Here was his opportunity for putting his first plan to the test. It was cruder than the alternative ones, but it might also prove vastly more effective. His hand closed around the knob. With automatic in one hand he softly pushed the door open, entering so silently that for several moments neither of the two men in the room was aware of the intrusion.
He gazed for an instant at the singularly repulsive face of the man addressed as Doctor Tagala, then gave his companion a fleeting glance of inspection, noticing that Slade had the strong jaw and aggressiveness of manners that usually go with a domineering personality. Only the eyes, shifty and unmagnetic, gave him a suspicion that there was a weak strain in the man’s moral fiber. Smiling affably, with every nerve in his body atingle, he advanced to the table.
“Good-evening, gentlemen,” he said softly.
With a hoarse cry Slade sprang from his chair, but Doctor Tagala gave the intruder only a cold, impersonal glance.
“Sit down, Slade,” ordered The Phantom, “and both of you keep your hands on the table.” He made a significant gesture with the automatic.
Slade stared and looked as if not quite certain that his eyes were to be trusted.
“How the devil did you get in?” he exclaimed explosively. He tried hard to get a grip on himself, but the twitching of the lines around his mouth showed that he was ill at ease. “But then,” he added, steadying his voice with an effort, “I suppose anything is possible for The Gray Phantom.”
“Ah, so you are The Gray Phantom.” Doctor Tagala seemed mildly impressed. “I have heard a great deal of you, and I have felt some curiosity in regard to you. I must confess to a great disappointment, however. I did not think a man of your genius would descend to such crude methods. Of you I had expected subtlety and finesse. Bah!”
Slade was rapidly regaining his self-control, but he kept his hands obediently on the table. From time to time he cast an uneasy glance into the muzzle of The Phantom’s pistol.
“I can’t imagine how you got in,” he admitted. “How you got past the picket fence, the dogs, and the watchmen is too much for me. But, now that you are here, what do you intend to do? I suppose it has something to do with Miss Hardwick?”
“Precisely, Slade.”
The other sneered. “Don’t you realize that there’s nothing you can do? What you heard over the telephone wire should have warned you to keep hands off. Miss Hardwick’s life is absolutely in our power.”
“For the present, yes; but I think the situation will soon be reversed.”
“How?”
The Phantom’s lids contracted and his eyes held a steely glitter as he looked down at the man in the chair. Then he cast a quick glance over his shoulder. At any moment someone was apt to enter and deprive him of his advantage.
“I intend to fight the devil with fire,” he announced. “In other words, I am going to fight your Mr. Shei with his own weapons. Mr. Shei works through fear. He hopes to induce his seven victims to surrender half of their fortunes to him by putting the fear of death into them. Now, it’s a poor rule that doesn’t work both ways.”
“Suppose you come to the point,” suggested Slade sneeringly.
“Very well. I understand that you, Slade, are in charge here during Mr. Shei’s absence. I want you to do two things at once. One of them is to release Miss Hardwick immediately; the other, to have the antidote administered to her.”
Slade’s eyes left the automatic and gave The Phantom an insolent glance. “A bit dictatorial, aren’t you? Has it occurred to you that I might refuse?”
“Certainly.” The Phantom smiled, but his eyes were hard as steel. “Mr. Shei has probably considered the possibility that his seven victims may refuse to accept his terms, but he feels fairly sure that in the end they will submit. His whole scheme is based on the idea that a man will do almost anything to escape death. So will you, Slade; especially when I convince you that you will never leave this room alive unless you do as I say.”
Slade shifted uneasily in his chair. A tinge of gray was slowly creeping into his face.
“Make no mistake, Slade,” The Phantom went on. “It’s true there are no bloodstains on my hands, but this time I am gambling for higher stakes than ever before in my life. I could kill you without the slightest scruple.”
His eyes, as he looked down at the other man, were keen as rapiers. He spoke each word with an emphasis that spelled terrible earnestness. Slade winced and writhed beneath his lowering gaze.
“What—what do you want me to do?” he stammered.
The Phantom felt a thrill as he saw that the other was yielding. He had judged him correctly at first glance. Slade, despite his swaggers and blustering, was at heart a coward.
“In the first place, you are to instruct Doctor Tagala to administer the antidote to Miss Hardwick immediately. I will give you exactly sixty seconds. If you have not obeyed by that time, you will be a dead man.”
To emphasize the threat, The Phantom took out his watch. Slade turned a quavering glance on the scientist. He opened his lips to speak, but Doctor Tagala anticipated him.
