The Man Who Fell Through the Earth

“Did he go down into the earth to seek the paper?” I asked, thinking it best to treat the matter lightly.

“No,” she returned, in all seriousness, “but he believes he was commissioned to hunt out a valuable paper, of some sort, and while on the quest he fell through the earth, by accident. It was the shock of that that impaired his memory.”

“Sufficient cause!” I couldn’t help saying.

Olive bristled: “Oh, I know you don’t believe his story, – almost nobody does, – but I do.”

“So do I!” and Zizi was in the room. One could never say of that girl that she entered or came in, – she just – was there, – in that silent, mysterious way of hers. And then with equally invisible motions she was sitting opposite me, at Olive’s side, on a low ottoman.

“I know Mr. Rivers very well,” Zizi announced, as if she were his official sponsor, “and what he says is true, no matter how unbelievable it may sound. He says he fell through the earth, and so he did fall through the earth, and that’s all there is about that!”

“Good for you, Zizi!” I cried. “You’re a loyal little champion! And just how did he accomplish the feat?”

“It will be explained in due season,” and Zizi’s big black eyes took on a sibylline expression as she gazed straight at me. “If you were told, on good authority, that a man had crossed the ocean in an aeroplane, you’d believe it, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes; but that doesn’t seem to me a parallel case,” I demurred.

“Neither is Case Rivers a parallel case,” Zizi giggled, “but he’s the real thing in the way of Earth Fallers. And when you know all, you’ll know everything!”

The child was exasperating in her foolish retorts and yet so convincing was the determined shake of her little black head that I was almost tempted to believe in her statements.

“You’re a baby sphinx, Zizi,” and Olive looked at her affectionately, “but honestly, Mr. Brice, she keeps my spirits up, and she is so positive herself of what she says that she almost convinces me. As for Mrs. Vail, she swallows everything Zizi says for law and gospel!”

“And just what is it you say, now, Zizi?” I asked.

“Nothin’ much, kind sir. Only that Case Rivers is a gentleman and a scholar, that his memory is on the home stretch and humming along, and that if he’s after a paper, – he’ll get it!”

“And, incidentally he’s Amos Gately’s – ”

A scream of agony from Zizi interrupted my speech, and jumping to her feet she danced round the room, her forefinger thrust between her red lips, and her little, eerie face contorted as with pain.

“Oh, what is it, Zizi?” cried Olive, running to the frantic girl.

Mrs. Vail, hearing the turmoil, came running in, and she and Olive held Zizi between them, begging to know how she was hurt.

Catching an opportunity, Zizi looked at me, over Mrs. Vail’s shoulder, and the message shot from her eyes was fully as understandable as if she had spoken. It said, “Do not mention any hint of Case Rivers’ possible connection with the Gately murder, and do not mention the snowflake drawn on the blotter in Mr. Gately’s office.”

Yes, quite a lengthy and comprehensive speech to be made without words, but the speaking black eyes said it as clearly as lips could have done.

I nodded my obedience, and then Zizi giggled and with her inimitable impudence, she turned to Olive, and said: “I’m like the White Queen, in ‘Alice,’ I haven’t pricked my finger yet, but I probably shall, some day.”

“What were you screaming about, then?” asked Mrs. Vail, inclined to be angry, while Olive looked amused and mystified.

“Emergency,” and Zizi grinned at her. “First aid to the injured, – or, rather, prevention, which is worth a pound of first aid!”

“You’re crazy!” said Mrs. Vail, a little annoyed at being fooled so. “I thought you were nearly killed!”

“When you knew a lady once who was nearly killed did she yell like that?” asked Zizi, with an innocent smile.

“Yes!” exclaimed Mrs. Vail; “but how did you know I once saw a lady nearly killed?”

“Mind-reading!” replied Zizi, and then Pennington Wise arrived, and we all shamelessly ignored Mrs. Vail and her yarns to listen to his report.

“There’s a lot doing,” he said, “and,” he added, gently, “I’m sorry to bring you unpleasant news, Miss Raynor, but you’ll have to know sooner or later – ”

“I do know,” said Olive, bravely; “you’re going to tell me my guardian was – was not a good man.”

