The Man Who Fell Through the Earth

by Carolyn Wells

  CHAPTER IV The Black Squall

  If I had thought Mr. Talcott somewhat indifferent before, I changed myopinion suddenly. His face turned a ghastly white and his eyes staredwith horror. There was more than his grief for a friend, though that wasevident enough, but his thoughts ran ahead to the larger issues involvedby this murder of a bank president and otherwise influential financier.

  For murder it was, beyond all doubt. The briefest examination showed Mr.Gately had been shot through the heart, and the absence of any weaponprecluded the idea of suicide.

  The janitor, overcome at the sight, was in a state bordering on collapse,and Mr. Talcott was not much more composed.

  "Mr. Brice," he said, his face working convulsively, "this is a fearfulcalamity! What can it mean? Who could have done it? What shall we do?"

  Answering his last question first, I endeavored to take hold of thesituation.

  "First of all, Mr. Talcott, we must keep this thing quiet for the moment.I mean, we must not let a crowd gather here, before the necessary mattersare attended to. This passage must be guarded from intrusion, and thebank people must be notified at once. Suppose you and the janitor stayhere, while I go back next door and tell--tell whom?"

  "Let me think," groaned Mr. Talcott, passing his hand across hisforehead. "Yes, please, Mr. Brice, do that--go to the bank and tell Mr.Mason, the vice-president--ask him to come here to me,--then, there isMiss Raynor--oh, how horrible it all is!"

  "Also, we must call a doctor," I suggested, "and, eventually, thepolice."

  "Must they be brought in? Yes, I suppose so. Well, Mr. Brice, if you willattend to those errands, I will stay here. But we must shut up thatjanitor!"

  The man, on the verge of collapse, was groaning and mumbling prayers, orsomething, as he rocked his big body back and forth.

  "See here, my man," I said, "this is a great emergency and you must meetit and do your duty. That, at present, is to stay here with Mr. Talcott,and make sure that no one else comes into this small hall until some ofMr. Gately's bank officers arrive. Also, cease that noise you're making,and see what you can do in the way of being a real help to us."

  This appeal to his sense of duty was not without effect, and hestraightened up and seemed equal to the occasion.

  I ran off, then, and out of one big building back into the other. Thestorm, still brewing, had not yet broken, but the sky was black, and afeeling of more snow was in the atmosphere. I shivered as I felt thebitterly cold outside air, and hurried into the bank building.

  I had no trouble in reaching Mr. Mason, for the bank itself was closedand many of the employees had gone home. My manner of grave importancesufficed to let me pass any inquisitive attendants and I found Mr. Masonin his office.

  I told him the bare facts in a few words, for this was no time totarry,--I wanted to get up and tell Miss Raynor before any lessconsiderate messenger might reach her.

  Mr. Mason was aghast at the terrible tidings, and closing his desk atonce, he quickly reached for his hat and coat and started on his fearsomeerrand.

  "I will call Mr. Gately's physician," he said, his mind working quickly,as he paused a moment, "and you will break the news to Miss Raynor, yousay? I can't seem to comprehend it all! But my place is by Mr. Gately andI will go there at once."

  So I hastened up to the twelfth floor again, trying, on the way, to thinkhow I should best tell the awful story.

  The elevator ride had never seemed so short,--the floors fairly flew pastme, and in a few moments I was in the beautiful third room of Mr.Gately's, and found Miss Raynor and Mr. Manning eagerly awaiting my news.

  "Have you found Mr. Gately?" Amory Manning asked, but at the sameinstant, Olive Raynor cried out, "You have something dreadful to tell us,Mr. Brice! I know you have!"

  This seemed to help me, and I answered, "Yes, Miss Raynor,--the worst."

  For I felt that this imperious, self-possessed girl would rather be toldabruptly, like that, than to have me mince matters.

  And I was right, for she said, quickly, "Tell it all,--any knowledge isbetter than suspense."

  So I told her, as gently as I could, of our discovery of the body of AmosGately in his private elevator, at the bottom of the shaft.

  "But I don't understand," said Manning. "Shot through the heart and alonein the elevator?"

  "That's the way it is. I've no idea of the details of the matter. Wedidn't move the body, or examine it thoroughly, but the first glanceshowed the truth. However, a doctor has been sent for, and thevice-president and secretary of the Trust Company have things in charge,so I came right up here to tell you people about it."

  "And I thank you, Mr. Brice," Olive's lovely dark eyes gave me a gratefulglance. "What shall I do, Amory? Shall we go down there?"

  Manning hesitated. "I will," he said, looking at her tenderly, "but--doyou want to? It will be hard for you----"

  "I know,--but I must go. If Uncle Amos has been killed--surely I ought tobe there to--to--oh, I don't know what!"

  Olive Raynor turned a piteous face to Manning, and he took her hand inhis as he responded: "Come, if you think best, dear. Shall we gotogether?"

  "Yes," she said; "I dread it, but I must go. And if you are with me I canstand it. What are you going to do, Mr. Brice?"