“I dislike to interrupt such a dramatic scene,” he declared in drawling tones edged with a faint trace of sarcasm, “but it has proceeded far enough. You see, my dear Gray Phantom, that even if Mr. Slade should give me such absurd instructions as you request, I would refuse to comply with them. Furthermore, in order to save you needless waste of energy, let me inform you that the antidote is concealed in a place where I alone know where to find it. We are protected against every conceivable emergency.”
The Phantom felt a presentiment of defeat, but his face, tense and threatening, showed not the slightest sign of it. With a quick movement he turned the pistol from Slade and pointed the muzzle straight at Doctor Tagala’s head.
“All right, doctor,” he said crisply, “in that case let me warn you that I could kill you with just as little scruple as I could Slade.”
But the scientist only folded his arms and smiled. A look of patient amusement crossed his swarthy and evil face.
“That is an excellent example of what you Americans call bluff,” he drawled. “You can’t frighten me, for I know you have not the slightest intention to kill me. If you take my life, the antidote will never be found, and then the charming young lady will die. Mr. Shei anticipated just such a situation as this when he made me the sole custodian of the antidote.”
A trace of disappointment passed over The Phantom’s face; a sense of bafflement took hold of him as he realized that, thanks to Mr. Shei’s ingenious precautions, his first plan had failed disastrously. Still pointing the pistol, he backed slowly toward the door.
“Mr. Shei wins this time,” he frankly acknowledged, “but he will lose in the end. The Gray Phantom was never beaten yet. I wish you good-night, gentlemen.”
With that he was out of the door and running swiftly down the hall. With a cry of rage Slade sprang from the chair and started in pursuit, blowing a pocket whistle as he ran. Men appeared from every direction, and Slade shouted orders that the house and grounds be thoroughly searched at once. The men scattered, and in a few moments the search was on.
But The Gray Phantom, safe in his hidden chamber, was already at work on the details of his next move.
A glance at his watch as he entered the secret room showed The Phantom that daybreak was not far away. In a little while it would be highly unsafe for him to walk about the house; besides, the execution of his next move depended for its success on darkness and quiet. To jeopardize his project by a reckless move would be the height of folly and might result in disastrous consequences. Much as his fears and anxiety urged him to immediate action, The Phantom decided to wait till the following night.
He lay down on the cot and slept by snatches. Now and then, as a faint but terrifying sound came down the ventilator shaft, he awoke with a start. Peals of unnatural laughter, sounding remotely in the darkness of the hidden chamber, started a cold sweat on his forehead. By sheer physical force he would shut out the sounds, knowing that for the present he could do nothing, but the mutterings that fell from his lips and the convulsive clenching of his hands boded no good for Mr. Shei and his followers.
Morning came, and he tried to fix his mind on his forthcoming move. A grim look came into his face as he contemplated the step he was about to take. Ordinarily he would have shrunk from it in disgust, for it was an expedient he had never employed in the past. Now, however, with the life of Helen Hardwick in danger, he must employ whatever means might prove effective. It was no time for niceties or scruples. Besides, there was no reason why he should be restrained by ethical considerations when dealing with blackguards like Mr. Shei and his retainers.
The hours dragged. A troubled look on his face, The Phantom paced the floor of the narrow chamber. His plans for the night were complete except for one detail. Cudgel his brain as he might, there was one small but important matter that continued to puzzle him. Evening came, and the solution of the difficulty still eluded him. He was a little faint from hunger, for he had not eaten for twenty-four hours, and he wondered if his brain would not work better after a visit to the pantry. In a little while the house would quiet down for the night, and then he could safely leave his hiding place.
At last he was ready for action. He gave his automatic a careful inspection. Into his pocket he put a coil of thin but strong rope which he had unearthed from an old chest. Then he turned off the light and ascended the spiral stairway. After listening in vain for sounds, he tiptoed out in the hallway, then down the main stairway. The entire house seemed immersed in sleep, and even the strained laughter had stopped for a time. Evidently the occupants of the house, never guessing that he was hiding in their very midst, supposed that The Gray Phantom had left Azurecrest.
He felt more alert after gratifying his hunger in the well-stocked pantry. By the back stairway he returned to the second floor. Silent as a shadow he walked down the hall, pausing briefly before every door and listening. It was important that he should locate Doctor Tagala’s room, for his whole plan revolved around the scientist. Also, he was anxious to take the doctor completely by surprise.
At one of the doors he stopped longer than before the others. A faint reek of chemicals filtered through the keyhole, and in a vague sense the odor suggested Doctor Tagala’s nearness. Neither light nor sound came through the tiny opening, so evidently there was no one in the room. The door was locked, but a simple operation with one of the tools in his case opened it readily, and he stepped inside.
