Chapter VIII: Logic Versus Heart Throbs

A vague misgiving assailed the Phantom as the door closed. The hiding place chosen for them by the genial Doctor Bimble seemed not quite adequate to the emergency. There had been no time for argument, however, and nothing for the Phantom to do but follow instructions. The versatile anthropologist knew best, he had thought, and very likely the police would take Bimble's word for it that nobody was concealed in the laboratory.

The closet was so dark that, but for a faint fragrance and the occasional scraping of a foot, he might have thought himself alone. From the other side of the door came subdued sounds, and he pictured the tubby little doctor protesting against the intrusion on his sacred privacy. Of Helen he could see nothing but the pallid glint of her face in the gloom, but her quick, nervous breathing told him that she was keyed up to a high tension. There was a medley of questions in his mind, but he found it hard to put them into words.

"Hel--Miss Hardwick," he whispered.

"Yes?".

"Logic is silly rot."

A moment's pause. "I don't believe I understand."

"According to the learned doctor's logic, I am the murderer of Sylvanus Gage. He made out quite a convincing case, and I could see you were impressed. Yet, deep down in your heart, you know he was talking piffle. You don't believe I killed Gage."

She stood silent for a time. He pressed closer to the wall and fumbled for her hand. It was cold, and the pulsations at the wrist made him think of a frightened, fluttering bird.

"I wish I could believe you didn't," she murmured, freeing her hand.

"Thank you." Her candor had given him a little thrill of faint and indefinable hope. "Would it surprise you very much if I told you that my only reason for leaving Sea-Glimpse was to convince you of my innocence?"

"Convince _me_?" She gave a low, incredulous laugh. "Why?"

"I'm not sure I can tell you that. From a practical point of view it was a foolish move, wasn't it? By the way, you knew that the police were hunting high and low for me. You alone knew where I was to be found, and yet you didn't tell. I wonder why."

She meditated for a little; then, in a whisper: "I don't know."

He laughed softly. "It seems neither one of us is very practical. We don't understand our own motives. Can you tell me what you are doing in this gallery of skeletons?"

"I am not sure, but I will try. The morning after the murder of Gage, I read the accounts in all the papers. I can't tell you how I felt. It was as if a great illusion had been shattered. I remember how I cried one day when I fell and broke my first doll. My feelings after reading the papers were something like that, only more poignant."

"I understand," he murmured. "You had placed the Gray Phantom on a pedestal. When he fell and broke to bits, just like common clay, you were disappointed."

"Yes, it was something like that. I had placed your better self on a pedestal. I didn't want to believe it had fallen or that it was just common clay. I read the papers very carefully; hoping to find a weak point in the evidence against you, but it seemed complete and conclusive down to the tiniest detail. One of the articles puzzled me a little, though."

"Oh--the _Sphere's_! Yes, I noticed it, too."

"It read as though the writer were not quite sure that you were the guilty one. After thinking it over for a while I called up the _Sphere_ and asked for the reporter who had written the article. They had some little trouble finding him, and when he finally came to the 'phone he acted as if he were not quite sober. I tried to question him about the case, but he gruffly told me he had nothing to tell aside from what he had put into his story. If I had a personal interest in the matter, he said, the best thing I could do was go and consult Doctor Bimble."

"And you adopted the suggestion?"

"I had never heard of Doctor Bimble, but the reporter told me he was the cleverest investigator of criminal cases in town. He warned me that Doctor Bimble might refuse to help me, since he accepted nothing but cases of unusual interest, but the fact that the murdered man was a friend and neighbor might make a difference. Yesterday I called on the doctor, but at first he would talk of nothing but his skeletons. The murder didn't seem to interest him in the least. He said the Phantom's guilt was clear and that all that remained was to catch him. Then, when he saw how earnest I was, he told me about the tunnel."

"The doctor is a queer duck," murmured the Phantom musingly. "The ordinary man wouldn't take strangers into his confidence about such things. The eccentricity of genius, I suppose."

"The whole affair seemed to bore him immensely. He told me the man who killed Gage must have used the tunnel, since he could not have left the room any other way. He thought it possible the murderer was still hiding there, lying low until the excitement should die down, and if I didn't have anything better to do I might watch for him at this end. As for himself, he said he wasn't at all concerned in the apprehension and punishment of criminals, but he gave me his revolver and told me I might watch the door leading from the laboratory, since the murderer, if he were still in the tunnel, had to come out that way. I think my interest in the case amused the doctor. I suspected he was chuckling at me most of the time.

