THE PHANTOM'S RUSE
The words had an electrifying effect on The Phantom's nerves. Not more
than a minute could have passed since Starr's departure, and his
imagination pictured the scene that soon would be enacted in Helen's
room. He strove valiantly to shake off the numbness that had been
brought on him by horror and loss of blood.
Out of his half-closed eyes he saw Slade standing in a listless
attitude a few feet from where he lay. Evidently he was depending on
The Phantom's unconsciousness to last a while longer, for he was idly
toying with his pistol and seemed rather bored. Two of the other men
were removing their wounded comrades, and for the moment no one was
observing The Phantom. A sharp realization that he must act at once
quickened his thoughts and stirred his energies. His mental picture of
Helen and her desperate peril stimulated his reserve forces of mental
and physical vigor.
Warily he glanced about him, then crawled swiftly and silently toward
the point where Slade stood. Suddenly he rose to his knees and jerked
the pistol from Slade's hand. In another moment he was on his feet,
stifling Slade's loud cry for help by a blow with the weapon. Without
a glance behind, he ran as fast as he could in the direction taken by
Starr. His mind was already at work on a plan. A new force, more
powerful than mere bodily strength, seemed to speed him on. Despite
physical weariness and the sharp twinges in his shoulder, he felt as
if nothing could resist him. If only there was yet time----
Reaching the top of the stairs, he turned at random in the hall. A
low, drawling chuckle, uttered in a voice he recognized as Starr's,
drew his attention to one of the doors near the end of the corridor.
He approached cautiously and looked in.
What he saw assured him that he had arrived in time. He took in the
scene with a single glance. A powerful man, one of those he had fought
in the hall below, was seated on the edge of the cot, holding Helen's
weakly resisting hand in his huge paws. In the center of the room,
with a smile of gratification on his lips, stood Vincent Starr, and
The Phantom saw that he was transferring the contents of the bottle to
the syringe. Evidently it was a slow and tedious task.
The Phantom waited until Starr had finished. He flexed his muscles,
then lunged forward. Before either of the two men could move, the
handle of his pistol crashed down on the head of the individual seated
on the cot. With a queer, fragmentary squeal, he slid from his seat
and lay prone on the floor. In an instant The Phantom had whirled on
Starr, who seemed completely taken back by the sudden interruption,
and jerked the syringe and the empty bottle from his hands. Then, with
all the strength he could muster, he crashed his fist into Starr's jaw
and sent him spinning to the floor. Thrusting the empty bottle into
his pocket and gingerly handling the syringe, he fled from the room.
Despite his pain and weakness, he smiled as he sped on. Once more The
Gray Phantom's quick mind and elastic energies were about to reverse a
seemingly hopeless situation. But the danger was not yet past, and the
hardest task was still to come. Starr, only partly stunned, would soon
recover his wits, and then, with a hue and a cry, the pursuit would
start. The thought made The Phantom quicken his pace as he ran toward
the entrance of the hidden chamber.
A din and clamor sounded in the distance as he reached the point where
a sliding panel in the wall afforded egress to the spiral stairway.
Quickly closing the opening behind him, he ran down the steps. The
pursuers, he knew, would never be able to locate the entrance, and for
the present he was safe. He stepped inside the room and switched on
the light, then placed his automatic, the syringe, and the empty
bottle on the table.
Doctor Tagala was lying on the bed, just as The Phantom had left him.
As the light went on, he gave a hoarse gasp of amazement and tried
desperately to rise.
"Didn't expect to see me so soon again--eh, doctor?" The Phantom
removed his coat and proceeded to clean and bandage his wound as well
as he could. "You tricked me very neatly, I'll admit, but the ruse
didn't quite succeed. Even if it had, don't you realize that you would
have been left here to starve to death?"
The doctor continued to stare at The Phantom, who rather enjoyed his
stupefaction. He glanced at the bed from time to time while he took
several articles from a cupboard and dressed his wound. When he had
finished, Tagala began to strain uneasily at the cords fettering his
hands and feet.
"Useless exertion, doctor," advised The Phantom. He walked to the bed
and regarded the physician with a frown. Then he quickly took the
syringe from the table and placed a knee on Tagala's chest. Tagala
squirmed and heaved, but to no avail. With his left hand The Phantom
took one of the scientist's arms and pressed it firmly downward.
"Steady now, doctor. This is only a dose of your own medicine, you
know. You seemed quite proud of it when you told me how you discovered
it." The Phantom took the syringe in his right hand, between thumb and
third finger, and pricked the doctor's flesh with the needlelike
point. "I'm a rank amateur at this, but I'll try to manage. I believe
the proper way is to inject the stuff into a vein, but that's a
ticklish job, and I won't attempt it. This method is a little slower,
but just as effective."
The scientist, at last perceiving The Phantom's aim, struggled
frantically to free himself, but the ropes and the pressure against
his chest rendered him helpless. Slowly and firmly The Phantom pressed
against the piston with his index finger, gradually discharging the
contents of the syringe into the physician's tissue. Tagala soon
ceased struggling, and the look of mute agony in his face told that he
had an acute realization of his extremity.
Finally The Phantom tossed the empty syringe aside and removed his
knee from the doctor's chest. Then he picked up the empty bottle and
held it so Tagala could read the label.
"Series A!" gasped the doctor, and a grayish pallor overspread his
hideous features.
"You seem to know what it means," observed The Phantom. "Starr took
pains to assure me that the contents of this particular bottle would
produce death in thirty minutes. Now, doctor, don't you think you had
better tell me where the antidote is hidden--truthfully this time?"