He peered sharply into the darkness before he thought it safe to snap on his electric flash light. As the small point of light played over floor and walls, he knew at once that the room was a chemical laboratory. Chemistry had always held a strong fascination for him, and his knowledge of the science was far more comprehensive than the average layman’s. Something prompted him to glance twice at the long rows of bottles stacked on shelves around the room. Stepping closer, he read some of the labels, and suddenly he gave a faint chuckle of elation. The problem that had puzzled him all day was at last solved. From its place on the shelf he took a small bottle containing a colorless fluid, and slipped it into his pocket. The chemical was a very ordinary one, but he expected it to serve a highly useful purpose.
Again he darted the electric gleam over the room. At one side was a door, and as he bent his ear to the keyhole he heard sounds of deep and regular breathing. Something told him that the sleeper was Doctor Tagala, for it seemed only logical that the scientist should occupy the room adjoining the laboratory. Quickly extinguishing his flash light, he turned the knob and noiselessly pushed the door open, then stepped softly in the direction whence the sounds of breathing came. Once more he brought his flash light into play, but only to assure himself by a swift glance that the sleeper was Tagala.
A faint, triumphant grin curled his lips, and then the flash disappeared in his pocket. For a moment, standing in utter darkness, he tensed his muscles for action. In an instant he pressed his knee firmly against the sleeper’s chest and wound his fingers tightly around Tagala’s throat. A harsh rumble sounded in the doctor’s windpipe, but the firm clutch over his Adam’s apple prevented an outcry. He writhed, squirmed, doubled up his knees, and attempted to fight with his arms, but The Phantom gradually increased the pressure on his throat, and his struggle grew feebler and feebler. Finally, when he was nearly exhausted, The Phantom took out a cloth with which he had provided himself before leaving the secret room, and applied it as a gag. The doctor made only a feeble show of resistance while his arms and legs were bound, and finally The Phantom took the limp form on his back and started from the room.
Every inch of the way was beset with perils. A board creaking under the double weight of captor and captive might bring on a sudden attack, or one of the occupants of the house might be encountered in the hall. But luck was with The Phantom, and in a short time he had placed his burden on the cot in the hidden chamber. Panting from the strenuous exercise, he removed the gag from his prisoner’s mouth, then switched on the light.
The doctor, breathing stertorously, his face almost black from the recent choking, wriggled his arms and legs in a futile effort to free himself. Seeing it was hopeless, he subsided and looked dazedly about him. His eyes opened wide as he saw The Phantom.
“You—again!” he exclaimed.
The Phantom smiled at sight of his stupefaction.
“You didn’t suppose I would give up so easily; did you, doctor? You don’t seem particularly pleased to see me. No doubt you thought I left Azurecrest after the fizzle last night. I suppose you are wondering where you are. It is enough for you to know that you will never leave this room until we have had an understanding, and that for the present you may regard yourself as my prisoner. Your confederates will never find you, and you may as well reconcile yourself to the fact that they are unable to help you.”
Tagala, gradually recovering breath and wits, looked balefully at The Phantom.
“You—you will suffer for this!” he muttered thickly. Again he strained at the cords around his ankles and wrists, but he soon saw that it was useless. “We know how to deal with meddlers.”
The Phantom smiled complacently. As yet it had not occurred to his prisoner to cry for help, and The Phantom had no fear of the result if he should do so. Though Slade and the others were not far away, they were as harmless as if they did not exist. Save for the ventilating shaft, the room was practically soundproof, and the exits were so completely hidden that they would never be able to locate the chamber.
“We shall see,” was his calm response. “Mr. Shei appears to be a very shrewd man, but even he has his limitations. The infirmities of age are beginning to show a marked effect on his strategy. He is too old for this sort of thing.”
“So,” said the scientist in queer tones, “you think you know him?”
The Phantom nodded. “I had an encounter with him some years ago, and he proved to me then that he had extraordinary astuteness. As a matter of fact, he was a little too much for me. The other day I ran into him by accident, and we had quite a pleasant little chat.”
Tagala lay motionless on the cot while his eyes, slowly recovering their customary brilliance, searched The Phantom’s face.
“The police are laboring under the delusion thatyouare Mr. Shei,” he dryly observed.
“Oh, well, the police are not particularly bright at times.” The Phantom shrugged. “Now, doctor, you and I are going to have a very serious talk. I was outmaneuvered last night, but this is my round. I shall convince you by a very simple method that it will be wise for you to place the antidote in my hands.”
Despite his humiliation and physical discomfort, the doctor gave a contemptuous laugh.
