The Man Who Fell Through the Earth

“How do you know they were quarreling?” interposed Pitt’s cold voice.

“I couldn’t help knowing, sir. I heard Mr. Gately’s usually pleasant voice raised as if in anger, and I heard the visitor’s voice, high and angry too.”

“You didn’t know the visitor’s voice? you had never heard it before?” asked Pitt.

“No, sir; I’ve no idea who he could have been!” and the foolish little Jenny bridled and looked like an innocent ingénue.

I broke in.

“But didn’t you admit all visitors or callers to Mr. Gately?” I demanded.

Jenny looked at me. “No, sir,” she replied; “I received all who came to my door, but there were others!”

“Where did they enter?” asked Pitt.

“Oh, they came in at the other doors. You see, I only looked after my own room. Of course, if Miss Raynor came, – or anybody that Mr. Gately knew personally – ” Jenny paused discreetly.

“And did Miss Raynor come this morning?” I asked.

“Yes,” Jenny replied, “she did. That is, not this morning, but early this afternoon. I know Miss Raynor very well.”

Mr. Pitt seemed a little disturbed from his usual calm, and with evident reluctance said to me, “I think, Mr. Brice, that this matter is more serious than I thought. It seems to me that it would be wise to refer the whole matter to Mr. Talcott, the secretary of the Trust Company.”

Now, I was only too glad to refer the matter to anybody who could be considered authoritative, and I agreed at once.

“Moreover,” said Mr. Pitt, as he gave an anxious glance at Jenny, “I think it well to take this young woman along, as she is the secretary of Mr. Gately and may know – ”

“Oh, no, sir,” cried Jenny, “I don’t know anything! Please don’t ask me questions!”

Jenny’s perturbation seemed to make Mr. Pitt’s intentions more definite, and he corralled the young woman, as he also swept me along.

In a moment, we were all going into the offices of the Puritan Trust Company.

And here, Mr. Pitt faded from view, and he left us in the august presence of Mr. Talcott, the secretary of the Company.

I found myself in the quiet, pleasant atmosphere of the usual banker’s office, and Mr. Talcott, a kindly gentleman of middle-aged aristocracy, began to question me.

“It seems to me, Mr. Brice,” he began, “that this story of yours about Mr. Gately is not only important but mysterious.”

“I think so, Mr. Talcott,” I responded, “and yet, the whole crux of the matter is whether Mr. Gately is, at present, in some one of his offices, or, perhaps at his home, or whether his whereabouts are undetermined.”

“Of course, Mr. Brice,” the secretary went on, “it is none of our business where Mr. Gately is, outside of his banking hours; and yet, in view of Mr. Pitt’s report of your account, it is incumbent upon us, the officers of the Trust Company, to look into the matter. Will you tell me, please, all you know of the circumstances pertaining to Mr. Gately’s disappearance, – if he has disappeared?”

“If he has disappeared!” I snapped back; “and, pray, sir, if he has not disappeared, where is he?”

Mr. Talcott, still unmoved, responded, “That is aside the question, for the moment. What do you know of the matter, Mr. Brice?”

I replied by telling him all I knew of the whole affair, from the time I first saw the shadows until the moment when I went down in the elevator and met Mr. Pitt.

He listened with deepest attention, and then, seemingly unimpressed by my story, began to question Jenny.

This volatile young lady had regained her mental balance, and was more than ready to dilate upon her experiences.

“Yes, sir,” she said, “I was sitting at my desk, and nobody had come in for an hour or so, when, all of a sudden, I heard talking in Mr. Gately’s room.”

“Do callers usually go through your room?” Mr. Talcott inquired.

“Yes, sir, – that is, unless they’re Mr. Gately’s personal friends, – like Miss Raynor or somebody.”

“Who is Miss Raynor?” I broke in.

“His ward,” said Mr. Talcott, briefly. “Go on, Jenny; nobody had gone through your room?”

“No, sir; and so, I was startled to hear somebody scrapping with Mr. Gately.”

“Scrapping?”

“Yes, sir; sort of quarreling, you know; I – ”

“Did you listen?”

“Not exactly that, sir, but I couldn’t help hearing the angry voices, though I didn’t make out the words.”

“Be careful, Jenny,” Talcott’s tones were stern, “don’t assume more than you can be sure was meant.”

“Then I can’t assume anything,” said Jenny, crisply, “for I didn’t hear a single word, – only I did feel sure the two of ’em was scrapping.”

“You heard, then, angry voices?”

