The Man Who Fell Through the Earth

“I should think so. No clothes or any identification?”

“Not a rag. Or rather only a few rags of underwear, – but nothing that was the slightest clew.”

“What became of his clothes?”

“Nobody knows. He was found drifting, unconscious, apparently dead, and entirely nude save the fragments of underclothing.”

“Those fragments have been kept?”

“Oh, yes; but they mean nothing. Just ordinary material, – good, – but nothing individual about them.”

“Where was he picked up?”

“I don’t know exactly, but not far from the morgue, I believe. It was the same day as the Gately murder, that’s why I remember the date. It was a dreadfully cold snap, the river was full of ice and it’s a wonder he wasn’t killed, as well as knocked senseless.”

“Was he knocked senseless?”

“I’m not sure, but he was unconscious from cold and exposure and very nearly frozen to death.”

“And his memory now?”

“Is perfect in all respects, except he doesn’t know who he is.”

“A fishy tale!”

“No; you won’t say so after you’ve seen him. When I say his memory is perfect, I mean regarding what he has read or has studied. But it is his personal recollections that have gone from him. He has no remembrance of his home or his friends or his own identity.”

“Can’t you deduce his previous occupation?”

“I can’t. Perhaps you can. He can draw, and he is well-read, that’s all I know.”

We were at my rooms by that time, and going up, we found Case Rivers already there awaiting us. I lamented my lack of promptness, but he gracefully waived my apology.

“It’s all right,” he smiled in his good-humored way, “I’ve been browsing among your books and having the time of my life.”

I introduced the two men, and told Rivers that Wise was the famous detective I had mentioned to him.

“I’m downright glad to know you,” Rivers said, earnestly; “if you can do a bit of deduction as to who I am, I’ll be under deepest obligation. I give you myself as a clew.”

“Got a picture of Amory Manning?” asked Wise, abruptly.

I handed him a folded newspaper, whose front page bore a cut of Manning, and the story of his mysterious disappearance.

Wise studied the picture and compared it with the man before him.

“Totally unlike,” he said, disappointedly.

“Not a chance,” laughed Rivers; “I wish I could step into that chap’s shoes; but you see, I came from far away.”

“Tell me about that trip of yours,” asked Wise.

“Don’t know much to tell,” returned Rivers; “but what I do know, I know positively, so I’ll warn you beforehand not to chuckle at me, for I won’t stand it!”

Rivers showed a determination that I liked. It proved that I was right in ascribing a strong character to him. He would stand chaffing as well as anyone I knew, but not on the subject of his fall through the earth.

“I don’t know when or where I started on my memorable journey, but I distinctly remember my long, dark fall straight down through the earth. Now it would seem impossible, but I can aver that I entered in some very cold, arctic sort of country, and I came on down feet first, till I made exit in New York. I was found, but how I got into the river, I don’t know.”

“You were clothed when you started?”

“I can only say that I assume I was. I’m a normal, decent sort of man, and I can’t think I’d consciously set out on a trip of any sort undressed! But I’ve no doubt my swashing around in the ice-filled river did for my clothes. Probably, as related by the Ancient Mariner, ‘the ice was here, the ice was there, the ice was all around: it cracked and growled and – something or other – and howled, like noises in a swound.’ You see, I still know my ‘Familiar Quotations’ by heart.”

“That’s a queer phase,” and Wise shook his head. “It may be you are a poet – ”

“Well, I haven’t poetized any since my recrudescence.”

“And that’s another queer thing,” pursued the detective. “Most victims of aphasia can’t remember words. You are exceptionally fluent and seem to have a wide vocabulary.”

“I admit it all,” and Rivers looked a little weary, as if he were tired of speculating on his own case.

“Now, to change the subject, how are you progressing, Mr. Wise, with your present work? How goes the stalking of the murderer?”

“Haven’t got him yet, Mr. Rivers, but we’ve made a good start. You know the details?”

“Only the newspaper accounts, and such additional information as Mr. Brice has given me. I’m greatly interested, – for, – tell it not to Gath detectives, – I fancy I’ve a bent toward sleuthing myself.”

Pennington Wise smiled. “You’re not alone in that,” he said, chaffingly, but so good-naturedly that Rivers took no offense.

“I suppose it’s your reflected light that makes everybody who talks with you feel that way,” he came back. “Well, if you get up a stump, lean on me, Grandpa, – I’m ’most seven.”

And then we all three discussed the case, in all its phases, and though Rivers said nothing of great importance, he showed such an intellectual grasp of it all, and responded so intelligently to Wise’s theories and opinions that the two soon became most friendly.

