A cry told that the bullet had found its mark. As the smoke drifted toward the ceiling, the man rose to his feet with a look of distress in his face, caressing a portion of his arm as he slunk away toward the rear. A few of the others, who had sought to take advantage of the Phantom’s temporary abstraction, fell back to their places.
The Phantom drew a long breath as he realized how narrowly Helen and himself had escaped disaster. They had the advantage for the present, but the slightest faltering might easily reverse the situation and release the pent-up savagery of their foes.
“Bimble,” he remarked, “it would be extremely unfortunate for you if any of your men should get reckless. I see some of them are impatient. If anything happens to Miss Hardwick or me, you will be a dead man. Hadn’t you better tell your friends to throw down their guns?”
The doctor glanced uneasily at his men. His looks told plainly that the Phantom had read him accurately, that there was nothing he valued quite so highly as he did his life, and that his swagger and bland assurance would wilt the moment he faced a personal danger. There was venom in his eyes, and his pale, distorted features bespoke impotent rage.
“Drop your guns,” he commanded after another despairing look about the basement.
The men regarded him diffidently and did not move. Their faces showed that they were torn between the conflicting impulses of self-preservation and an ingrained habit of obedience.
“You’re first.” The Phantom pointed a finger at a tall, barrel-chested man at the end of the line. “Step forward and empty your pockets.”
The Phantom was in a state of high tension. He was exercising a mastery of mind over the situation, but all might yet be lost if the man should refuse to obey and set the others an example of resistance.
“Miss Hardwick,” he said quickly, realizing that each moment of delay might cost them their lives, “you will count five. If our friend at the end of the line has not emptied his pockets when you are through, shoot to kill.”
The girl signified with a slight nod that she understood. As she began to count, her pistol was pointing straight at the man the Phantom had indicated. The fellow’s sullen obstinacy yielded gradually to an over-powering respect for Helen’s marksmanship, of which he had already witnessed an exhibition. Just before she reached “five,” he lumbered forward and turned the lining of his pockets inside out. A knife, an automatic, and several other implements clattered to the floor.