With a hoarse cry Slade sprang from his chair, but Doctor Tagala gave the intruder only a cold, impersonal glance.
“Sit down, Slade,” ordered The Phantom, “and both of you keep your hands on the table.” He made a significant gesture with the automatic.
Slade stared and looked as if not quite certain that his eyes were to be trusted.
“How the devil did you get in?” he exclaimed explosively. He tried hard to get a grip on himself, but the twitching of the lines around his mouth showed that he was ill at ease. “But then,” he added, steadying his voice with an effort, “I suppose anything is possible for The Gray Phantom.”
“Ah, so you are The Gray Phantom.” Doctor Tagala seemed mildly impressed. “I have heard a great deal of you, and I have felt some curiosity in regard to you. I must confess to a great disappointment, however. I did not think a man of your genius would descend to such crude methods. Of you I had expected subtlety and finesse. Bah!”
Slade was rapidly regaining his self-control, but he kept his hands obediently on the table. From time to time he cast an uneasy glance into the muzzle of The Phantom’s pistol.
“I can’t imagine how you got in,” he admitted. “How you got past the picket fence, the dogs, and the watchmen is too much for me. But, now that you are here, what do you intend to do? I suppose it has something to do with Miss Hardwick?”
“Precisely, Slade.”
The other sneered. “Don’t you realize that there’s nothing you can do? What you heard over the telephone wire should have warned you to keep hands off. Miss Hardwick’s life is absolutely in our power.”
“For the present, yes; but I think the situation will soon be reversed.”