“Yes, sir, just that. And right straight afterward, a pistol shot.”

“In Mr. Gately’s room?”

“Yes, sir. And then I ran in there to see what it meant, – ”

“Weren’t you frightened?”

“No, sir; I didn’t stop to think there was anything to be frightened of. But when I got in there, and saw – ”

“Well, go on, – what did you see?”

“A man, with a pistol in his hand, running out of the door – ”

“Which door?”

“The door of number three, – that’s Mr. Gately’s own particular private room, – well, he was running out of that door, with a pistol in his hand, – and the pistol was smoking, sir!”

Jenny’s foolish little face was red with excitement and her lips trembled as she told her story. It was impossible to disbelieve her, – there could be no doubt of her fidelity to detail.

But Talcott was imperturbable.

“The pistol was smoking,” he repeated, “where did the man go with it?”

“I don’t know, sir,” said Jenny; “I ran out to the hall after him, – I think I saw him run down the staircase, but I, – I was so scared with it all, I jumped into the elevator, – Minny’s elevator, – and came downstairs myself.”

“And then?” prompted Talcott.

“Then, sir, – oh, I don’t know, – I think I lost my head – it was all so queer, you know – ”

“Yes, yes,” said Talcott, soothingly, – he was a most courteous man, “yes, Miss Jenny, – I don’t wonder you were upset. Now, I think, if you will accompany us, we will go upstairs to Mr. Gately’s rooms.”

It seemed to me that Mr. Talcott did not pay sufficient attention to my presence, but I forgave this, because I felt sure he would be only too glad to avail himself of my services later on. So I followed him and the tow-headed Jenny up to the offices of the bank president.

We did not go up in Minny’s elevator, but in another one, and our appearance at the door of Mr. Gately’s office number one, was met by Norah, – my Norah, who received us with an air of grave importance.

She was unawed by the sight of Mr. Talcott, imposing though he was, and was clearly scornful of Jenny, who had already assumed a jaunty manner.

But Jenny was quite self-possessed, and with a toss of her head at Norah she started to explain.

“I was in here, at my desk, Mr. Talcott,” she began, volubly; “and in Mr. Gately’s office, I heard somebody talking pretty sharp – ”

“A man?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How did he get in, if not through your room?”

“Oh, people often went through the hall doors of number two or three, and sometimes they came through my room.”

“Who went through your room this afternoon?”

“Only three people. An old man named Smith – ”

“What was his business?”

“I’m not quite sure, but it had to do with his getting a part salary from Mr. Gately; he was a down-and-outer, and he hoped Mr. Gately would help him through.”

“And did he?”

“Oh, yes, sir! Mr. Gately always was soft-hearted and never turned down anybody in need.”

“And the other callers?”

“There was an old lady, to see about her husband’s pension, – and – ”

“Well? I suppose not all the callers were beneficiaries?”

“No, sir. One was a – a lady.”

“A lady? Describe her.”

“Why, she was Miss Olive Raynor, – Mr. Gately’s ward.”

“Oh, Miss Raynor. Well, there’s no use discussing her. Were there any other ladies?”

“No, sir.”

“Nor any other men?”

“No, sir; that is, not through my room. You know, people could go in to Mr. Gately’s private offices without going through my room.”

“Yes, I know. But couldn’t you see them?”

“Only dimly, – through the clouded glass window between my room and Mr. Gately’s.”

“And what did you see of the callers in Mr. Gately’s room just before you heard the shot fired?”

Jenny looked dubious. She seemed inclined not to tell all she knew. But Mr. Talcott spoke sharply.

“Come,” he said; “speak up. Tell all you know.”

“I didn’t hear anybody come in,” said Jenny, slowly; “and then, all of a sudden, I heard loud voices, – and then, I heard quarrelly words – ”

“Quarrelly?”

“Yes, sir, as if somebody was threatening Mr. Gately. I didn’t hear clearly, but I heard enough to make me look through the window between the two rooms – ”

“This window?”

“Yes, sir,” and Jenny nodded at the clouded glass pane between her room and Mr. Gately’s office. “And I saw sort of shadows, – and then in a minute I saw the shadows get up – you know, Mr. Gately and another man, – and then, – I heard a pistol fired off, and I yelled!”

“It was your scream I heard, then!” I exclaimed.

“I don’t know,” Jenny replied, “but I did scream, because I am fearfully scared of pistol shots, and I didn’t know who was shooting.”

“What did you do next?” asked Mr. Talcott, in his quiet way.

