“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.”