“That is so; it is useless to try to soften the truth. Amos Gately was the receiver of important Government secrets, learned by Sadie Kent, the telegrapher. She carried them to Rodman, who in turn transmitted them to Gately, who, it seems, had a way of getting the information to the enemy. Of course, the secret wireless station, recently discovered, was used, as well as other means of communication. I won’t go into details, Miss Raynor, but Amos Gately was the ‘man higher up,’ who thought himself safe from discovery because of his unimpeachable reputation for integrity, and also because of the infinite precautions he had taken. Indeed, if he had not fallen a victim to the personal charms of ‘The Link,’ his share in the wrong might never have been learned.”

Olive listened to all this, white-faced and still, – her lips a tense, drawn line of scarlet, – her expression a stony calm.

Zizi, watching her closely, and with loving care, slipped her little brown paw into Olive’s hand, and noted with satisfaction the faint answering smile.

“Perhaps,” Olive said, after a thoughtful pause, “it is as well, then, that Uncle Amos did not – did not live to be – disgraced.”

“It is,” said Wise, gravely; “he would have faced a Federal prison had it all been discovered while he lived. That will be Rodman’s fate, – if he is not held for the crime of murder. But I think he will not be. For his alibi clears him and it was to escape the graver charge that he has told so much of the spy business.”

“And so,” I said, “we are as far as ever from the discovery of the murderer?”

“You never can tell,” Wise returned; “it may be we are on the very eve of solving the mystery. Rivers is on the warpath – ”

“I think I ought to tell you, Mr. Wise,” Olive broke in, “that Mr. Rivers was here this morning, and he seems to have a slight glimmer of returning memory.”

“He has? Good! Then it will all come back to him. I’ve been looking up this aphasia-amnesia business, and quite often when the patient begins to recover his memory, it all comes back to him with a bang! Where is Rivers?”

“He went away – I don’t know where – ” Olive’s lips quivered, and so plainly did she show her feelings that we all saw at once she feared that Rivers had fled, because of his returning memory.

“It’s all right,” declared Zizi, stanchly; “Mr. Rivers is white clear through! He’ll come back, soon, and he’ll bring the paper he’s after.”

“What paper?” demanded Wise.

“The poipers! the poipers!” scoffed Zizi; “did you ever know a case, oh, Wise Guy, that didn’t revolve round and hinge on a poiper? Well, the dockyments in the case is what he’s a-soichin’ for! See?”

When Zizi acted the gamine she was irresistibly funny and we all laughed, which was what she wanted to lighten the strain of the situation.

Rivers was a mystery, indeed. Every one of us, I think, felt that he might be connected with the Gately affair. All of us, that is, but Olive, – and who could tell what she thought?

But Pennington Wise had a question to ask, and he put it straightforwardly.

“That day you were lured to Sadie ‘The Link’s’ house, Miss Raynor,” he began, “you said, or rather, you agreed when Rodman said you were his fiancée. Will you tell us why?”

Olive flushed, but more with anger than embarrassment.

“The man threatened me,” she said, “he first tried to make love to me, and when I repulsed him, he told me that unless I would promise to marry him he would tell something that would be a living reproach to the memory of my dead guardian. I declared he could say nothing against Amos Gately. Then he whispered that Mr. Gately was a spy! I couldn’t believe it, and – yet, I had seen just a few things, – had heard just a few words, that filled my heart with a fear that Mr. Rodman was speaking the truth. So I thought I’d better say what he asked me to, though I knew I’d kill myself rather than ever marry him. But I wasn’t greatly afraid, except that I knew I was in his power. Oh, I don’t like to think about that day!”

Olive broke down and hid her face in her hands, while Zizi’s thin little arms crept round her and held her close.

“Only one more query, Miss Raynor,” and Wise spoke very gently; “are you, – were you engaged to Amory Manning?”

Olive lifted her face, and spoke composedly: “No, Mr. Wise, I was never engaged to him. We were good friends, and I think he had a high regard for me, but no words of affection ever passed between us. I admire and respect Mr. Manning as a friend, but that is all.” And then a lovely blush suffused Olive’s face, followed quickly by a look of pain, – and we knew she was thinking of Rivers, and his possible defection. Never have I seen a woman’s face so easy to read as Olive Raynor’s. Perhaps because of her pure, transparent character, for in my enforced intimacy with her, as I managed her estate, I had learned that she was an exceptional nature, high-minded, fine, and conscientious in all things.

“I cannot think,” Olive went on, “that Mr. Manning will ever be found. I think he has been killed.”

“Why?” asked Wise, briefly.