The announcement of the rewards stirred Rivers to enthusiasm.

“I’m going to get ’em!” he cried; “both of ’em! With all due respect to you, Mr. Wise, I’m going to cut under and win out! Don’t say I didn’t warn you, and hereafter all you say will be used against you! If there’s one thing I need more than another it’s ten thousand dollars, – I could even do with twenty! So, here goes for Rivers, the swiftsure detective!”

Not a bit offended, Penny Wise laughed outright.

“Go ahead, my boy,” he cried; “here’s a bargain; you work with me, and I’ll work with you. If we get either Manning or the murderer or both, then either or both rewards shall be yours. I’ll be content with what else I can get out of it.”

“Done!” and Case Rivers was jubilant. “Perhaps Manning is the murderer,” he said, thoughtfully.

“No,” I put in. “That won’t do. Manning is in love with Miss Raynor, and he wouldn’t queer his cause by killing her guardian.”

“But Guardy didn’t approve of Suitor Manning,” Rivers said.

“No; but I know Manning and you don’t, – well, that is, I know him only slightly. But I’m sure he’s not the man to shoot a financial magnate and a first-class citizen just because he frowned on his suit. Try again, Rivers.”

“All right: what you say goes. But I’m just starting in, you know. And, by the way, I’m to get a job of some sort today – yes?”

He looked at me inquiringly, but Wise answered. “Wait a bit, Rivers, as to that. If you’ll agree, I’ll grubstake you for a fortnight or so, and you can help me. Really, I mean it, for as a stranger you can go to places, and see people, where I can’t show my familiar face. Then, when you get the two rewards you can repay me my investment in you. And if you fail to nail the ten thousand, I’ll take your note.”

“I’ll go you!” said Rivers, after a moment’s thought. “You’re a brick, Penny Wise!”

A tap at the door announced Norah, and with her came Jenny Boyd. Nor was Jenny dragged unwillingly, – she seemed eager to enter, – but her absurd little painted face wore a look of stubbornness and her red lips were shut in a determined pout.

“Jenny knows who ‘The Link’ is, and she won’t tell,” Norah declared, as a first bit of information.

“Oh, yes, she will,” and Penny Wise winked at the girl. He really gave a very knowing wink, as who should say: “We understand each other.”

As they had never met before, I watched to see just how Jenny would take it, and to my surprise she looked decidedly frightened.

Wise saw this too, – doubtless he brought about the effect purposely, – but in a moment Jenny regained her poise and was her saucy self again.

“I don’t know for sure,” she said, “and so I don’t want to get nobody into trouble by suspicioning them.”

“You won’t get anybody into trouble,” Wise assured her, “unless she has made the trouble for herself. Let’s play a game, Jenny, – let’s talk in riddles.”

Jenny eyed him curiously, and then, as he smiled infectiously, she did, too.

“Now,” went on Wise, “this is the game. I don’t know, of course, whom you have in mind, and you don’t know whom I have in mind, so we’ll play the game this way: I’ll say, ‘I know she is a clever woman.’ Now you make a truthful statement about her.”

Enthralled by his manner, Jenny said, almost involuntarily, “I know she is a wrong one!”

“I know she’s pretty,” said Wise.

“I know she isn’t!” snapped Jenny.

“I know she is black-haired and dresses well and owns a scarab hatpin.”

“I know that, too,” and Jenny was breathless with interest.

“No; that won’t do. You must know something different from my know.”

“Well, I know she’s a friend of Mr. Rodman.”

“And of Mr. Gately,” added Wise.

“Oh, no, sir, I don’t think so!” Jenny’s surprise was unfeigned.

“Well, I know she’s a telegraph girl.”

“Yes: and I know she has more money to spend than she gets for a salary.”

“I know she’s a good girl.”

“Oh, yes, sir, – that way. But she – ”

“She smokes cigarettes.”

“Yes; she does. Oh, I think that’s awful.”

“Well, it’s your turn. You know she’s ‘The Link’?”

“I know she’s been called that, but it isn’t a regular nickname, and I don’t know what it means.”

“Where is she?”

“Her work, you mean?”

“Yes; she’s in the company’s office, – ” Here Jenny whispered the address to Wise.

“Good girl,” he commented. “Keep it dark. No use in telling all these people!”

He turned to my telephone, then said: “No, Brice, you do it. Call Headquarters and tell the Chief to arrest, – what’s her name, Jenny?”

“I – I didn’t say, sir.” The girl’s caution was returning.