“Fool!” he snorted. “Every move you make is fore-doomed to failure. We have provided against every possible emergency. Our plan is already a certain success. Only this afternoon Mr. Shei telephones me from New York that everything is going well. A group of the most celebrated physicians in America have held several consultations without practical results. They are utterly at a loss to diagnose the disease or to prescribe even a palliative. Poor idiots! It took me years to perfect the toxin, and they have only a few days in which to combat its effects. On the seventh day after the inoculation, the seven subjects will be doomed unless the antidote is administered in the meantime. After the seventh day it will be too late. Mr. Shei told me that two of the subjects are already in a mood to discuss terms. Perhaps by to-morrow they will place half of their fortunes at Mr. Shei’s feet.”
“You seem very confident of success,” observed The Phantom.
“Our success is already assured. In a few days I shall be wealthier than I ever before dreamed of being. Some people scoff at money, but it is an excellent thing for all that. All my life, while pursuing my scientific investigations, I have had my eye on what you Americans call the main chance. I never dreamed that I should realize my hopes through an accidental discovery. Ever hear of the datura plant?”
The Phantom shook his head.
“It grows in great profusion in my native soil, the Malay States, but it can be transplanted or produced almost anywhere. It is an odd plant, from four to six feet high, with wide-spreading branches and black flowers that are shaped like trumpets. Children have been known to die after eating the seeds, which are very poisonous. A few years ago, after an extensive tour in Europe, I returned to my native land and was called upon to treat a child who had eaten a great quantity of the seeds. It was then I made the discovery that shall make me a wealthy man in a few days. It was a mere accident, but isn’t our whole life a series of accidents?”
He smiled philosophically, for he had quite recovered from the effects of his recent humiliation.
“If you will permit me to explain a little further,” he went on, “I think you will understand how invincible we are and how foolish it is for you to oppose us. The poisonous property of the datura plant is known as daturin. It is a very curious drug. Its active principle is a mixture of a kind of atropine and hyoscyamine, but the true nature of the component alkaloids has never been fully determined. It is one of the mysteries of nature. Among the symptoms of datura poisoning are hoarseness, dryness of the mouth, dilation of the pupils, disturbed heart action, bad memory, and a curious vocal affection that produces involuntary laughter. No chemical antidote had been either known or suggested until I made my accidental discovery. It has suited my purpose to keep that discovery to myself.”
There was an elated smirk on his face, and The Phantom turned away in disgust.
“I came to America,” continued the doctor in oily tones, “and by mere chance made the acquaintance of our remarkable Mr. Shei. I shall not weary you by reciting all the details. I happened to mention my discovery to Mr. Shei, and his brilliant mind immediately conceived the idea of putting it to a highly profitable use. Like all great things, his plan was simplicity itself. His theory was based on the fact, so aptly stated by yourself last night, that the average run of mortals can be most effectively controlled through the factor of fear. He suggested that if a deadly malady were communicated to a number of wealthy men, they could easily be persuaded to pay almost any price for a sure antidote, especially if the antidote were the exclusive property of an individual or an organization.
“That was the beginning of the idea. It required quite a little elaboration. The chief factors in the plan were the poison and the antidote. The antidote was in readiness, but the poison had to be so adjusted that it would produce death within a specified time unless the antidote were administered meanwhile. If the plan was to succeed, we must be in a position to tell the subjects that they would die within a certain number of days unless they paid our price for the antidote. You probably know, since you appear to be an educated man, that the ancient Chinese knew how to adjust poisons so as to produce death within a certain time. All my life I have been making special studies along that line, and my discoveries proved very valuable in connection with Mr. Shei’s project. Yet, for a long time, I was unable to adjust the poison with sufficient accuracy. With Mr. Shei’s assistance I fitted up a laboratory here and began making additional researches. It was necessary to have human subjects for the experiments, and Mr. Shei furnished me several. Two or three, who were inoculated in the early stages of the work, failed to react properly to the antidote, and one or two of them were unfortunate enough to die.”
“You murdered them, in plain words,” suggested The Phantom curtly.
“Harsh word, my dear Gray Phantom. As a whole, the experiments were highly successful. I discovered how to adjust the poison so as to produce death within a specified time. We were now ready to go ahead with the plan. Mr. Shei selected the victims, and I showed a number of his most trusted men how the poison was to be injected. Each of these, with an assistant, was assigned to one of the seven victims chosen by Mr. Shei, and the whole number of inoculations were successfully accomplished the other night. In a few days——”
“What about Miss Darrow?” inquired The Phantom brusquely. “What did you gain by murdering her?”