“I ran into Mr. Gately’s room – ”

“And you weren’t frightened?”

“Not for myself. I was frightened of the shot, – I always am afraid of firearms, but I wanted to know what was doing. So, I opened the door and ran in – ”

“Yes; and?”

“I saw nobody in Mr. Gately’s room, – I mean this room next to mine, – so I ran on, to the third room, – I am not supposed to go in there, – but I did, and there I saw a man just going out to the hall and in his hand was a smoking revolver.”

“Out to the hall? Did you follow him?”

“Of course I did! But he ran down the staircase. I didn’t go down that way, because I thought I’d get down quicker and head him off by going down in the elevator.”

“So you went down in the elevator?”

“Yes, sir. It was Minny’s elevator, – Minny’s my sister, – and after I got in, – and saw Minny, I got sort of hysterical and nervous, and I couldn’t remember what I was about.”

“What became of the man?” asked Talcott, uninterested in Jenny’s nerves.

“I don’t know, sir. I was so rattled, – and I only saw him a moment, – and – ”

“Would you know him if you saw him again?”

“I don’t know, – I don’t think so.”

“I wish you could say yes, – it may be of gravest importance.”

But Jenny seemed to resent Mr. Talcott’s desire.

“I don’t see how you could expect it, sir,” she said, pettishly; “I saw him only in a glimpse, – I was scared to death at the sound of the pistol shot, – and when I burst into this room and found Mr. Gately gone I was so kerflummixed I didn’t know what I was about! That I didn’t!”

“And yet,” Norah remarked, quietly, “after you went downstairs and these gentlemen found you in the lunchroom, you were perfectly calm and collected – ”

“Nothing of the sort!” blazed back Jenny; “I’m all on edge! My nerves are completely unstrung!”

“Quite so,” said Mr. Talcott, kindly, “and I suggest that you go back to the lunchroom, Miss Jenny, and rest and calm yourself. But please remain there, until I call for you again.”

Jenny looked a little disappointed at being thus thrust out of the limelight, but as Mr. Talcott held the door open for her, she had no choice but to depart, and we presently heard her go down in her sister’s elevator.

“Now,” Mr. Talcott resumed, “we will look into this matter further.

“You see,” he proceeded, speaking, to my surprise, as much to Norah as to myself, “I can’t really apprehend that anything serious has happened to Mr. Gately. For, if the shot which Jenny heard, and which you, Mr. Brice, heard, – had killed Mr. Gately, the body, of course, would be here. Again, if the shot had wounded him seriously, he would in some way contrive to make his condition known. Therefore, I feel sure that Mr. Gately is either absolutely all right, or, if slightly wounded, he is in some anteroom or in some friend’s room nearby. And, if this is the case, – I mean, if our Mr. Gately is ill or hurt, we must find him. Therefore, careful search must be made.”

“But,” spoke up Norah, “perhaps Mr. Gately went home. There is no positive assurance that he did not.”

Mr. Talcott looked at Norah keenly. He didn’t seem to regard her as an impertinent young person, but he took her suggestion seriously.

“That may be,” he agreed. “I think I will call up his residence.”

He did so, and I gathered from the remarks he made on the telephone that Amos Gately was not at his home, nor was his niece, Miss Olive Raynor, there.

Talcott made another call or two, and I finally learned that he had located Miss Raynor.

For, “Very well,” he said; “I shall hope to see you here in ten or fifteen minutes, then.”

He hung up the receiver, – he had used the instrument in Jenny’s room, and not the upset one on Mr. Gately’s desk, – and he vouchsafed:

“I think it is all right. Miss Raynor says she saw her uncle here this afternoon, shortly after luncheon, and he said he was about to leave the office for the day. She thinks he is at his club or on the way home. However, she is coming around here, as she is in the limousine, and fearing a storm, she wants to take Mr. Gately home.”

CHAPTER III

The Elevator

Mr. Talcott returned to the middle room and looked more carefully at the disturbed condition of things around and on Mr. Gately’s desk.

“It is certain that Mr. Gately left the room in haste,” he said, “for here is what is undoubtedly a private and personal checkbook left open. I shall take on myself the responsibility of putting it away, for the moment, at least.”

Mr. Talcott closed the checkbook and put it in a small drawer of the desk.

“Why don’t you put away that hatpin, too?” suggested Norah, eying the pin curiously. “I don’t think it belongs to Miss Raynor.”

“Take it up by the edge,” I warned; “I may be jumping to conclusions, but there is a possibility that a crime has been committed, and we must preserve what may be evidence.”

