The Man Who Fell Through the Earth

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.

“We must learn who killed him,” Mr. Mason reiterated. “Why, Chief Martin, if the police fail to track down the slayer of Amos Gately, it will be a blot on their record forever! Spare no effort, – put your best men on the case, move heaven and earth, if need be, but get your man! The Company will back you to the full extent of its power; we will offer a reward, when the suitable time comes for that. But the crime must be avenged, the man that shot President Gately must pay the penalty!”

Olive’s flashing eyes showed her sympathy with this sort of talk and I could quite understand the attitude of the girl, whose sense of justice cried out for revenge, while she was forced to admit the deprivations of her life with her guardian.

Somewhat later, the three went away together, Miss Raynor and the men from the bank, but I remained, hoping to learn more from further witnesses. And I did. I learned so much that my thoughts and theories were started off along totally different lines; my half-formed beliefs were knocked down and set up again, with swift continuance.

First, Jenny Boyd, the yellow ear-muffed stenographer came in, wearing her Sunday clothes. Her cheaply fashionable hat was tilted over her pert little face, which showed enthusiastic, if ill-advised application of certain pigments. Her gown was V-necked and short-skirted, but it had a slight claim to style and was undeniably becoming. Her air of importance was such that I thought I had never seen such an enormous amount of ego contained in such a small cosmos.

Minny was with her, but the older sister, in quieter attire, was merely a foil for the ebullient Jenny. Also, they were accompanied by a big, good-natured faced man, whom I recognized at once as the janitor of the Matteawan Building, and who, it transpired, was the father of the two girls.

“Here we are,” he said, in a bluff, hearty way; “here’s me and my girls, and we’d be obliged, Mr. Chief, if you’d cut it short as much as you can, for me and Minny wants to get back.”

“All right, Boyd,” and Chief Martin smiled at him. “I’ll tackle you first. Tell us all about that private elevator of Mr. Gately’s.”

“I will, but savin’ for this murder business, not a word of it would ever have crossed my lips. Well, Mr. Gately, he owned the Matteawan, d’you see? and when it suited his purposes to put in a private elevator up to his rooms on the top floor of the next door building, – The Puritan Building, you know, – what more easy than to run the shaft up in the one building with the opening at the top out into the other house. Anyways, that’s what he done, – a long time ago. I had to know of it, of course, – ”

“Of course, as superintendent of the Matteawan.”

“That’s what they call it now, but I like better to be called janitor. As janitor I began, and as janitor I’ll work to the end. Well, Mr. Gately, he went up and down in the little car whenever he chose, and no one noticed him at all. It wasn’t, after all, to say, secret, exactly, but it was a private elevator.”

“But a concealed door in his own office makes the thing pretty secret, I should say.”

“Secret it is, then. But it’s no crime for a man to have a concealed way of gettin’ into or out of his own rooms, is it? Many’s the time Mr. Gately’s come down laughing fit to bust at the way he got away from some old doddering fool who wanted to buzz him to death!”

“You frequently saw him come down, then?”

“Not to say frequently, – but now and again. If I happened to be about at the time.”

“Did anyone else use the elevator?”

“Sometimes, yes. I’ve seen a few people go up or come down, – but mostly it was the boss himself.”

“Did he go up in it yesterday?”

“Not that I seen. But, of course, he may have done so.”

“When did he last come into his offices before – before he disappeared?”

“When did he, Jenny? Speak up, girl, and tell the Chief all you know about it.”

Although Martin had not addressed Jenny, he turned to her now as if inviting her story.

And Jenny bridled, shook out her feather boa, made a futile attempt to pull her brief skirt a trifle farther down toward a silk-stockinged ankle, and began:

“Of course, when Mr. Gately went into his office he most gen’ally went in the middle door, right into his pers’nal office. He didn’t go through my room. And, so, yest’day, he went in the middle door, but right away, almost, he opened my door and stuck his head in, and says, ‘Don’t let anybody in to see me this afternoon, unless you come and ask me first.’”

“Wasn’t this a general rule?”

“’Most always; but sometimes somebody I’d know’d come, like Mr. Talcott or Miss Olive, and they’d just nod or smile at me and walk right in at Mr. Gately’s door. So I says, ‘Yes, sir,’ and I looked sharp that nobody rushed me. Mr. Gately, he trusted me, and I was careful to do just what he said, always.”

“Well, go on. Who called?”

“First, Mr. Smith; and then Mrs. Driggs; and after them, Miss Olive.”

“Miss Raynor?”

“Yes, of course!” and Jenny spoke flippantly. “I even announced her, ’cause I had strick orders. Miss Olive, she just laughed and waited till I come back and said she might go in.”

“What time was this?”

“Couldn’t say for sure. ’Long about two or three, I guess.”

Jenny was assiduously chewing gum, and her manner was far from deferential, which annoyed the Chief.

“Try to remember more nearly,” he said, sharply. “Was Miss Raynor there before or after the other two callers you mentioned?”

“Well, now, it’s awful hard to tell that.” Jenny cocked her head on one side, and indulged in what she doubtless considered most fetching eye-play. “I ain’t a two-legged time-table!”

“Be careful,” advised the Chief. “I want straight answers, not foolishness, from you.”

Jenny sulked. “I’m givin’ it to you as straight’s I can, Mr. Chief. Honest to goodness, I don’t know if Miss Olive was just before the Driggs hen or after her!”