“Say now, then,” commanded Wise. “I know, anyway. It begins with S.”

“Her first name, – yes, sir.”

“And the last name with K. You see I know! So, out with it!”

“Sadie Kent,” whispered Jenny, her nerves beginning to go to pieces at realizaton of what she had done.

“Yes, of course. Sadie Kent. Go ahead, Brice. Fix it all up, – and go to the telegraph office yourself. Meet the officers there. Scoot!”

I scooted. The strong arm of the law works swiftly when it wills to do so. Within half an hour Sadie Kent was arrested at her key in the telegraph office on charge of stealing confidential telegrams sent by officials in Washington to munition plants and steamship companies and delivering them to persons who she knew would transmit them to the German Foreign Office.

When approached, the girl, – the woman rather, – put up a bold bluff, but it was of no avail. She was taken into custody, and all her appeals for mercy denied. All but one. She begged so hard to be allowed to telephone to her mother that Hudson, who was present, softened.

“You can’t, my lady,” he said, “but I’ll have it done for you. Mr. Brice, now, maybe he’ll do it.”

“Oh, if you would be so kind,” and the beautiful brunette, for she was that, gave me a grateful look. “Just call 83649 Greenwich Square, and ask for Mrs. Kent. Then tell her, please, that – that I won’t be home tonight. That’s all.”

Her voice broke and she sobbed softly in her handkerchief.

They took her away, to be detained pending developments. I made the call and gave the message exactly as she had asked me. A pleasant voice responded, saying the speaker was Mrs. Kent, and she thanked me for sending word.

I hurried back to my rooms. Wise and Rivers were still there but Norah and Jenny had left. I had no sooner got my coat off than Zizi came flying in.

“Oh, everybody,” she cried, in a whirl of excitement, “Olive’s gone! She’s kidnaped or abducted or something. A telephone message came and she flew off, telling nobody but Mrs. Vail, and telling her not to tell!”

“Where’s she gone?” I cried, flinging back into my coat.

“Nobody knows. I only got it out of Mrs. Vail this minute, and then only by threatening her with all sorts of horrors if she didn’t tell me. She doesn’t know where Olive’s gone, – nobody knows, – but whoever telephoned said he had Amory Manning with him, just for a few moments and for her to come at once if she wanted to see him. A car would come for her at four o’clock, exactly, and she was to get in and ask no questions. And she did – and she told Mrs. Vail that as soon as she got to Mr. Manning she would telephone back, – in about fifteen minutes. And now it’s over an hour! and no word from her! That stupid old woman just walks up and down and wrings her hands!”

“I should think she would! Which way shall we look, Wise?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure!” and for once the resourceful detective was absolutely at a loss.

“Oh, Penny Wise,” and Zizi burst into tears, “if you don’t know what to do, nobody does! Olive will be killed or held for ransom or some dreadful thing! What can we do?”

But the dull silence that fell on us all proved that no one present was able to offer any suggestion.

CHAPTER XIII

Olive’s Adventure

“Give me a handkerchief, somebody!” commanded Zizi, and not without reason, for her own tiny wisp of cambric was nothing but a wet ball, which she was futilely dabbing into her big black eyes.

I hurried into my bedroom and hastily grabbed a fresh handkerchief from a drawer, which I brought to the excited girl.

“Thanks,” she said, as she grasped it and plied it diligently; “now, men, we must get busy! It’s after five o’clock, Olive went away before four, – anything may have happened to her – we must rescue her!”

“We will!” exclaimed Case Rivers, showing more energy than I knew he possessed. “What about ‘The Link,’ Mr. Brice?”

As quickly as I could, I detailed what had happened at the telegraph office, where Sadie Kent had been taken into custody by Hudson’s men.

“Did she go quietly?” asked Penny Wise.

“She did not!” I returned; “she put up a fearful fight, tore up a lot of papers from a desk drawer, and lit into the policemen like a tiger cat! She tried to bite Hudson, and yet, he was the one who kind-heartedly let her telephone to her mother.”

“What!” cried Rivers, “he let her do that!”

“I did it myself, really,” I said; and I told how Sadie had begged for the privilege.

“There you are!” Rivers said, positively. “That telephone message was not to her mother!”

“But I called her up,” I explained, “and she said she was Mrs. Kent.”

“That may be,” and Rivers shook his head; “but, don’t you see, that was a code call, – a warning. The person who received it, mother or grandmother, caught on to the state of things and set machinery in motion that resulted in the kidnaping of Miss Raynor.”

“What for?” I asked, blankly.