“Quite right, Mr. Brice,” agreed Talcott, and he gingerly picked up the pin by taking the edges of its ornate head between his thumb and forefinger. The head was an Egyptian scarab, – whether a real one or not I couldn’t tell, – and was set on a flat backing of gold. This back might easily retain the thumb print of the woman who had drawn that pin from her hat in Mr. Gately’s office. And who, Norah surmised, was the person who had fired the pistol that I had heard discharged.

Placing the hatpin in the drawer with the checkbook, Mr. Talcott locked the drawer and slipped the key in his pocket.

I wondered if he had seen some entry in the book that made him wish to hide Mr. Gately’s private affairs from curious eyes.

“There is indeed a possibility of something wrong,” he went on, “at first I couldn’t think it, but seeing this room, that overturned chair and upset telephone, in connection with the shooting, as you heard it, Mr. Brice, it certainly seems ominous. And most mysterious! Two people quarreling, a shot fired by one or other of them, and no sign of the assailant, his victim, or his weapon! Now, there are three propositions, one of which must be the truth. Mr. Gately is alive and well, he is wounded, or he is killed. The last seems impossible, as his body could not have been taken away without discovery; if he were wounded, I think that, too, would have to be known; so, I still feel that things are all right. But until we can prove that, we must continue our search.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “search for Mr. Gately and also, search for the man who was here and who quarreled with him.”

“Or the woman,” insisted Norah.

“I can’t think it was a woman,” I said. “Although the shadow was indistinct, it struck me as that of a man, the motions and attitudes were masculine, as I recall them. The hatpin may have been left here this morning or any time.”

“The visitor must be found,” declared Mr. Talcott, “but I don’t know how to go about it.”

“Ask the elevator girls,” I suggested; “one of them must have brought the caller up here.”

We did this, but the attendants of the three elevators all denied having brought anyone up to Mr. Gately’s offices since the old man and the elderly lady who had been mentioned by Jenny.

Miss Raynor had been brought up by one of the girls also, but we couldn’t quite ascertain whether she had come before or after the other two.

While waiting for Miss Raynor to come again, I tried to do a little scientific deduction from any evidence I might notice.

But I gained small information. The desk-blotter, inkwell, and pens were in immaculate order, doubtless they were renewed every day by a careful attendant. All the minor accessories, such as paperweights and letter openers were of individual styles and of valuable materials.

There was elaborate smoking paraphernalia and a beautiful single rose in a tall silver vase.

“Can you read anything bearing on the mystery, Mr. Brice,” asked Talcott, noting my thoughtful scrutiny.

“No; nothing definite. In fact, nothing of any importance. I see that on one occasion, at least, Mr. Gately kept a chauffeur waiting an unconscionably long time, and the man was finally obliged to go away without him.”

“Well, now, how do you guess that?” and Mr. Talcott looked decidedly interested.

“Like most of those spectacular deductions,” I responded, “the explanation takes all the charm out of it. There is a carriage check on the desk, – one of those queer cards with a lot of circular holes in it. That must have been given to Mr. Gately when he left his car, or perhaps a taxicab, outside of some hotel or shop. As he didn’t give it up, the chauffeur must have waited for him until he was tired.”

“He may have gone off with some friend, and sent word to the man not to wait,” offered Talcott.

“But then he would have sent the call-check out to identify him. What a queer-looking thing it is,” and I picked up the card, with its seven round holes in a cabalistic array.

“Perhaps the caller left it,” spoke up Norah; “perhaps he, or she, came here in a cab, or a car, and – ”

“No, Norah,” I said, “such checks are not given out at a building of this sort. Only at hotels, theaters, or shops.”

“It’s of no importance,” and Mr. Talcott gave a slight shrug of impatience; “the thing is, where is Mr. Gately?”

Restless and unable to sit still, I wandered into the third room. I had heard of this sanctum, but I had never expected to see inside of it. The impulse came to me now to make the most of this chance, for when Mr. Gately returned I might be summarily, if courteously, ejected.

The effect of the room was that of dignified splendor. It had evidently been done but not overdone by a decorator who was a true artist. The predominant color was a soft, deep blue, and the rugs and textile fabrics were rich and luxurious. There were a few fine paintings in gold frames and the large war map occupied the greater part of a paneled wall space. The chairs were spacious and cushioned, and a huge davenport stood in front of a wide fireplace, where some logs were cheerily burning.