“Also, be more careful of your choice of words. Did Mrs. Driggs go back through your room when she left?”

“Yes, I guess she did, – but, – lemmesee, no, I guess she didn’t either.”

“Isn’t your memory very short?”

“For such trifles, yes, sir. But I can remember lots of things real easy. I’ve got a date now, with – ”

“Stop! If you don’t look out, young woman, you’ll be locked up!”

“Behave pretty, now, Jenny girl,” urged her father, who was quite evidently the slave of his resplendent offspring; “don’t be flip; this here’s no place for such-like manners.”

“You’re right, it isn’t,” agreed the Chief, and he glared at Jenny, who was utterly unmoved by his sternness.

“Well, ain’t I behaving pretty?” and the silly thing giggled archly and folded her hands with an air of mock meekness.

Continued harsh words from the Chief, however, made her at last tell a straight and coherent story, but it threw no light on the mysterious caller. In fact, Jenny knew nothing whatever of him, save that she saw or thought she saw him run downstairs, with a pistol in his hand.

“What sort of hat did the man wear?” asked the Chief, to get some sort of description.

“I don’t know, – a soft hat, I guess.”

“Not a Derby?”

“Oh, yes! I do believe it was a Derby! And he had on an overcoat – ”

“A dark one?”

“No, – sort of – oh, I guess it wasn’t an overcoat, – but a, you know, Norfolk jacket, like.”

“A Norfolk, and no overcoat on a day like yesterday! I don’t believe you saw any man at all, Jenny!”

“Do you know, that’s what I think sometimes, Mr. Chief! It almost seems’s if I dreamed it.”

“What do you mean! Don’t you dare guy me, miss!”

“I’m not,” and Jenny’s saucy face looked serious enough now. “But it was all so fearful sudden, and I was so struck all of a heap, that I just can’t say what was so and what wasn’t!”

“That does seem to be your difficulty. You sit over there and think the matter over, while I talk to your sister.”

Minny, a quiet, pretty girl, was as reticent as Jenny was voluble. But after all, she had little to tell. She had brought no one up in her elevator to see Mr. Gately beside Miss Raynor that she knew of except the man named Smith and Mrs. Driggs.

“Did these people all go down in your car, too?”

“I’m not sure. The cars were fairly crowded, and I know Miss Raynor did not, but I’m not so sure about the others.”

Well, Minny’s evidence amounted to nothing, either, for though she told of several strangers who got on or off her car at various floors, she knew nothing about them, and they could not be traced.

The three Boyds were quizzed a little more and then old Joe Boyd, the father, and Minny were allowed to go back to their respective posts, but the Chief held Jenny for further grilling. He had a hope, I felt sure, that he could get from her some hint of Mr. Gately’s personal affairs. He had heard of the hatpin, and though he hadn’t yet mentioned it definitely, I knew he was satisfied it was not Miss Raynor’s, and he meant to put Jenny through a mild sort of third degree.

I was about to depart, for I knew I would not be invited to this session, and, too, I could learn the result later.

Then an officer came in, and after a whispered word to Chief Martin they beckoned to me.

“Do you know Amory Manning?” the Chief inquired.

“I met him yesterday for the first time,” I replied, “but I have known of him before.”

“Where does he live?”

“Up around Gramercy Park somewhere, I think.”

“That’s right, he does. Well, the man is missing.”

“Missing! Why, I saw him last night, – that is, yesterday afternoon, and he was all right then.”

“I’ve had men searching for him all the morning,” the Chief went on, “and he’s nowhere to be found. He wasn’t at his rooms at all last night.”

I harked back. I had last seen Manning getting off the Third Avenue car at Twenty-second Street, – just where he would naturally get off to go to his home.

I told this, and concluded, “he must have changed his mind, then, and gone somewhere else than to his rooms.”

“Yes, it looks that way,” agreed the Chief. “But where did he go? That’s the question. He can’t be found.”

CHAPTER VI

Clews

I didn’t reach my office until afternoon, and there I found Norah, in a brown study.

She looked up with a smile as I came in.

“I’m neglecting my work,” she said, with a glance at a pile of papers, “but that affair across the hall has taken hold of me and I can’t put it out of my mind.”

“Nor can I. I feel as if I were deeply involved in it, – if not indeed, an accessory! But there are new developments. Mr. Manning is missing.”

“Mr. Manning? What has he got to do with it?”

“With the crime? Nothing. He didn’t come up here until Miss Raynor came, you know. But – ”

“Are they engaged?”

“Not that I know of. I think not.”

“Well, they will be, then. And don’t worry about Mr. Manning’s absence. He’ll not stay long away from Miss Raynor. Who is he, anyway? I mean what does he do?”

“He’s a civil engineer and he lives in Gramercy Park. That’s the extent of my knowledge of him. I’ve seen him down in the bank once or twice since I’ve been here, and I like his looks. I hope, for Miss Raynor’s sake, he’ll turn up soon. She expected him to call on her last evening and he didn’t go there at all.”

“I shouldn’t think he would! Why, it was a fearful night. I was going to the movies, but I couldn’t think of going out in that wild gale! But never mind Mr. Manning now, let’s talk about the Gately affair. I want to go over there and look around the office. Do you suppose they’d let me?”

“Why, I expect so. Is anybody there now?”

“Yes, a police detective, – that man, Hudson. You know they call him Foxy Jim Hudson, and I suppose he’s finding out a lot of stuff that isn’t so!”