“Revenge, probably, but there may be other villainies afoot. Am I right, Mr. Wise?”

“Yes, and mighty quick-witted. Then the next step is to go to the ‘mother’s’ house.”

“Yes, if we can trace it. It may be a call within a call; I mean, the number Mr. Brice got may be merely a go-between – a link – ”

“Try it, anyway,” implored Zizi; “every minute is precious. I’m so afraid for Miss Olive. You know, she’s spunky, – she won’t submit easily to restraint, and you don’t know what they may do to her!”

“Get Information first,” directed Wise, as I started for the telephone. “Find the address of the number you called. You remember it?”

“Yes; of course.” And in a few moments I learned that the house was down in Washington Square.

“Get a taxi,” said Zizi, already putting on her long black cape, which swirled round the slender figure as she flung one end over her shoulder.

She flew to a mirror, and was dabbing her straight little nose with a powder-puff as she talked.

“We’ll all go down there, and I don’t think we’ll have to look any further. Miss Olive is there, – I’m dead sure! Held by the enemy! But she’s game, and I don’t believe we’ll be too late, if we hustle like a house afire!”

And so, with the greatest speed consistent with safety, we taxied down to the house in Washington Square.

The Kent apartment was on the third floor, and as Zizi dashed up the stairs, not waiting for the elevator, we three men followed her.

Zizi’s ring at the bell brought a middle-aged woman to the door, who looked at us rather blankly.

I was about to speak, when Zizi, insinuating her small self through the partly opened door, said softly:

“We’ve a message from ‘The Link.’”

It acted like magic, and the woman’s face changed to an expression of welcome and serious anxiety, as we all went in.

It was rather a pretentious apartment, with fine furnishings in ornate taste. We saw no one save the woman who admitted us, and heard no sound from other rooms.

“You expected it?” and Zizi’s air of secret understanding was perfect.

“Expected what?” said Mrs. Kent, sharply, for she was apparently on her guard.

“Sadie’s arrest,” and Zizi’s black eyes narrowed as she looked keenly at the other.

But the woman was not to be trapped. She glanced at us each in turn, and seemed to conclude we were not friendly visitors for all Zizi’s pretense.

“I know nothing of any arrest,” she said, evenly; “I think you have mistaken the house.”

“I think not,” and Penny Wise looked at her sternly. “Your bluff won’t go, madam, – Sadie, ‘The Link,’ is arrested, and the game is up. Will you answer questions or will you wait until you, too, are arrested?”

“I have nothing to say,” she mumbled, but her voice trembled, and her nerve was deserting her. Inadvertently she glanced toward the closed door of the next room, and Zizi’s quick eyes followed the glance.

“Is Miss Raynor in there?” she flung out so quickly that Mrs. Kent gasped. But she recovered her poise at once and said, “I don’t know what you mean, – I don’t know any Miss Raynor.”

“Oh, tut, tut!” and Zizi grinned at her; “don’t tell naughty stories! Why, I hear Miss Raynor’s voice!”

She didn’t at all, but as she listened, with her head cocked on one side, like a saucy bird, Mrs. Kent’s face showed fear, and she listened also.

A muffled scream was heard, – not loud, but clearly a cry for help.

Without further parley, Rivers made a dash for the door and though it was locked, he smashed into the rather flimsy panel and the old hinges gave way.

There, in the adjoining room was Olive Raynor, a handkerchief tied across her mouth and her angry eyes flashing with rage.

Holding her arm was George Rodman, who was evidently trying to intimidate her, but without complete success.

Zizi flew to Olive’s side, and snatched off the handkerchief.

Rodman was perfectly cool. “Let that lady alone,” he said; “she is my affianced wife.”

“Affianced grandmother!” retorted Zizi. “You can’t put that over, Mr. Rodman!”

“Save me!” Olive said, looking from me to Penny Wise and back again. Her glance fell on Rivers, but returned to me, as her face assumed a look of agony.

I couldn’t quite understand, as she must know that with us all there her danger was past.

“Are you his betrothed?” Case Rivers said, bluntly.

“No!” Olive replied, in an indignant tone; “never!”

“Then – ” and Rivers seemed about to remove Rodman’s hand from Olive’s arm by force, but Rodman himself spoke up:

“One moment, please,” he said, quietly, and bending over, he whispered in Olive’s ear.

She turned deathly white, her lips quivered, and she seemed about to fall. Whatever the brief words were, they wrought a marvelous change in the girl’s attitude. She lost her air of defiant wrath, and seemed a helpless, hopeless victim of the man who held her.