"I watched the door till late last night, all the time hoping that, if anyone came out of the tunnel, it would not be you. Shortly before midnight I persuaded the doctor to let his man take my place. You see, if the murderer proved to be anyone but you, I wanted him caught, because then your innocence would be established. Early this morning I went back to my post. When I heard steps on the stairs my heart stood still for a moment. As the door opened I felt like shrieking. And then----"

She broke off with a gasp. From above came the sounds of footsteps and doors slamming, indicating that the police were searching the upper part of the house.

"And when you saw me," the Phantom put in, "you immediately jumped to the conclusion that I was guilty. Well, I suppose it was good logic. What can I do or say to convince you that I didn't kill Gage?"

"Nothing," she said, a hysterical catch in her throat. Of a sudden she seemed cold and distant, as if realizing that in telling her story she had betrayed too much of her feelings. "I fear there is nothing more to be said."

The Phantom drew a deep breath. "I don't blame you," he said gently. "There are several black chapters in my past. But some day I'll prove to you that I had nothing to do with this murder. I admit that just now the evidence weighs heavily against me. It is true there was something of a feud between me and Gage once upon a time and----"

"And the threatening letter," she interrupted. "Why did you send it if you didn't mean to kill him?"

"It was a forgery. I never wrote it."

"Handwriting experts say you did."

"I know." He remembered having read in the newspapers that three experts had compared the letter with samples of his handwriting on file in the bureau of criminal identification, and that two of them had declared that the Phantom had written it. "That only goes to show that it was an exceptionally clever forgery, and experts have been known to differ before."

"But Gage told the officer that it was you who stabbed him." She spoke as if determined to hear his explanation of the damning bits of evidence even though every word hurt her.

"True enough. But Gage didn't see me. He had the threatening letter in mind when he said that."

"Nothing but the Maltese cross was missing, and you had had a quarrel with Gage about that."

"True, too." The Phantom chuckled bitterly. "If I had committed the murder I should have taken pains to carry away a lot of other things for a blind." She was silent for a few moments. Footsteps were coming down the stairs, and the Phantom knew that the searchers would soon be in the laboratory. Again he found her hand, but she quickly drew it away.

"You knew about the tunnel," she reminded him, her shaky accents betraying the struggle going on within her.

"I swear that I found it by accident."

He could not see her face, but he sensed that she doubted him and that the remnant of faith in her heart was unable to withstand the corroding effect of a growing suspicion. The footsteps were drawing closer, and now they could hear voices outside the door. He recognized the rasping accents of Doctor Bimble.

"I tell you, my dear sir, that the closet contains nothing but chemicals which I use in my laboratory work. Some of them are very valuable. That's why I keep them under lock and key."

Tensing every muscle as if preparing for an attack, the Phantom stepped in front of the girl. She made no protest as he took her pistol, which she had been holding all the time and which now hung limply from her fingers.

"I don't doubt your word," answered a gruff voice outside, "but orders are to search everywhere and make a good job of it. Hate to trouble you, but it's got to be done."

The doctor, evidently sparring for time, insisted that he had been in his laboratory all day and that nobody could have slipped into the closet unnoticed by him; but the other was obdurate.

"Very well, then," finally grumbled the anthropologist, "but I shall make complaint to Inspector Wadham. Jerome, where are my keys?" Despite the suspense under which he was laboring, the Phantom grinned. He strongly suspected that Bimble was working a ruse in order to gain time. Yet he wondered what the outcome was to be, for unless the keys were promptly produced the officers would undoubtedly force the door.

His next sensation was one of astonishment. A curious calm appeared to have fallen over the group outside, for moment after moment passed without a word being spoken. The Phantom wondered what it could mean. It seemed as though the speakers had been suddenly stricken dumb. After what seemed a long period of silence, somebody uttered an exclamation of astonishment, then a laugh sounded, and next footsteps moved away from the closet door. A minute or so passed, then someone fumbled with the lock, and presently the door was opened by Doctor Bimble. He was smiling blandly, but the Phantom thought he detected an uneasy gleam behind the spectacles.

"What's happened?" he inquired, looking about him dazedly and noticing that the girl and himself were alone with the doctor.

The anthropologist waved a hand toward the front of the house. "Listen!"

From the streets came loud and raucous shouts, and a blank look crossed the Phantom's face as he made out the words:

"Uxtra! Gray Phantom capchured! All 'bout the big pinch! Uxtra!"