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 acc.u.mulate 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!"

CHAPTER XVIII

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 s.p.a.ce 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 a.s.sured 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 s.p.a.ce, 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 encompa.s.s 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 att.i.tude 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.