“You know, he was a Secret Service man. Many times he has had the narrowest escape with his life, and – I’m not sure of this, – but I think now, he was on the track of the nest of spies with which my – with which Mr. Gately was mixed up. A few slight incidents, otherwise unexplainable, make this clear to me now, though I never suspected it before. My uncle disliked Mr. Manning, and it may have been because he knew he was in the Government’s employ. And though I know Mr. Gately would never have moved a finger to put Amory Manning out of the way, yet George Rodman may have done so. Oh, it’s all so mysterious, so complicated, – but of this I’m sure, Case Rivers is in no way connected with the whole matter. He is a man from some distant city, he is unacquainted in New York, and he – ” here Olive broke down utterly and fell into a hysterical burst of weeping.

Zizi rose and gently urged Olive to go with her from the room.

A silence fell as the two girls disappeared. It was broken by Mrs. Vail, who remarked, dolefully, “I do hope that nice Mr. Rivers will come back, for dear Olive is so in love with him.”

“What!” cried Pennington Wise, “Miss Raynor in love with Rivers! That will never do! Why, we’ve no idea who he is. He may be a fortune-hunter of the lowest type!”

“Oh, no, no!” denied Mrs. Vail, “he is a most courteous gentleman.”

“That doesn’t count,” stormed Wise; “although, perhaps, I spoke too strongly just now when I called him names!”

“Especially as he has no name!” I put in; “in fact, he calls himself a self-named man!”

Wise smiled: “He is a witty chap,” he conceded, “and I like him immensely. But it’s up to us, Brice, to safeguard Miss Raynor’s interests, and a possible suitor for the hand of an heiress ought, at least, to know his own ancestors! And then, again, unless he recovers his memory and can deny it, there’s a fair chance that he had some hand in the Gately murder. We can’t get away from that snowflake pattern drawn on the blotter. Rivers was there, in that room, he sat at Gately’s desk, opposite Gately himself, – I mean, of course, this is the way I reconstruct the matter, – and if he didn’t shoot Gately then and there, at least, we have no proof that he didn’t.”

“I think he did,” I admitted, for Wise’s statement of the matter was convincing, – and beside, Norah thought so, too.

“Well, you think again!” came in a wild little voice, and there was Zizi at my elbow fairly shaking her little clenched fist in my face. “Mr. Badman Brice, you’ve got a lot of follow-up thinks a-coming to you, and you’d better begin ’em right now!”

She looked like a little fury as she danced around my chair and exploded the vials of her wrath. “That Mr. Rivers is a perfectly good man, – I know! He and Miss Olive are in love, – but they don’t hardly know it themselves, – bless ’em! And Mr. Rivers he won’t tell her, anyway, ’cause he’s a nobleman, – one of Nature’s maybe, – and again, maybe he’s a real one from Canada, or wherever he hails from. But, anyway, he no more killed anybody than I did!”

“All right, Ziz, – bully for you! As a loyal friend you’re there with the goods!” Wise smiled at her. “But after all, you’ve got only your loyalty to bank on. You don’t know all this.”

“I’ve got a hunch,” said Zizi, pounding one little fist into the other palm, “and when it comes to certainty, – Death and Taxes have nothing on my hunches!”

CHAPTER XVIII

Clear as Crystal

“Hello, people! What’s the matter, Zizi? I’ll be on your side! Bank on me, little one, to the last ditch. And, by jumping Jupiter, Brice, I believe the last ditch is coming my way! No, I haven’t got a strangle-hold on that eloping memory of mine yet, but I ’ave ’opes. I’ve had a glimmer of a gleam of a ray of light on my dark, mysterious past, and I beflew myself straight to good little old Doctor Rankin, who’s my Trouble Man every time. And he says that it’s the beginning of the end. That any day, almost any hour now, I may burst forth a full-memoried and properly christened citizen.”

“Good for you, old chap,” and thrilled at the elation in his tones, I held out my hand. “Go in and win!”

“Oh, won’t it be fine when you remember?” cried Mrs. Vail, wringing her hands in excitement; “why, I knew a man once – ”

“Yes,” Rivers encouraged her, in his kindly way, “what happened to the lucky chap?”

“Why, he was affected something as you are, – or, as you were – ” but Wise couldn’t stand for what seemed likely to be a long story.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Vail,” he interrupted her, “but, really, I must run away now, and I want a word or two with Mr. Rivers first.”

The good lady subsided, but it was plain to be seen she was disappointed.

“May I come in?” and a smiling Olive appeared in the doorway. “Am I wanted?”

