The Phantom nodded approvingly. His glittering eyes and a smile on his lips gave no hint of what he felt.
“Let me warn you that Miss Hardwick is an expert,” he remarked coolly. “She once got a perfect bull’s-eye at six hundred yards.”
The men looked at the girl, then at their ashen-faced and quavering leader. The Phantom pushed the pistol a little harder against the doctor’s body.
“If anyone raises a hand against Miss Hardwick, you die instantly,” he declared sharply. “I could kill you with no more compunction than if I were killing a rat.”
The doctor gulped, and for the moment all his cunning seemed to have deserted him.
“Anyone who cares to fire a bullet at me is welcome to do so,” the Phantom went on, speaking in quick accents that sounded like the clinking of metal. “My index finger, you will notice, is on the trigger. The slightest pressure will send a chunk of lead into your vitals. If I die, the muscular contraction that always accompanies sudden and violent death would be very likely to snap the trigger. You get the idea, I hope?”
It was evident that Bimble did. His absurdly thin legs wabbled as if he were in the grip of a great terror and the spasmodic twitching of his fingers indicated that this was a situation against which his habitual craftiness was helpless.
Helen stood at the Phantom’s side, sweeping the crowd with cool, alert eyes, and holding the pistol in readiness for instant action. Her slim figure was erect, and there was a proud tilt to her head, as if the contagion of the Phantom’s fighting spirit had gripped her. Again there were surly mutterings among the men, but with rare exceptions they were of the type that is impotent without a leader to urge them on.
Not a word came from Bimble’s lips, but there was a look in his eye which told that the tentacles of his mind were reaching for a solution of the difficulty. The Phantom, keeping one eye on the doctor and the other on the crowd, detected a stealthy movement in the rear of the group. Someone had dropped to his knees and was crawling toward a huge box.
Instantly the Phantom saw the meaning of the stealthy movement. For a moment, as the crawling figure appeared around the edge of the group, he turned his pistol from the doctor, took a quick aim, pressed the trigger, and again thrust the muzzle of his weapon against Bimble’s diaphragm.