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!”
CHAPTER IX—THE PHANTOM IS MYSTIFIED
For a time the little group in the laboratory stood as if turned into inanimate shapes, their senses under the spell of the hoarse shouts in the street. The Phantom felt a curious churning in his head. The anthropologist was still smiling, but the smile was gradually growing thin and hard. Helen fixed the Phantom with a stony look.
“It appears a mistake of some kind has been made,” muttered the doctor at length. “It was a fortunate one for you, my friends, for the officers were becoming quite insistent. Luckily the cries diverted their attention from the closet, and they went away apologizing after telephoning headquarters and verifying the report.”
The Phantom, still feeling Helen’s gaze on his face, pocketed the pistol he had been holding. The newsboys’ cries had given him a jolt that left him a little dazed and caused his mind to turn to trivial things. He found himself admiring Helen’s simple little hat and plain but tasteful dress, noticing that they seemed as much a part of her as her hair and her complexion. He saw that she tried to be brave despite a crushing disaster to her illusions, and somehow he felt sorry for her.
Doctor Bimble turned on him with a frown.
“Sir,” he demanded, “are you the Gray Phantom or merely a clumsy impostor?”
The question seemed so ludicrous that the Phantom could only chuckle.