His progress became more difficult as he reached the acclivity in which the passage terminated, for he had been moving crab fashion, having entered the tunnel feet first in order to be able to close the door behind him, and the width of the tube did not permit him to turn. Silent as a mole, he twisted his body upward, all his senses on the alert against the slightest hint of danger. Now his feet were almost at the window frame. As he had surmised, the opening was clear, and a few more twists would land him on the floor of the bedroom.
Cautiously he thrust a foot through the opening, but in a moment he drew it back. Then he lay rigid, listening, for something warned him of danger. The bedchamber was dark and there was not the faintest sound; yet he knew someone was lying in wait for him on the other side.
CHAPTER XXIII—THE WATCHERS AT THE WINDOW
The Phantom strained his ears. Faint sounds of breathing came to him; then a board creaked ever so slightly under someone’s weight. A watcher—or were there two?—was standing just inside the window, guarding the exit. The discovery nettled him, for it meant the loss of precious seconds, but he thanked the warning instinct that had prompted him to muffle his movements. It had probably saved him from an unexpected attack in the dark.
Warily he reached for the pistol in his hip pocket. He was still listening, and now he was almost certain that two watchers were standing close to the window sill. Doubtless they were armed and ready to spring upon him the moment he betrayed himself, and his awkward position would make it extremely difficult for him to defend himself.
He turned the situation over in his mind while he waited. It had been a trap, of course. He remembered the slight sound that had told him of the opening of the door to the laboratory while he was fencing for time with Culligore. Someone had looked down on them from the head of the stairs, remaining there long enough to take in the situation and decide on a course of action. Doubtless he had suspected that the Phantom would make an attempt to reach the tunnel, his only avenue of escape, and the plan had been to attack him as he came out of the passage.
Again a board gave forth a slight creak, signifying that one of the sentinels was growing impatient. The Phantom was in a cramped position and, with his feet above his head, he would be at a decided disadvantage in a fight. He could still use his pistol, but to do so would be dangerous, to say nothing of the difficulty of taking aim in the dark. He was still looking for a way out of the difficulty when one of the watchers at the window spoke in a whisper.
“‘Slim!’”
“Well?”
“Hear anything of him yet?”