“Really, I wish you would drop that unpleasant word from your vocabulary. Miss Darrow had been unfortunate enough to learn certain facts which were detrimental to Mr. Shei. She had been watched constantly, and she was followed to the Thelma that night. Her actions were peculiar, and Mr. Shei’s agents suspected she was on the point of making embarrassing revelations. I was in New York at the time and happened to be within reach, so the agents communicated with me. I arrived just in time to prevent unpleasant consequences. In another moment she might have made some very damaging disclosures. In fact, she had already sent a peculiarly worded note to that remarkable person whose name eludes me.”
“Vincent Starr?” suggested The Phantom.
“Precisely. Mr. Starr is one of your highly temperamental geniuses. Just how much Miss Darrow had learned will never be known, but I thought it advisable to act promptly. The amount of poison I injected into her veins was carefully calculated to produce death within a few minutes.”
The Phantom mastered his sense of loathing. What he was learning might prove highly useful later on.
“Wouldn’t a knife thrust have been quicker and safer?” he suggested. “Even in the few minutes between the inoculation of the poison and Miss Darrow’s death she might have blurted out all she knew.”
“There was slight danger of that. The poison always blunts one’s mental faculties, especially when given in such a large dose. It was very unlikely that Miss Darrow would speak coherently in the brief interval while the poison acted. A quick thrust with a knife would perhaps have been safer, but we needed the moral effect.”
“The—what?”
The satisfied gleam in the doctor’s eyes testified that he was quite at ease once more, despite the cords that incapacitated him for action.
“Yes, the moral effect was valuable. You see, the seven victims selected by Mr. Shei had to be impressed with the deadliness of the poison. Unless they were thoroughly convinced that the poison would kill, they might not have been amenable to reason. Miss Darrow’s death, coming just a day or two before the seven were inoculated, was a valuable object lesson.”
An oily smile creased the scientist’s swarthy features. Once more, despite his uncomfortable position, he seemed hugely content.
“No doubt,” admitted The Phantom ironically. “Mr. Shei doesn’t seem to have overlooked anything. What I can’t understand is why you, a man of scientific attainments, should consent to do the bidding of such a blackguard.”
“Wealth is a very excellent thing,” said Tagala musingly. “It is even more desirable than fame. Mr. Shei has put me in the way of acquiring a great fortune, so why should I not serve him?”
“And what are you going to do with the money after you have acquired it by such vile methods, granting that your scheme succeeds?”
“Enjoy life, my friend.” The doctor’s repulsive features were wreathed in smiles. “I have a great capacity for appreciating the beautiful things in life. Nature works by contrasts. She treated me very shabbily as far as physical characteristics are concerned, but by way of compensation she gave me a taste for the only things that really matter. I intend to surround myself with luxuries that an Indian maharajah might envy. I intend to feast my eyes on the costliest and the best the world can produce. Now perhaps you understand?”
The Phantom nodded. Inwardly he tingled and glowed, but his face showed nothing but boredom and disgust. The insight he had just obtained into Tagala’s character would have an important bearing on his plan.
“And now that we understand each other,” the doctor continued, “let us terminate this rather dreary farce. This little room is pleasant enough, but I never sleep well in strange places, and these cords are not inducive to repose.”
“You will be free to go wherever you please as soon as we have settled the little matter I mentioned a moment ago.”
“Ah! Then you persist in your foolish determination. Your experience last night should have convinced you of the futility of your efforts, but I see you are as stubborn as ever.”
“More so,” The Phantom assured him. “I have discovered a new weapon since last night. Before you leave this room, you will have told me where the antidote is hidden.”
Tagala grinned insolently. He tilted his head back against the pillow and complacently regarded The Phantom.
“You are very amusing,” he murmured. “I thought that——”
He stopped and looked toward a corner of the ceiling. The Phantom followed his glance, and his figure tensed perceptibly. From somewhere above their heads came strains of soft, lilting laughter, edged now and then with a hysterical vibration. A pallor began to spread over The Phantom’s face.
“There, my dear Gray Phantom,” said the doctor elatedly, “is your answer.”
The Phantom clenched his fingers spasmodically. His face was hard and his eyes held a strange gleam.
“You are mistaken, doctor.” He clipped off the words with sinister precision. “Until a moment ago I had silly scruples about employing my latest weapon. After hearing that,” and he inclined his head toward the corner of the ceiling, “I have concluded that any methods are fair when dealing with scoundrels of your type.”
“That is obviously true,” assented Tagala cheerfully. “The only difficulty is that any methods you employ are certain to prove ineffective. Please don’t make any more threats against my life. I should laugh, and that would be impolite.”
The Phantom came a step nearer the cot. “No,” he said grimly, “I have no intention of doing anything so futile. I have the best reason in the world for not wanting you to die just yet. Also, I have discovered a much more effective way of dealing with you.”
An odd emphasis in his tones seemed to impress the doctor. A flicker of uneasiness crossed his face, but it was gone in a moment.