“Are you engaged to me?” Rodman said, looking at Olive, with a threatening scowl.

“Yes,” she managed to whisper, but so agonized was her face that it was palpable she spoke under coercion.

I was uncertain what to do; Wise, too, looked nonplussed, but Rivers, though a stranger to Olive, seemed imbued with an irresistible chivalry, and drawing nearer to her, he said:

“Is that man forcing you to say that against your will?”

Rodman’s grip tightened on Olive’s arm, and his glowering face looked sternly into hers. She made no reply in words, but her piteous glance told all too clearly that Rivers’ assumption was correct.

And yet, what could we do? Olive had assented to Rodman’s assertion, and we could scarcely demand a girl from her fiancé.

Zizi mastered the situation by saying, triumphantly: “We’ve got ‘The Link!’ She’s under arrest!”

“What!” cried Olive, and then, dropping her arm, Rodman whirled toward her:

“There!” he cried, “your secret is out! Unless – ” He made a gesture as if to put his arm round her.

With a cry of revulsion, Olive shrank from him, and her face showed that she preferred his threatening attitude to his endearing one.

“You let that lady alone, unless she desires your attentions,” said Rivers, his innate desire to protect a woman in distress showing in his repressed eagerness to get at Rodman.

“You mind your own business!” shouted Rodman, angrily, as he put out his arm and drew Olive to him. “You’re mine, now, aren’t you, dearie?”

The disgust on the girl’s face, and the shrinking of her form as she tried to draw away from the leering face so near hers was too much for Rivers. He assumed a threatening attitude, and said, “You take your hands off that lady! She doesn’t want – ”

In defiance, Rodman drew Olive nearer, and raising her bowed head was about to kiss her angry, beautiful face, when she uttered a despairing scream.

That was the match in the powder-keg!

Unable to hold back longer, Rivers sprang forward and wrenched Olive from Rodman’s grasp.

With a snarl, Rodman lunged at Rivers, who deftly stopped him with an uppercut. Rodman came back with a smashing facer, and Rivers replied in kind.

Zizi, who had flown to Olive’s side, and was tenderly soothing her, watched the two men, breathlessly. Something savage in her nature responded to the combat, and she flushed and paled alternately as one or the other of the angry men seemed to have the upper hand.

Olive hid her face in her hands, not wanting to look, but Zizi was with the fight, heart and soul.

It was give and take, with such rapidity that I trembled for Rivers’ safety. Rodman was a formidable antagonist, and far heavier than the gaunt man who met and returned his blows.

But Rivers was skilled, and made up in technique what he lacked in strength.

So desperate was the struggle, so blindly furious the two men, that Pennington Wise and I were fearful of results. With a simultaneous impulse we made a dash to separate the combatants, but were obliged to get back quickly to save ourselves from the rain of blows.

Never had I seen such a wild, unbridled fight compressed into such a short time, and I wondered what Rivers had been in a fighting way before he lost his identity.

Fighting and boxing had never been favorite forms of entertainment with me, but this contest absorbed me. It was primitive, instinctive, – the rage of Rodman pitted against the angry indignation of Rivers.

I had not thought of the latter as a weakling, but neither had I looked upon him as a strong man, and I should have judged that in a bout with Rodman he would have gone under.

But not so; his lean, gaunt frame was full of latent strength, his bony fists full of dexterity.

He rushed in, fell back, sidestepped, with the dazzling quickness of a trained fighter. He showed knowledge and skill that amazed me.

Rodman, too, fought for all he was worth, but he impressed me as being not an experienced fighter, – and not a fair one.

Wise, too, was watching Rivers with wonder and admiration, and he also kept his alert gaze on Rodman.

Fascinated, we watched as Rodman clinched, and Rivers with a smile, almost of contempt, threw him off. Then Rodman, bellowing like an angry bull, made a head-on rush for Rivers, who neatly sidestepped, letting his furious antagonist have it on the side of his head.

Even this didn’t knock any sense into Rodman, and he was about to plunge again, when Wise, seeing a chance, said:

“Now, Brice!”

Springing in, I hooked my arm around Rivers’ neck, and yanked him away from Rodman, now struggling, half-spent, in Wise’s grasp.

“Let up, Rivers!” I cried, sternly; “what do you mean?”

He glared at me, not sensing what I said, and then, Rodman, breaking loose, came at him madly, Rivers slithered out of my clutch and caught the other a smashing blow on the ear. This, landing just as Rodman was off his balance from his break-away from Wise, spun him around and sent him down with a crash which knocked all the fight out of him, and he made but a half-hearted attempt to rise.