CHECKMATED
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.