“Ah!” he murmured derisively. “I might have foreseen it. You mean to force me to surrender the antidote by torturing me. It is an improvement on your previous method, but it will prove just as useless. Torture is unpleasant but I can endure any amount of it.”
“Mistaken again, doctor. Torture is a little too crude, and I am not sure you are the type of man that could be influenced by it. The plan I have in mind is subtler and surer. You told me a moment ago that your highest aim in life is the enjoyment of beautiful things and the pursuit of pleasure.”
“I told you the truth.” This time there was a trace of bewilderment in Tagala’s tones.
From his pocket The Phantom drew the bottle he had taken from the laboratory. He studied the label with a preoccupied air, then held it so the man on the cot could read the inscription. Tagala’s eye narrowed in perplexity.
“I have been told,” said The Phantom casually, “that a single drop of this fluid, when injected into the eye, is sufficient to cause blindness.”
The doctor’s hands and feet strained spasmodically against the cords. A quick muscular contraction told that The Phantom had found his sensitive spot.
“Blind men are not particularly appreciative of the luxuries and pleasures you so vividly described a while ago,” The Phantom went on. His voice was soft, but there was a faint throb to his tones. “What good will it do a man to accumulate costly and beautiful things if he can’t see them?”
A grayish tinge crept into Tagala’s face. His eyes, with a look of horror lurking in their depths, were fixed rigidly on The Phantom’s face.
The Phantom held the bottle to the light. A faint but ominous smile was playing about his lips.
“Just a drop of colorless liquid!” he murmured. “But what a different complexion it would put on your prospects, Tagala! All the money you hope to get through Mr. Shei would be only so much rubbish. All the wealth in the world couldn’t relieve your misery. Don’t you think you had better reconsider?”
The scientist’s lips fluttered, but no words came. A look of abhorrence accentuated the repulsiveness of his face.
With a quick movement The Phantom stepped toward the cot. The doctor wiggled and squirmed, but was unable to move.
“Perhaps, just to convince you that I am in earnest, I had better begin by blinding the left eye now,” The Phantom went on, bending slightly over the trembling man. With two fingers of one hand he pressed back the lids of the doctor’s left eye while holding the bottle in the other. The scientist rolled from side to side, but the firm pressure of The Phantom’s knee against his chest checked his efforts. Finally, as The Phantom was tilting the little bottle against the exposed eye, a great sigh of horror broke from the doctor’s lips.
“Stop!” he cried, almost overcome by terror. “You have won. I will do anything you demand. Only don’t blind me!”
The Phantom could scarcely hold back a cry of exultation as he saw the abject fear written in Doctor Tagala’s face. Knowing how ingeniously Mr. Shei had laid his plans and guarded against every imaginable emergency, he had not been altogether certain that his artful contrivance would succeed. But the scientist’s acute distress was ample proof that Mr. Shei had been outmaneuvered and that The Gray Phantom was master of the situation.
“It appears Mr. Shei has overlooked something, after all,” observed The Phantom in tones that expressed his elation. “Now, doctor, let me warn you that evasions and trickery will only aggravate your position. Where is the antidote?”
Tagala seemed to be making an effort to gather his scattered thoughts. “If I tell you, will you release me at once?” he asked shakily.
“All I promise is to spare your eyesight,” declared The Phantom, still holding the little bottle in dangerous proximity to the scientist’s terror-filled eyes. “You will have to be content with that, and I am really letting you off very easily. Now answer my question.”
The doctor glanced at the bottle, gave an involuntary shudder, and seemed to be trying hard to think clearly.
“The antidote,” he finally managed to say, “is hidden in the wall of my bedroom, exactly one foot from the window and directly above the head of the bed. The wall is apparently solid, but if you will carefully run your hand over the space I have indicated, you will find a slight protuberance. A light pressure on it will release a hidden panel, and inside you will find a number of small bottles, each one containing a full course of treatment. You will find complete directions on the label.”
The Phantom searched his face, but found no signs of guile. “I hope, for your sake, that you have told the truth,” he said sharply. “I shall be back as soon as I have verified your statement.”
He examined the cords around the doctor’s feet and hands and saw that they were securely tied. Then he stepped out of the little chamber, carefully closing the sliding door before he ran up the stairs. Even now he could scarcely realize that his stratagem had succeeded. There were still dangers and obstacles in the way, but somehow he would win out. He would take as many bottles as his pockets could hold, then he would find Helen, and they could easily make their escape through the tunnel. His imagination pictured Mr. Shei’s discomfiture when he should learn that this stupendous scheme had failed.