“Are you wanted?” the eager, hungry smile Rivers gave her was pathetic. For it was so spontaneous, so gladly welcoming that it was as if a light was suddenly extinguished when the man, on second thought, hid his real feelings and advanced with a courteous but rather formal air.

“You’re always wanted,” he resumed, lightly, but the joy was gone from his tones, and a mere friendly greeting resulted. Surely, he was a gentleman, but he would make no advances while uncertain of his claim in full to that title.

And then, he looked at her curiously, as if wondering whether she would hold any place in his restored memory, – should the restoration really occur.

It was Zizi who broke the silence that fell on us all.

“I want my way, Penny,” she said, in such a wistful, pleading tone, that I felt sure no breathing human heart could refuse her.

“What is your way, Zizi?” Wise said, gently.

“I want us all to go – all of us, – over to Mr. Gately’s office – ”

“Come ahead!” cried Rivers; “I promised old Brice, here, that I’d go this very day, and I broke my appointment. Sorry, old man, but I had to see Friend Doctor, on the jump. Let’s go now, in accordance with the Witch’s whim, and we’ll take the big wagon, and all go.”

He often called Zizi the Witch, or the Elf-child, and she liked it from him, though she usually resented any familiarity.

She smiled at him, but I noted an undercurrent of sadness in her gaze, and I knew she was thinking of the evidence of the snow crystal.

For though Zizi liked Rivers a lot, and though she really had faith in his innocence of wrongdoing, yet her whole fealty was to Pennington Wise, and her hunch about the snowflake drawing might lead to disastrous results in more ways than one.

Olive shrank from going to her guardian’s office, – she had never been there since the tragedy, – but a few whispered words from Zizi persuaded her to agree to accompany us.

And to help matters, I told her that if she preferred not to go into Mr. Gately’s rooms, she could remain in my office with Norah, while we went.

Mrs. Vail insisted on being of the party, and ran briskly off to get her bonnet.

The atmosphere seemed peculiarly charged with a feeling of impending disaster, and yet, not one of us would have held back. Pennington Wise was very grave and quiet; Zizi, on the other hand, was as one electrified. She sprang about with quick, darting motions, she giggled almost hysterically and then suddenly became most gentle and tender. She ran for Olive’s wraps herself, and bringing them, put them on with the careful air of a mother dressing her child.

Olive, herself, was as one dazed. She, now and then, looked toward Rivers with a shy, yet wistful glance, and he looked back with a big, hearty smile that seemed to warm her very soul.

We piled into the big touring car and made a quick run to the Puritan Building.

Then we all went to my office first. Norah did the honors as prettily as any hostess in her own home, and her ready tact helped Olive to overcome her dread of the place.

“Well,” said Rivers, at last, “what are we waiting for? I thought we were to go over to Mr. Gately’s rooms. Perhaps Miss Raynor and Mrs. Vail would prefer to stay here with Miss MacCormack.”

“No,” said Olive, firmly, “I want to go, too.”

Norah looked at her uncertainly. Then, probably realizing that for Olive to remain behind would be harder than to face whatever might happen, she said, quite casually, “Very well, Miss Raynor, let us all go.”

I think we were all imbued with a sense of fear, a sort of premonition that the visit across the hall would be productive of grave results.

Rivers was the most light-hearted of the party, and yet I somehow felt that his cheerfulness was forced.

“The keys, Brice?” he said; “oh, you have them. All right, my boy, go ahead.”

And then the same stillness that was on the rest of us fell on him, too, and we entered the rooms in silence.

I went first, through Jenny’s room, on to the middle room, and paused just beyond the desk.

Rivers was next, but Zizi pushed her lithe little body through the group, and came through the door just ahead of him.

Rivers entered with the strangest look I have ever seen on any human face. It was a transition, – not sudden but gradual, – from the dark of forgetfulness to the dawn of memory.

And then, just as he neared Amos Gately’s desk, Zizi, without seeming insistence, – indeed, without seeming intent, – guided him to the chair opposite Mr. Gately’s desk-chair.

Mechanically, almost unconsciously, Rivers dropped into the seat and sat at the great table-desk, – just where, presumably, the slayer of Amos Gately had sat.

With one of her sudden, swift motions, Zizi put the telephone receiver into his left hand, which involuntarily opened to take it, and thus exposed to view the snow crystal drawn on the blotter.

A dead silence fell on us all as Rivers sat there staring at the little sketch. He fairly devoured it with his eyes, his face, meanwhile, becoming set, – like a face of stone.