Every trace of color had fled from the scientist's face. He glared at
The Phantom with a mingling of dread and rage in his eyes.
"Yes!" he groaned at length. "I will tell you. You have me where I can
do nothing else. But, if I tell you, you will bring me a bottle of the
antidote?"
"Assuredly. I am not a murderer. It isn't for me to punish you for
your crimes. I am resorting to this method only because it seems the
only way to influence you and save eight lives.'
"You give me your word of honor?"
"My word of honor."
Tagala heaved a vast sigh. "Very well, then. The other time I gave you
an accurate description of the bottles, although I deliberately
deceived you in regard to where they were." He spoke fast and
raspingly, as if realizing that every moment was precious. "Listen
carefully," he went on; and then he gave The Phantom clear and
detailed directions which the latter memorized. He knew that this time
Tagala, actuated by mortal fear, was telling the truth.
His pulses throbbed exultantly as he left the room and hurried up the
steps. Shouts and scurrying feet told that Starr's men had not yet
given up their search for him. The hardest and most dangerous part of
the task was still ahead of him. The slightest accident or misstep
might yet cheat him out of the hard-earned success that now seemed so
near. He groped forward cautiously, tightly clutching his pistol,
infinitely alert against the slightest sign or sound of danger. The
searchers were evidently in another part of the house, for he reached
the laboratory without encountering anyone.
He throbbed and tingled with suspense and excitement as he entered.
Doubts and fears came back to him. Had Doctor Tagala lied to him,
after all? Did the wily Mr. Shei have still another ruse in reserve?
Was he once more walking into a trap? Would Helen and himself be able
to escape from Azurecrest with the precious antidote in their
possession? He was torn between maddening misgivings and serene hopes
as he crossed the floor of the laboratory. Tagala had mentioned a
closet in a corner of the room where, in an ingeniously concealed
hiding place, he would find the bottles. His heart raced fast and hard
as he stepped inside. His hands trembled and there was an insistent
throbbing at his temples as he began to follow out the scientist's
directions.
Ten minutes later, with pockets bulging and a great joy in his heart,
he emerged from the closet. He had found ten small bottles in all, and
each one, according to the directions on the label, contained a full
course of treatment. The antidote in his possession was more than
sufficient to save the lives of all of Mr. Shei's victims. But he had
promised to deliver one bottle to the doctor; and with The Phantom a
promise was a promise, even when made to a blackguard of Tagala's
type. It would mean delay and additional risks, but he would not go
back on his word. Holding the automatic in readiness for instant
action, he began to make his way back to the secret chamber.
He had covered about half the distance when suddenly he heard a shout
at his back. It was followed by a sharp command to halt. Other voices
took up the cry until the house resounded with a chorus of harsh and
excited exclamations. Clear and loud, issuing commands to right and
left, the voice of Vincent Starr was heard above all the others. The
Phantom paid no heed. He ran swiftly along, feeling that everything in
life depended upon his ability to elude the pursuing throng. A pistol
cracked spitefully; then a bullet, aimed low, whistled past his knees.
The Phantom ran faster and faster, summoning all his remaining
strength.
Now he was only a few feet from the wall, but a swift backward glance
told him that the nearest of his pursuers was almost at his heels. He
found the deftly hidden knob that controlled the sliding door, and
pressed it. The wall parted, and in an instant he had passed through
the opening, but someone was already tearing at his coat, and he could
not close the aperture behind him. Carried on by their momentum,
several men pressed and shoved against his back, pushing him
precipitately down the spiral stairs. One by one his pursuers rushed
through the opening at the top, shouting wildly as they slid and
tumbled down the perpendicular stairway.
"Get him!" shouted Starr, one of the last to pass through the opening.
"Don't let him get away this time!"
A sense of bafflement took hold of The Phantom as he saw his pursuers
pouring into the little chamber, but of a sudden the glow of an
inspiration came over his face. The accident that had prevented him
from closing the opening had been a thing in his favor.
He had left the light on upon leaving the room the other time, and now
a touch of his finger plunged the chamber into darkness. He knew it
would be some time before the others found the switch. Groping in the
dark, he slowly made his way to the cot and thrust a bottle of the
antidote into the hook of Tagala's arm. The others would have to cut
his ropes later. Elbowing his way among men running wildly hither and
thither in the darkness, he came to the foot of the stairs once more.
Quickly he tiptoed to the top and closed the sliding panel, well
knowing that Starr's men would be unable to master the mechanism that
controlled it. He chuckled softly as he descended again and once more
mixed with the scampering throng below.
"Where is The Phantom?" shouted a voice which he recognized as
Starr's. "Get him, men--get him! We may lose millions if he slips away
from us. Can't someone make a light?"
The Phantom was crouching in a corner. "Better give Tagala a hand," he
called out. "He is badly in need of help. And don't worry about your
millions. They will be the least of your troubles after this."
He darted across the floor before the others had recovered from their
amazement. Pushing and wriggling, he reached the opposite wall. He
fumbled along its surface until he found a hidden lever. At his touch
a narrow door slid noiselessly open. Beyond it was the tunnel by which
he had entered the house upon his arrival. For an instant, before
closing the door behind him, he paused in the opening.
"Starr," he called, an ecstatic throb in his tones, "The Gray Phantom
always wins in the end."
The door closed, and The Phantom started toward the other end of the
tunnel. Starr and his men would remain prisoners in the chamber until
the police could reach Azurecrest and take them into custody.
With a brisk step, wholly unconscious of the pain in his shoulder, The
Gray Phantom hurried toward the light of day--and Helen.