The Phantom drew his revolver before stepping out in the hall. The slightest slip or a chance encounter might easily reverse the situation and turn the tables against him. His feet glided soundlessly over the floor till he came to the laboratory. A quick glance up and down the corridor assured him that so far he was safe. He opened the door and entered the bedroom at the side of the laboratory. Now he took out his electric flash, placed his automatic within easy reach on the bed, then gingerly ran his fingers over the area specified by Doctor Tagala.
In a short time he had found the slight protuberance mentioned by the doctor, but he hesitated for several moments before pressing it. First he carefully examined the surrounding space, looking everywhere for hidden wires. Even when controlled by terror, the wily scientist was not to be trusted, and The Phantom had no intention of walking blindly into a trap. His search satisfied him, however, and finally he placed a finger on the tiny projection and pressed inward. Almost instantly a narrow portion of the wall opened. Within, arranged in an orderly row on a shelf, stood a number of small bottles.
He drew a long breath of intense relief. Before him was visible proof that he had frightened the truth out of the scientist. His head swam a little as he contemplated his success. Each one of the bottles would have netted Mr. Shei a fortune if the audacious plan had succeeded. What seemed more wonderful still, one of them would save the life of Helen Hardwick. The Phantom’s hand trembled excitedly as he reached out and clutched one of the bottles.
In the next instant his hand darted back. Something was wrong, for the bottle was immovable, as if clamped down with rivets, and a hideous suspicion flashed through The Phantom’s mind. Simultaneously there came a loud clanging which reverberated throughout the house, confirming his agonizing suspicion that a gong had been released the moment his hand touched the bottle. He had blundered into a trap, after all. For an instant he marveled dazedly at the almost uncanny scope of Mr. Shei’s precautions.
Then suddenly alert and tense once more, he put the electric flash light back into his pocket and snatched up his automatic. The clangor of the gong, resounding throughout the entire house, was almost deafening. Overhead doors were slamming and voices shouting excitedly. From the direction of the stairs came a tumultuous clatter, and above the hubbub he caught the insistent tones of Slade’s commands. He cast a glance at the window, its outlines delineated by a gray dusk against the darker background. But flight was out of the question, for he could not leave Helen behind him. The Phantom steeled himself for battle. Often in the past he had fought against overwhelming odds, and this time something far greater than his life depended on the outcome.
Every vein tingling, he left the bedroom and crossed the floor of the laboratory. Maintaining a steady grip on his automatic, he pushed the door open and stepped out into the hall. A chorus of shouts greeted his appearance. Men in various stages of attire were running excitedly up and down the corridor, but all stopped at sight of the tall, tense figure standing with his back against the laboratory door. His eyes, hard as steel and swift as speeding arrows, surveyed them narrowly with a long, comprehensive sweep. The barrel of his automatic, held in readiness for instant action, glimmered ominously in the dim light shed by a single bulb in the ceiling.
“The Gray Phantom!” was the hushed whisper that went back and forth in the huddled crowd. A spell seemed to fall over them as they stared at the man of whose amazing exploits they had heard and read, but whom few of them had seen until now. But their inaction lasted only a few moments. Some of the bolder ones were already crowding forward.
“Stop!” cried The Phantom. The gong had ceased ringing, and his voice rang sharp and clear down the hall. “The first man that moves will get a bullet.”
Momentarily awed by the metallic tones, the crowd fell back. The Phantom’s glittering eyes seemed to encompass them all in their sweep, and there was an air of desperate determination about his tense, slightly crouching figure that impressed them strongly.
The situation was the most critical The Phantom had ever faced, yet he felt a tingle of triumph as he surveyed the huddled throng. Any one of them could have crippled or killed him with a well-aimed shot, but not a hand moved. For the moment, at least, he was holding them in subjection through the sheer strength of his domineering personality and his attitude of utter fearlessness.
Someone laughed, and The Phantom’s eyes turned to Slade, standing on the outer fringe of the crowd. He held a pistol in his hand, but the muzzle was pointed downward.
“You must be crazy,” he said contemptuously. “Can’t you see that you are outnumbered eleven to one?”
“I hadn’t taken time to count,” said The Phantom calmly. In the same instant a crack and a flash of fire came from his automatic. One of the crowd, more intrepid than the others, had ventured forward as he spoke, and now a yell of pain signified that The Phantom had aimed straight.
Slade scowled. On his face was a look of mingled wonder and rage.
“Mr. Shei’s orders are not to kill you unless necessary,” he explained, “and I have been hoping you wouldn’t make it necessary. Mr. Shei has the highest admiration for you.”
“Thanks,” said The Phantom dryly, and for a mere instant his thoughts went back to the ludicrous figure of Fairspeckle. “It’s too bad I can’t say that the sentiment is mutual.”
