He glanced toward the end of the hall. A faint glimmer of dawn showed against the window back of the stairway railing. The night had been crowded with exciting events, and the time had pa.s.sed more quickly than he realized. Again Mr. Shei's name was mentioned among the men, and then a hush fell over the group. A door opened at one side of the hall, and in the next instant The Phantom's eyes widened into a bewildered stare.

The tall man who entered and was received with such marked deference by Slade and the others was none other than Vincent Starr!

A film floated before The Phantom's eyes. It seemed almost unbelievable at first, but a succession of minor incidents and circ.u.mstances that had vaguely puzzled him at times suddenly came back to him in the light of a new significance. He had been blind, he told himself; yet it was no wonder that he had been deceived. His concern for Helen had been uppermost in his mind, and he was forced to admit that Starr had played his game very shrewdly.

The newcomer cast a swift, comprehensive glance up and down the hall, then turned to Slade, and the two engaged in a low-voiced conversation. Now and then Starr mentioned Culligore's name, and The Phantom gathered from isolated words and phrases that something of an unpleasant nature had happened to the lieutenant. He learned, too, that there had been developments that necessitated quick action on Mr.

Shei's part and that the latter had made a quick motor trip from New York to Azurecrest. The Phantom absorbed these bits of news with interest, but all the time he was studying the characteristic gestures with which Starr emphasized his statements. Once before, while standing in the Thelma Theater, it struck him that there was something familiar about them, and the same impression came to him now. He was searching his memory for half-forgotten facts when Starr suddenly turned round and faced him.

"Surprised?" he inquired, and his smile exposed two rows of flashingly white teeth.

"A little, at first, but I think I understand it all now," was The Phantom's nonchalant reply. Then, of a sudden, his figure stiffened.

Starr had delivered another of his oddly expressive gestures, and it had started another train of recollections in The Phantom's mind.

"Starr," he added impulsively, "you were once a member of my organization."

"Only a very humble one," admitted Starr, "and it was years back, so it's no wonder you didn't recognize me at first. In those days you scarcely noticed me, but I was watching and studying you all the time.

There were a lot of melodramatic notions in my head, and The Gray Phantom was my hero. I dreamed of some day eclipsing his achievements, and I think I have succeeded. You see, the Thelma Theater, for all the fun I got out of the experiment, was only a cover for my other and more fascinating activities."

"My first impression was correct, then," murmured The Phantom, addressing himself rather than Starr. "I suspected Mr. Shei was a former follower of mine and had learned his methods from me, and that's why I decided to defeat his purpose and break up his organization. Now I'm doubly glad that I took up the cudgels against you, Starr."

"Glad?" A puzzled frown crossed Starr's face. "You are a beaten man, defeated by a once insignificant pupil of yours. Why should you be glad?"

"Defeated?" The Phantom threw back his head and smiled. "Not just yet, Starr. The Gray Phantom doesn't even know the meaning of the word.

Before I drop out of this game you and your crowd will be in jail."

A cloud gathered on Starr's forehead. "You are a curious character. I have beaten you at every turn. I have you so completely cornered that you can't even raise your pistol against me without endangering the life of a certain person whom you are deeply interested in. By the way, Slade has bungled this situation. He tells me that you have kidnaped Doctor Tagala and refuse to tell where he is hidden."

"He has told you the exact facts. You will never see Tagala again until I release him, and that I won't do until Miss Hardwick has been freed and the antidote turned over to me."

Starr's lip curled scornfully. "As I said, Slade has bungled the situation. He doesn't seem to understand what kind of persuasion to exert on a man like you. I think I can suggest an improvement. Miss Hardwick, as I think you know, received a dose of datura poison calculated to produce death within seven days. What is the matter?" he added quickly as The Phantom winced and touched his left shoulder.

"Ah! You have been wounded!"

"Only a scratch," said The Phantom coolly, despite the sharp twinges that now and then shot through the injured shoulder. "What about Miss Hardwick?"

"As I said, the injection she received was calculated to kill within seven days. As you know, if you read the accounts of Virginia Darrow's death, the dose can be so adjusted as to produce death in a much shorter time--say fifteen minutes or half an hour. Doctor Tagala, who is a very fascinating gentleman, explained the method to me very carefully."

"I don't quite see----" began The Phantom, an uneasy flicker in his eyes; but Starr had already turned to his lieutenant.

"Slade," he crisply commanded, "in one of the drawers of the desk in the laboratory you will find several bottles of datura poison. Bring me one of those marked 'Series A.' Fetch a hypodermic syringe, too, and be quick about it."

Slade withdrew. A horrifying suspicion was entering The Phantom's mind. Starr's methods were subtler and far more frightful than his subordinate's.

"You look faint," observed Starr with a glance at The Phantom's face.

A trace of sarcasm edged his words. "I'm afraid the wound is very painful. Too bad Doctor Tagala isn't here to treat it."

The Phantom was about to reply, but just then Slade returned and handed his superior a syringe and a small bottle containing a dark liquid. Starr studied the label for a moment.

"Correct," he murmured. "It's fortunate Doctor Tagala taught me how to use a syringe. In a few moments Miss Hardwick will have received a second dose of datura poison--one that will kill her inside half an hour unless Doctor Tagala should administer the restorative in the meantime."

A cry broke from The Phantom's lips. The severe pain in the shoulder, together with the terrifying realization that had just flashed through his mind, made him suddenly dizzy. He leaned weakly against the wall.

In the same instant Starr, quick to seize the opportunity, wrenched the pistol from his hand.

"This is ever so much better," he murmured elatedly. "I think you will be willing to produce Doctor Tagala as soon as I have injected the second dose of poison into Miss Hardwick's veins. Hold him, Slade, till I come back."

He instructed one of the other men to follow him and hurried away, but his words kept dinning in The Phantom's consciousness. He made a strong effort to fight down the treacherous weakness that was stealing over him. He wondered why his eyes saw nothing but whirling specks and why his knees shook so. The loss of blood, he reflected, must have weakened him more than he had realized. Suddenly everything went black, and with a despairing moan he sank to the floor.

He heard Slade's derisive laugh, but it had an unreal and far-away sound.

"Dead to the world," muttered Slade, and The Phantom was dimly conscious that someone was bending over him. "Well, I hope for the girl's sake that he comes to before the half hour is up."

CHAPTER XXII

THE PHANTOM'S RUSE

The words had an electrifying effect on The Phantom's nerves. Not more than a minute could have pa.s.sed 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 att.i.tude 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 a.s.sured 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 p.r.o.ne 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 hoa.r.s.e 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 p.r.i.c.ked 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.