Then, raising his blank, staring eyes, his gaze sought out Olive and, looking straight at her, he gave a low, piercing cry, – wrung from him as from a soul in mortal agony, – and said:

“I killed Amos Gately!”

I think the scene that followed this announcement was the strangest I have ever experienced. For myself, I felt a sudden sinking, as if the bottom had fallen out of the universe. In fact, a whimsical idea flashed through my stunned brain that I was “falling through the earth,” – or into a bottomless pit.

The white faces that I looked at meant nothing to me, – I saw them as in a dream, so dazed was my intelligence.

And then, they assumed their individuality and I saw that Olive’s lovely countenance was a complete blank; like me, she failed to grasp the full meaning of Rivers’ confession.

Mrs. Vail, her eyes closed, lay back limply in a chair, and groaned audibly, while Norah buried her face in a nearby silken curtain and sobbed.

Pennington Wise looked like a man who has just heard the worst, – but who expected it. However, the shock had unnerved him, I could see by his tightly clenched hands and set lips, as he strove to control himself.

Rivers sat like a stone statue, only his eyes, desperate in their concentration, showed the fearful mental strain he was suffering.

Zizi, – bless her! – stood behind him, – hovering, watchful, – more like a guardian angel than a Nemesis, and with her eerie, elfin face full of anxious suspense.

Rivers drew a long sigh; he looked round the room, appraisingly, his quick, darting glance taking in every detail, he scanned the desk and all the things on it, he looked through into the farther room, – the Blue Room, – and saw the great war map hanging on the wall, and then he rose, straightened his broad shoulders, and shook himself as one who arouses from sleep.

Breathlessly, we who watched, saw a great light come into his eyes, – a new self-respect, a new sense of importance showed in his whole bearing and, with a smile of infinite tenderness he looked at Olive and said:

“I am Amory Manning!”

Zizi yelled. There is no other word for it. Her shrieks of joy filled the room, and she danced about waving her thin little arms like a veritable pixy.

“It’s all right!” she cried, in ecstacy, “Oh, Penny, it’s all right!” and with a spring across the room, she landed in Wise’s arms, who patted her shoulder, and said:

“There, there, Ziz, don’t flatten out now!”

Meantime, Rivers was finding himself. He stood still, with his hands tightly grasping the chair back, and his face working as he received and classified the memories crowding thickly back upon his burdened brain.

“Wait a minute,” he said, struggling with his thoughts, “I know all about it, but – ”

“Amory!” cried Olive, “that’s your voice! I know you now!”

We could all note the change in his speech. Until this moment Rivers had spoken in the peculiar tones I had noticed the first time I met him. Monotonous tones, almost devoid of inflection. Now, his voice was normal, and even more melodious than the average.

Surely, the man had found himself, but if he was really Amory Manning, – well, my mind refused to go further.

And he had also said that he killed Amos Gately!

But I felt no need of asking questions, or even of wondering, for the man before us looked so responsible, so capable of self-explanation, that like the rest of the assembly, I merely waited his further speech.

“There’s so much to be told,” he said, and his smile changed to a look of pain. He gave another glance at Olive, and even took a step toward her, – then he seemed to collapse, and sinking back into the chair he had vacated, he hid his face in his hands and groaned.

“Go on!” whispered an imperious little voice, and Zizi was behind him again, her hand on his shoulder, her tones urgent and encouraging.

“I will!” and Manning, for we felt no doubt of his identity now, – spoke firmly and bravely. He did not look at Olive, and it was clear that this was intentional.

Instead, he turned to Zizi, and seemed to address himself to her.

He couldn’t have done better if he wanted helpful sympathy, for the black eyes that gazed at him were soft and tender with something like a maternal sweetness.

This mood of Zizi’s, rarely shown, was one of her chiefest charms, and Manning gratefully accepted it, and let it help him.

“Shall I tell all, – now and here?” he asked, glancing at Pennington Wise.

“Yes,” said the detective, after a moment’s thought. “Yes, if you will.”

“Very well, then.” Manning was entirely composed now, but it was evident he was holding himself together by a strong effort. Also, he carefully refrained from looking in Olive’s direction.

This alarmed me a little, for to my mind, it argued him a guilty man, and, that, in fact, he had declared himself to be.

Norah and I exchanged glances of understanding, – or, rather, of not understanding, – and Manning began his story.

“I think I will begin right here,” he said, in a slow, methodical way, and with the air of one who has a disagreeable duty to perform, but who has no intention of shirking any part of it.