Slade’s scowl deepened. He seemed inclined to instruct his men to advance, but something evidently restrained him.
“You ought to know by this time that Mr. Shei is invincible,” he declared impressively. “You are a wonder in some ways, but a fool in others. How you keep slipping in and out of this house is beyond me. Not that it matters, for you have sung your last tune. What have you done to Doctor Tagala?”
A thin smile hovered about The Phantom’s compressed lips.
“I suppose you have kidnaped him,” Slade went on, “but we will find him before long. You see, Mr. Shei foresaw even such a possibility as that, and prepared for it. He anticipated that pressure of some sort might be used on Tagala to make him reveal where the antidote is hidden, and so he prepared the trap you walked into a moment ago. The bottles, as you may have guessed by this time, contain only water. The real antidote is elsewhere, and Tagala is the only man who can put his hand on it.”
“So I understand.” There was a momentary flicker in The Phantom’s eyes which indicated that Slade’s words had suggested something of importance to him. “Mr. Shei is amazingly clever—but there is such a thing as beingtooclever.”
Slade looked as if he sensed a hidden meaning which his mind could not quite grasp. Presently he shrugged and fixed his frosty gaze on The Phantom.
“I’ll give you just one more chance to surrender,” he warned. “Throw down your pistol and tell us where Tagala is, and I promise you will not be harmed.”
“Very anxious to learn Tagala’s whereabouts—aren’t you, Slade? Without Tagala you can’t find the antidote, and without the antidote your beautiful scheme goes to pieces. It would be very awkward for you if you shouldn’t be able to deliver the goods when your seven victims have come around to the point where they are willing to pay your price.”
Slade mumbled something under his breath. Again The Phantom’s eyes darted over the fringe of sullen faces in the background. He was gambling for Helen’s life and his own, and he still held one card in reserve.
“Tagala seems to be the key to the whole situation,” he went on. “I have hidden him in a place where you will never find him, even if you search from now till doomsday. Men sometimes die of hunger in three days, especially if they do a lot of fretting in the meantime. Slade, why don’t you order your men to shoot me?”
The last sentence was spoken in taunting tones, and Slade’s face showed that the gibe had gone home. Inwardly fuming, he glared savagely at The Phantom.
“Is it because you realize that, if I am killed, Tagala will die with me?” The Phantom’s smile told that he once more felt he was master of the situation. “Is that the reason, Slade?”
Slade grumbled inarticulately. He glanced gloomily at the men lined up behind him. Then he looked again at The Phantom, and his face took on a baffled look. He seemed unable to account for the fact that one man, single-handed, was holding nine at bay. Suddenly, as his glance flitted up and down The Phantom’s tense figure, his face brightened a trifle. He whispered something in the ear of the man at his side, and the latter immediately hurried away.
The Phantom felt a twinge of misgiving. It was evident from the gratified smirk on Slade’s lips that an inspiration had just occurred to him and that he was planning a surprise of some sort. The Phantom wondered whether the resourceful Mr. Shei had provided against this latest emergency as he had against the others. He waited in a state of tremulous tension, and presently a slight sound drew his attention to the stairs at the end of the hall.
He glanced aside out of the tail of an eye, and then sudden despair took hold of him. Halfway up the stairs, gazing blankly down upon the scene in the hall, stood Helen Hardwick. There was a look in her face that caused a groan to break from The Phantom’s lips.
Suddenly he stiffened. In an instant he saw the meaning of the elated smile on Slade’s face. Directly behind Helen he discerned a crouching figure, evidently the man who had left the hall a few minutes before.
“Splendid!” ejaculated Slade. “I see you have already glimpsed the idea. At this very moment the muzzle of a pistol is pressing against Miss Hardwick’s back. The slightest pressure on the trigger will send a bullet through her heart. You cannot fire at him, much as you would like to do so, for Miss Hardwick’s figure makes an excellent bulwark. Will you admit you are beaten?”
Torn between rage and despair, The Phantom gazed rigidly at Helen. The stolid expression on her face showed plainly that she had not the faintest inkling of what was going on. Now and then her lips twitched as if she were on the point of laughing. Of the figure crouching behind her only an elbow and a narrow strip of shoulder were visible. An anguished cry rose in The Phantom’s throat as he saw the full infamy of Slade’s ruse.
“I shall begin to count,” said Slade in triumphant tones. “If, by the time I come to ten, you have not signified by throwing down your pistol that you are willing to surrender, Miss Hardwick will die instantly.”
A hush, charged with an electric tension, followed the ultimatum. Then, slowly and evenly, Slade began to count:
“One—two—three—four—five——”