The Man Who Fell Through the Earth

This must be the truth, for I heard only one shot, and it must have been the fatal one.

Then, I could only think that the murderer had deliberately, – no, not deliberately, but with exceeding haste, – had put his victim in the elevator and sent the inert body downstairs alone.

This proved the full knowledge of the secret elevator on the part of the assassin, so he must have been a frequenter of Mr. Gately’s rooms, or, at least had been there before, and was sufficiently intimate to know of the private exit.

To learn the man’s identity then, one must look among Mr. Gately’s personal friends, – or, rather, enemies.

I began to feel I was greatly handicapped by my utter ignorance of the bank president’s social or home life. But it might be that in the near future I should again see Miss Raynor, and perhaps in her home, where I could learn something of her late uncle’s habits.

But, returning to matters I did know about, I tried hard to think what course of procedure the murderer probably adopted after his crime.

And the conclusion I reached was all too clear. He had, of course, gone down the stairs, as Jenny had said, for at least a few flights.

Then, I visualized him, regaining his composure, assuming a nonchalant, business-like air, and stopping an elevator on a lower floor, where he stepped in, without notice from the elevator girl or the other passengers.

Just as Rodman had entered from a middle floor, when I was descending with Minny.

Perhaps Rodman was the murderer! I knew him slightly and liked him not at all. I had no earthly reason to suspect him, – only, – he had got on, I remembered, at the seventh floor, and his office was on the tenth. This didn’t seem terribly incriminating, I had to admit, but I made a note of it, and determined to look Mr. Rodman up.

My telephone bell rang, and with a passing wonder at being called up in such a storm, I responded.

To my delight, it proved to be Miss Raynor speaking.

“Forgive me for intruding, Mr. Brice,” she said, in that musical voice of hers, “but I – I am so lonesome, – and there isn’t anyone I want to talk to.”

“Talk to me, then, Miss Raynor,” I said, gladly. “Can I be of any service to you – in any way?”

“Oh, I think so. I want to see you tomorrow. Can you come to see me?”

“Yes, indeed. At what time?”

“Come up in the morning, – that is, if it’s perfectly convenient for you.”

“Certainly; in the morning, then. About ten?”

“Yes, please. They – they brought Uncle home.”

“Did they? I’m glad that was allowed. Are you alone?”

“Yes; and I’m frightfully lonely and desolate. It’s such a terrible night I wouldn’t ask any of my friends to come to stay with me.”

“You expected Mr. Manning to call, I thought.”

“I did; but he hasn’t come. Of course, the reason is that it isn’t a fit night for anyone to go out. I telephoned his rooms, but he wasn’t in. So I don’t know what to think. I’d suppose he’d telephone even if he couldn’t get here.”

“Traffic must be pretty nearly impossible,” I said, “it was awful going when I reached home soon after five, and now, there’s a young blizzard raging.”

“Yes, I couldn’t expect him; and perhaps the telephone wires are affected.”

“This one isn’t, at any rate, so chat with me as long as you will. You can get some friend to come to stay with you tomorrow, can’t you?”

“Oh, yes; I could have got somebody tonight, but I hadn’t the heart to ask it. I’m all right, Mr. Brice, I’m not a very nervous person, – only, it is sort of awful. Our housekeeper is a nice old thing, but she’s nearly in hysterics and I sent her to bed. I’ll say good-by now, and I’ll be glad to see you tomorrow.”

CHAPTER V

Olive Raynor

I did see Miss Olive Raynor the next day, but not in the surroundings of her own home as I had expected.

For I received a rather peremptory summons to present myself at police headquarters at a shockingly early hour, and not long after my arrival there, Miss Raynor appeared also.

The police had spent a busy night, and had unearthed more or less evidence and had collected quite a cloud of witnesses.

Chief of Police Martin conducted the inquiry, and I soon found that my story was considered of utmost importance, and that I was expected to relate it to the minutest details.

This I did, patiently answering repeated questions and asseverating facts.

But I could give no hint as to the identity, or even as to the appearance of the man who quarreled with Mr. Gately. I could, and did say that he seemed to be a burly figure, or, at least, the shadow showed a large frame and broad shoulders.

“Had he a hat on?” asked the Chief.

“No; and I should say he had either a large head or thick, bushy hair, for the shadow showed that much.”

“Did you not see his face in profile?”

“If so, it was only momentarily, and the clouded glass of the door, in irregular waves, entirely prevented a clear-cut profile view.”

“And after the two men rose, they disappeared at once?”

“They wrestled; – it seemed, I should say, that Mr. Gately was grabbed by the other man, and tried to make a getaway, whereupon the other man shot him.”

“Are you quite sure, Mr. Brice,” and the Chief fixed me with his sharp blue eye, “that you are not reconstructing this affair in the light of the later discovery of Mr. Gately’s fate?”

I thought this over carefully before replying, and then said: “It’s quite possible I may have unconsciously done so. But I distinctly saw the two figures come together in a desperate struggle, then disappear, doubtless into the third room, and then I heard the shot. That is all I can state positively.”

“You, then, went right across the hall and tried to enter?”

“Yes; tried to enter at the middle door, where I had seen the men.”

“And next?”

“Finding that door fastened, I tried the third, because the men had seemed to disappear in that direction.”

“The third room was also locked?”

“Yes; or at least the door would not open from the outside. Then I went back to the door number one.”

“And that opened at once?”

“Yes; had I tried that first, I should probably have seen the men, – or the girl, Jenny.”

