“Wrong, doctor.” He gave a low, metallic laugh. “You ought to know that the Gray Phantom never surrenders. Threats and bullying can’t move me an inch. That’s absolutely final.”
The doctor seemed not at all disconcerted. “I expected you to say that. You are stubborn as a mule, but fortunately I have means of persuasion at my disposal. If I can’t bend you, I will break you.”
He rose abruptly and left the room. There had been something in his tones that lingered in the Phantom’s ears after he had gone. He was back in a few moments, and once more his face was wreathed in smiles. Without a word he sat down, crossed his thin legs, and lighted a cigarette, then smoked in silence while the Phantom scanned his face for a clew to the mysterious errand that had taken him out of the room.
Minutes passed, and still the doctor smiled and smoked. From time to time he raised his tranquil eyes and glanced at the door as if expecting somebody, and all the while there was an air of pleasurable anticipation about him.
Suddenly the Phantom stiffened. For a moment he sat rigid, listening, then jerked forward in the chair, straining fiercely at the ropes.
Somewhere in the building a woman had screamed. The shriek, sharp and explosive, as if inspired by a terror long restrained, dinned with hideous significance against the Phantom’s ears. His heart stood still for a moment.
The voice that had uttered that mad, unforgettable cry was Helen Hardwick’s.
CHAPTER XXVII—THE PHANTOM’S RUSE
The doctor placidly finished his cigarette. The sleek, genial smile had not left his face for an instant, and his eye still held the same twinkle of languid amusement.
“Miss Hardwick is a very plucky young woman,” he murmured, “but evidently the spook chamber, as you so aptly termed it a little while ago, has proved too much for her nerves. The cry we just heard seemed to indicate that she was in great distress. Being alone in a dark room with nothing but skeletons for company is not a very pleasant experience for a woman.”