THE FIGURE ON THE STAIRS
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 being _too_ clever."
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----"