“Perhaps. Could you recognize the head of the visitor if you should see it again shadowed on the door?”

“I am not sure, but I doubt if I could. I could tell if it were a very different type of head, but if merely similar, I could not swear it was the same man.”

“H’m. We must make the experiment. At least it may give us a hint in the right direction.”

He questioned me further as to my knowledge of Mr. Gately and his affairs, but when he found I knew almost nothing of those and had been a tenant of the Puritan Building but a very short time he suddenly lost interest in me and turned his attention to Miss Raynor.

Olive Raynor had come alone and unattended. This surprised me, for I had imagined the young ladies of the higher social circles never went anywhere alone. But in many ways Miss Raynor evinced her independence and self-reliance, and I had no doubt a trusted chauffeur waited in her car outside.

She was garbed in black, but it was not the heavy crape material that I supposed all women wore as mourning. A long black velvet cape swathed the slender figure in its voluminous folds, and as this was thrown back, I saw her gown was of black satin, with thinner black material used in combination. Women’s clothes, though a mystery to me, had a sort of fascination for my ignorant eyes, and I knew enough to appreciate that Miss Raynor’s costume was correct and very smart.

Her hat was black, too, smaller than the one I saw her in the day before, and of a quieter type.

Altogether, she looked very lovely, and her sweet, flower-like face, with its big, pathetic brown eyes, was raised frankly to Chief Martin as she answered his questions in a low, clear voice. A slight pallor told of a night of wakefulness and sorrow, but this seemed to accentuate the scarlet of her fine, delicate lips, – a scarlet unacquainted with the assistance of the rouge stick.

“No,” she said, positively, “Mr. Gately had no enemies, I am sure he hadn’t! Of course, he may have kept parts of his life or his affairs secret from me, but I have lived with him too long and too familiarly not to know him thoroughly. He was of a simple, straightforward nature, and a wise and noble gentleman.”

“Yet you were not entirely fond of your uncle,” insinuated the Chief.

“He was not my uncle,” returned Olive, calmly. “I called him that but he was no relation to me. He used to be a college chum of my father’s and when both my parents died, he became not only my guardian but my kind friend and benefactor. He took me to live with him, and I have been his constant companion for twelve years. During that time, I have seen no act, have heard no word that could in the slightest way reflect on his honor or his character as a business man or as a gentleman.”

The girl spoke proudly, as though glad to pay this tribute to her guardian, but still, there was no note of affection in her voice, – no quiver of sorrow at her loss.

“Yet you are not bowed with grief at his death,” observed Martin.

The dainty chin tilted in indignation. “Mr. Martin,” Olive said, “I cannot believe that my personal feelings are of interest to you. I understand I am here to be questioned as to my knowledge of facts bearing on this case.”

The Chief nodded his head. “That’s all right,” he said, “but I must learn all I can of Mr. Gately’s life outside his bank as well as in it. If you won’t give me information I must get it elsewhere.”

The implied threat worked.

“I do indeed sorrow at Mr. Gately’s tragic fate,” Olive said, gently. “To be sure, he was not my kin, but I admired and deeply respected him. If I did not deeply love him it was his own fault. He was most strict and tyrannical in his household, and his lightest word was law. I was willing enough to obey in many matters, but it annoyed and irritated me when he interfered with my simplest occupations or pleasures. He permitted me very little company or amusement; he forbade many of my friends the house; and he persistently refused to let me accept attentions from men, unless they were certain ones whom he preferred, and – whom I did not always favor.”

“Did he favor Amory Manning?” was the next abrupt question.

Olive’s cheeks turned a soft pink, but she replied calmly. “Not especially, though he had not forbidden Mr. Manning the house. Why do you ask that?”

“Had you noticed anything unusual lately about Mr. Gately? Any nervousness or apprehension of danger?”

“Not in the least. He was of a most equable temperament, and there has been no change of late.”

“When did you last see him – alive?”

“Yesterday afternoon. I went to his office to get some money.”

“He has charge of your fortune?”

“Yes.”

“He made no objection to your expenditures?”

“Not at all. He was most just and considerate in my financial affairs. He gave me then what I asked for, and after a very short stay I went on.”

“Where?”

“To the house of a friend on Park Avenue, where I spent most of the afternoon.”

“At what time were you in Mr. Gately’s office?”

“I don’t know exactly. About two o’clock, I think.”

“Can’t you tell me more positively? It may be important.”

But Olive couldn’t be sure whether she was there before or after two. She had lunched late, and had done some errands, and had finally reached her friend’s home by mid-afternoon.

This seemed to me most plausible, for society young ladies do not always keep strict note of time, but the Chief apparently thought it a matter of moment and made notes concerning it.

Olive looked indifferent, and though she was courteous enough, her whole manner betokened a desire to get the examination over and to be allowed to go home.

After a little further tedious questioning, which, so far as I could see, elicited nothing of real importance, the Chief sighed and terminated the interview.

Mr. Mason and Mr. Talcott had by this time arrived, and their presence was welcomed by Miss Raynor, who was apparently glad of the nearness of a personal friend.

Of course, their evidence was but a repetition of the scenes I had been through the day before, but I was deeply interested in the attitudes of the two men.

Talcott, the secretary of the Trust Company, was honestly affected by the death of his friend and president, and showed real sorrow, while Mr. Mason, the vice-president, was of a cold, precise demeanor, seemingly far more interested in discovering the murderer than appalled by the tragedy.

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