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.”