The Gray Phantom's Return

by Herman Landon

  CHAPTER XI--A BLOW FROM BEHIND

  Only one thought stood out clearly in the Phantom's mind as he lay onhis back in the tunnel breathing the suffocating fumes of the dampearth, and surrounded by a silence and a darkness so profound that hefelt as if a vast void was separating him from the world of the living.His senses were numbed and his brain had ceased to function, but somehowhis mind grasped the realization that this was the end of the GrayPhantom's career.

  The fate awaiting him seemed as inexorable as the darkness thatsurrounded him. He had faced great dangers and had found himself infearful predicaments before, but never had death appeared as certain andinevitable as now. Through his dazed consciousness filtered a resolutionto meet death, even in this hideous form, with the same unconcern andstoicism with which he had accepted the favors destiny had strewn in hispath. The thought brought a feeble smile to his lips, and he hoped theend would come before the thought faded away. He wanted the world ingeneral and Helen Hardwick in particular to know he had died smiling.

  Something, he did not know what, stirred faintly in his mind.Instinctively his thoughts groped for a memory that seemed dim and faraway, a memory that caused his body to vibrate with a reawakening desireto live. Slowly, out of the whirling chaos in his mind, it came to him.He could not--must not--die! He could not pass out into oblivion with afoul crime staining his name. He must live in order to revive andvindicate the faith Helen Hardwick had once reposed in him.

  The resolve buoyed him a little, causing his body to throb with arenascent life impulse. Already his mind felt a little clearer, and hisnerves and sinews were beginning to respond to the driving force of hiswill. If his parched lungs could only get a little air!

  Again he placed his feet against the door and pushed with all thestrength he could summon. He might as well have tried to dislodge amountain. The implements in his pocket case had helped him out of many atight dilemma in the past, but they were of no avail now. He still hadthe pistol he had taken from Helen's hand while they stood in thecloset, and for an instant it occurred to him that the report of a shotmight penetrate the roof of the tunnel and bring him assistance. Amoment later he reconsidered bitterly. If the shot were heard, it wouldmore likely bring the police; besides, the fumes released by theexplosion might smother him to death in a few minutes.

  With a great effort he crawled away from the door thinking the air mightbe not so stifling toward the center of the tunnel. He moved only two orthree paces when the terrific pounding of his heart and the protest ofhis tortured lungs forced him to lie still and rest. For several minuteshe lay motionless, save for the heaving of his chest, matching his witsagainst the hardest problem he had ever faced.

  Of a sudden something chill and wet fell upon his face. It was a meredrop of moisture, but it felt like ice to his parched skin, causingevery nerve to quiver. The contact acted like an electric stimulant onhis mind. He lay rigid, expectant, wondering why the trivial occurrenceshould affect him so strangely, and presently another drop of moisturesplashed against his forehead, sending an icy shiver down his spine.

  Suddenly he jerked up his head, striking it against the roof of thetunnel. In a twinkling he had grasped the significance of the droppingmoisture. There must be a leak in the vault of the passage, and the soilabove was probably soft and porous, enabling the tiny globules of waterto percolate.

  The deduction jolted the last remnant of stupor out of his body. He wasstill weak, but the play of his wits kindled his nervous energy. He ranhis hand along the roof, locating the point where the moisture wasseeping through. The arched vault was supported by boards running in alongitudinal direction and braced at intervals by diagonal props. Hegave a hoarse shout of elation as he noticed that the boards wererotting from infiltration of moisture.

  He had forgotten the agonized straining of his lungs for air. Hisexploring fingers found a point where the ends of two boards cametogether. Taking a tool from the metal case, he inserted it in the jointand pried. After a few vigorous wrenches the board bent downward. Now hegripped its edges with his fingers and, lifting himself from the floorof the tunnel, forced it down by the sheer weight of his body. Itsnapped, and he pushed it down the passage, then attacked the nextboard. It gave more easily than the first, and now he began to claw andscratch his way through the damp earth. Remembering the length of theincline at the farther end of the passage, he judged that the layer ofsoil could not be more than four or five feet deep.

  More than once he felt on the point of utter exhaustion, but theprospect of ultimate release fortified him. Clump after clump of dirtfell at his feet, and now and then he struck a stratum of gravelly soilthat yielded more easily to his efforts. From time to time he had tostop digging and brush aside the accumulation at his feet. A wall ofdirt was gradually forming on each side of him, cutting down the scantsupply of humid air that had so far sustained him, but he kept at hiswork with the frenzied persistence of one battling for his life. Therewas a dull roaring in his head and a burning torment in his lungs, andthere came moments of despair when he wondered whether his strengthwould last until he had clawed through the remaining layer of earth.

  Then, after what seemed hours of agonizing toil, a cascade of smallstones and loose dirt tumbled down over his head and shoulders.Momentarily blinded, he could scarcely realize that his hand had thrustthrough the obstruction and was now clutching at empty air.

  The suspense over, he felt suddenly limp and shaky. His legs doubled upunder him and he sank back against the wall of the tunnel, greedilysucking in the fresh air that poured down through the opening. For atime he was content to do nothing but rest his racked limbs and drink inhuge lungfuls of air.

  Through the rift overhead he caught a glimpse of leaden sky. A myriad ofstrident noises told that the city was awakening. The discordant soundswere like jubilant music in his ears, for a while ago he had thought hewould never see the light of another day. After his terrifyingexperience in the subterranean passage it was hard to realize that hewas again one of the living. He struggled to his feet, lurched dizzilyhither and thither, and rubbed the dirt out of his eyes. Then, steadyinghimself with one hand, he cautiously pushed his head through theopening. No one being in sight, he scrambled to the surface.

  He stood in the center of the narrow space between Doctor Bimble'slaboratory and the rear of the Gage establishment. On the other sides ofthe inclosure were a squatty structure that might have been a laundryand a slightly taller building that, judging from the barrels and boxespiled against the wall, was probably a grocery. Evidently the stores andshops had not yet opened, for there was no sign of life in eitherdirection.

  The Phantom took a few steps forward, then stopped abruptly, his eyesfixed on the small window in the rear of the cigar store. A recollectionsent a shiver through his body. He remembered the hand that had appearedso suddenly in the narrow opening, the swift, murderous stroke and thegroan that had died so quickly. There was an air of peace andtranquillity about the building that struck him as weirdly incongruous,in view of the scene that had been enacted within.

  He was about to turn away when a quick, light step sounded behind him.Before he could move, two sinewy hands had gripped him about the throat,forcing him down. He tried to resist, but he was still too weak to exertmuch physical effort. A sickeningly sweetish smell assailed hisnostrils, he felt his body grow limp, there was a roaring in his headthat sounded like a distant waterfall, and then he had a sensation ofsinking--sinking.