“How?”
The Phantom’s lids contracted and his eyes held a steely glitter as he looked down at the man in the chair. Then he cast a quick glance over his shoulder. At any moment someone was apt to enter and deprive him of his advantage.
“I intend to fight the devil with fire,” he announced. “In other words, I am going to fight your Mr. Shei with his own weapons. Mr. Shei works through fear. He hopes to induce his seven victims to surrender half of their fortunes to him by putting the fear of death into them. Now, it’s a poor rule that doesn’t work both ways.”
“Suppose you come to the point,” suggested Slade sneeringly.
“Very well. I understand that you, Slade, are in charge here during Mr. Shei’s absence. I want you to do two things at once. One of them is to release Miss Hardwick immediately; the other, to have the antidote administered to her.”
Slade’s eyes left the automatic and gave The Phantom an insolent glance. “A bit dictatorial, aren’t you? Has it occurred to you that I might refuse?”
“Certainly.” The Phantom smiled, but his eyes were hard as steel. “Mr. Shei has probably considered the possibility that his seven victims may refuse to accept his terms, but he feels fairly sure that in the end they will submit. His whole scheme is based on the idea that a man will do almost anything to escape death. So will you, Slade; especially when I convince you that you will never leave this room alive unless you do as I say.”
Slade shifted uneasily in his chair. A tinge of gray was slowly creeping into his face.
“Make no mistake, Slade,” The Phantom went on. “It’s true there are no bloodstains on my hands, but this time I am gambling for higher stakes than ever before in my life. I could kill you without the slightest scruple.”
His eyes, as he looked down at the other man, were keen as rapiers. He spoke each word with an emphasis that spelled terrible earnestness. Slade winced and writhed beneath his lowering gaze.