A cozy place to entertain friends, I ruminated, and then, turning back to the middle room, I reconstructed the movements of the two people I had seen shadowed.

“As they rose,” I said to Mr. Talcott, “Amos Gately was behind this big table-desk, and the other man, – for I still think it was a man, – was opposite. The other man upset his chair, on rising, so he must have risen hastily. Then the shot was fired, and the two disappeared. As Jenny came into the room at once, and saw the strange man going through the third room and on out to the stairs, we are forced to the conclusion that Mr. Gately preceded him.”

“Down the stairs?” asked Mr. Talcott.

“Yes, for the flight, at least, or Jenny would have seen him. Also, I should have seen him, had he remained in this hall.”

“And the woman?” asked Norah, “what became of her?”

“I don’t think there was any woman present at that time,” I returned. “The hatpin was, doubtless, left by a woman caller, but we’ve no reason to suppose she was there at the same time the shooting occurred.”

“I can’t think of any reason why anyone should shoot Mr. Gately,” said Talcott, musingly. “He is a most estimable gentleman, the soul of honor and uprightness.”

“Of course,” I assented; “but has he no personal enemies?”

“None that I know of, and it is highly improbable, anyway. He is not a politician, or, indeed, a public man of any sort. He is exceedingly charitable, but he rarely makes known his good deeds. He has let it be known that he wishes his benefactions kept quiet.”

“What are his tastes?” I asked, casually.

“Simple in the extreme. He rarely takes a vacation, and though his home is on a magnificent scale, he doesn’t entertain very much. I have heard that Miss Raynor pleads in vain for him to be more of a society man.”

“She is his ward?”

“Yes; no relation, although she calls him uncle. I believe he was a college chum of Miss Raynor’s father, and when the girl was left alone in the world, he took her to live with him, and took charge of her fortune.”

“A large one?”

“Fairly so, I believe. Enough to tempt the fortune-hunters, anyway, and Mr. Gately frowns on any young man who approaches him with a request for Olive Raynor’s hand.”

“Perhaps the caller today was a suitor.”

“Oh, I hardly think a man would come armed on such an errand. No; to me, the most mysterious thing about it all, is why anyone should desire to harm Mr. Gately. It must have been a homicidal maniac, – if there is really such a being.”

“The most mysterious part to me,” I rejoined, “is how they both got away so quickly. You see, I stood in my doorway opposite, looking at them, and then as soon as I heard the shot I ran to the middle door as fast as I could, then to the third room door, and then back to the first. Of course, had I known which room was which, I should have gone to door number one first. But, as you see, I was in the hall, going from one door to another, and I must have seen the men if they came out into the hall from any door.”

“They left room number three, as you entered number one,” said Norah, carefully thinking it out.

“That must be so, but where did they go? Why, if Mr. Gately went downstairs, has he not been visible since? I can’t help feeling that Amos Gately is unable to move, for some reason or other. May he have been kidnaped? Or is he bound and gagged in some unused room, say on the floor below this?”

“No,” said Talcott, briefly. “Without saying anything about it I put one of the bank clerks on the hunt and I told him to look into every room in the building. As he has not reported, he hasn’t yet found Mr. Gately.”

And then, Olive Raynor arrived.

I shall never forget that first sight of her. Heralded by a fragrant whiff of fresh violets, she came into the first room, and paused at the doorway of the middle room, where we still sat.

Framed in the mahogany door-casing, the lovely bit of femininity seemed a laughing bundle of furs, velvets, and laces.

“What’s the matter?” said a soft, sweet voice. “Has Uncle Amos run away? I hope he is in a sheltered place for there’s a ferocious storm coming up and the wind is blowing a gale.”

The nodding plumes on her hat tossed as she raised her head inquiringly and looked about.

“What do I smell?” she exclaimed; “it’s like – like pistol-smoke!”

“It is,” Mr. Talcott said. “But there’s no pistol here now – ”

“How exciting! What’s it all about? Do tell me.”

Clearly the girl apprehended no serious matter. Her wide-open eyes showed curiosity and interest, but no thought of trouble had as yet come to her.

She stepped further into the room, and throwing back her furs revealed a slender graceful figure, quick of movement and of exquisite poise. Neither dark nor very fair, her wavy brown hair framed a face whose chief characteristic seemed to be its quickly changing expressions. Now smiling, then grave, now wondering, then merry, she looked from one to another of us, her big brown eyes coming to rest at last on Norah.

“Who are you?” she asked, with a lovely smile that robbed the words of all curtness.