“Leave her out of it!” commanded the Phantom curtly. He thought it unlikely Miss Hardwick would be molested further until Bimble had learned the result of Granger’s mission. In the meantime, he told himself, he must make the most of the slight advantage he had gained. He studied the reporter keenly, and all at once an inspiration came to him. “Miss Hardwick,” he went on in casual tones, “has an amazing knack of taking care of herself. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if she had already found a way out of the amiable doctor’s clutches.”
“Hardly!” Granger gave another hoarse, sneering laugh. “She’s smart, all right, but the big chief knows it, and he isn’t taking any chances. He has locked her up in the basement, in a room barely large enough to turn around in, with a stout door and no window.”
“The basement, eh?” The Phantom seemed not at all interested. “This room we are in is on the second floor, isn’t it?”
“Third,” said Granger, after puzzling for a moment over the question.
“Good!” The Phantom smiled. “You have told me exactly what I wanted to know, Granger, and since you couldn’t know the object of my questions, I believe that for once you have spoken the truth. Kindly elevate your hands.”
A thrust with the pistol emphasized the command, and Granger sullenly obeyed. With his free hand the Phantom explored the reporter’s pockets until he found a small silver-handled knife.
“My property, I believe,” he murmured, examining the tool with a critical eye. “It’s one of the things you acquired when we swapped clothes and identities. A very handy article, Granger. I’ve been wishing all night for something of this kind, but the doctor thoughtfully emptied my pockets. Sit very still, Granger.”
He spoke with a brisk, cutting emphasis. Moving to the other end of the cot and keeping one eye on Granger, he opened the knife and with the sharp-pointed blade began to pick at the lock that held the chain to his ankle. The pistol lay close at his side, ready to be picked up at a moment’s warning. In a short time the lock had yielded to the deft touch of his fingers, and his ankle was free before Granger quite realized what he was doing. A shout rose in the reporter’s throat, but in an instant the Phantom’s fingers were at his windpipe.
“Quiet!” he warned. “I don’t care to be interrupted just yet. Granger, I don’t like the togs I’ve been wearing the last few days, and you have worn mine just about long enough. We are going to make a quick change. Strip!”
The reporter glared, but his lips trembled and the shaking of his limbs indicated that he was in need of his favorite stimulant.