“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 accumulate 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?”