He turned quickly as the door opened, admitting Doctor Bimble, with a newspaper in his hand.
“Thought you would be interested in the news about Pinto,” began the doctor, advancing somewhat cautiously and taking care not to step within the narrow half circle that bounded his prisoner’s movements. The Phantom regarded him languidly, for his mind was on other things.
“Has Pinto recovered consciousness?” he asked indifferently.
Bimble nodded. “Much sooner than the doctors expected, and he has celebrated his return to consciousness by making a rather interesting statement.”
“Not a confession?” The Phantom was still speaking in dull tones. In the last few days he had almost lost sight of the purpose that had called him to New York. The danger threatening Helen Hardwick had seemed far more important than the mystery of the two murders.
“Well, you might call it that, though it probably isn’t the kind of confession you have in mind. Pinto has made a clean breast of everything, but he still insists that you murdered Gage.”
“That’s a contradiction,” mumbled the Phantom. “He is not making a clean breast of things so long as he denies his guilt.”
“His statement sounds fairly convincing, nevertheless. He admits practically everything except that he committed the murder. For instance, he frankly admits that he concealed the body of the housekeeper and——”
“That in itself is evidence of his guilt.”
“But Pinto has what looks like a satisfactory explanation. He seems to be an honest, hard-working, unimaginative fellow, not overintelligent, and deeply devoted to his wife and baby. You probably know the type. He says that for months before Gage was murdered he had a queer premonition that something of that kind was to happen, and he never passed the house without an uneasy feeling. I suppose what he really means is that he had noticed signs of strange doings about the place, and that without analyzing his impressions he found it getting on his nerves.