  "I was about to go home," I replied, "but I think I will go back to theMatteawan Building, for I may be able to give assistance in some way."

  I went across to my office and found that Norah had gone home. Snappingon some lights, I sat down for a few minutes to straighten out mybewildered, galloping thoughts.

  Here was I, Tom Brice, a quiet, inconspicuous lawyer, thrown suddenlyinto the very thick of a most mysterious murder case. I well knew that myevidence concerning the shadows I had seen would be eagerly listened toby the police, when the time came, and I wondered how soon that would be.I wanted to go home. I wanted to avoid the coming storm and get into mycozy rooms, and think the thing over. For, I had always felt that I haddetective ability, and now I had been given a wonderful chance to proveit. I did not intend to usurp anybody's prerogative nor did I desire tointrude. If I were not asked to assist, I should not offer; but I had avague hope that my early acquaintance with the vital facts would make meof value as a witness and my mental acumen would bring forth someoriginal ideas in the way of investigation.

  And I wanted some time to myself, to cogitate, and to formulate sometheories already budding in my brain. Now if the police were already onthe scene next door, they would not let me get away, if I appeared.

  And yet, I longed for further news of the proceedings. So, I concluded tolook in at the Matteawan, and if that led me into the clutches of thepolice inquisitors, I must submit. But, if I could get away before theirarrival, I should do so. I was quite willing to be called upon by them,and to tell all I knew, but I wanted to postpone that until the next day,if possible.

  Not wishing to obtrude my presence further on Miss Raynor, I went down inan elevator without returning to the Gately rooms. Indeed, I didn't knowwhether she had gone down yet or not.

  But she had, and when I reached the scene, both she and Manning werethere and were consulting with the men from the bank as to what should bedone.

  The doctor came, too, and began to examine the body.

  The rest of us stood huddled in the narrow hall, now grown hot and close,but we dared not open the door to the main lobby, lest outsiders shouldmake their way in.

  I asked the janitor if there were not some room that could be used as awaiting place, but even as he answered me, the doctor made his report.

  It was to the effect that Amos Gately had been shot before he entered theelevator or immediately upon his entrance. That he had died instantly,and, therefore it would seem that the body must have been placed in thecar and sent down by the assailant. But this was only conjecture; all thedoctor could assert was that Mr. Gately had been dead for perhaps anhour, and that the position of the body on the floor indicated aninsta
ntaneous death from a shot through the heart.

  And then the janitor bestirred himself, and said he could give us the useof a vacant office on the ground floor, and we went in there,--all exceptthe doctor, who remained by the elevator.

  Mr. Mason and Mr. Talcott agreed that the police must be notified andthey declared their willingness to stay for their arrival. But thevice-president told Miss Raynor she could go home if she preferred to.

  "I'll wait a while," she said, with the quick decision that I found washabitual with her, "the car is still here,--oh, ought we not to tellConnor? He's our chauffeur."

  "I'll tell him," volunteered Manning. "I have to go now, I've animportant matter to attend to before six o'clock. Olive, may I come up tothe house this evening?"

  "Oh, do," she answered, "I'll be so glad to have you. Come early, won'tyou?"

  "Yes," said Manning, and after pausing for some further talk with thedoctor he went away.

  I tarried, wondering if I might go also, or if I were needed there.

  But as Mason and Talcott were deeply engrossed in a low-tonedconversation and as Miss Raynor was waiting an opportunity to confer withthe doctor, who was their family physician, I concluded I might as wellgo home while I was free to do so.

  So without definite adieux, but with a word to Miss Raynor that she mightcommand my services at any time, I started for home.

  The long expected storm had begun, and enormous snowflakes were fallingthickly.

  As I left the Matteawan, I discerned Amory Manning talking to thechauffeur of a big limousine and knew that he was telling Amos Gately'sman what had happened to his master.

  I slowed up, hoping Manning would get through the interview and walkalong, and I would join him.

  When he left the chauffeur, however, he darted across the street, andthough I followed quickly, I almost lost sight of him in the blindingsnowfall.

  I called out to him, but he didn't hear, and small wonder, for the windroared and the traffic noises were deafening.

  So I hurried after him, still hoping to overtake him.

  And I did, or, at least, when he finally boarded a Southbound car onThird Avenue, I hopped on the same car.

  I had intended taking a Madison Avenue car, but there was none in sight,and I felt pretty sure there was a blockade on the line. The streetsshowed snowpiles, black and crusted, and the street cleaners were few andfar apart.

  The car Manning and I managed to get onto was crowded to the doors. Weboth stood, and there were just too many people between us to makeconversation possible, but I nodded across and between the bobbing headsand faces, and Manning returned my greeting.

  Stopping occasionally to let off some struggling, weary standees and totake on some new snow-besprinkled stampeders, we at last reachedTwenty-second Street, and here Manning nodded a farewell to me, as heprepared to leave by the front end of the car.

  This was only three blocks from my own destination, and I determined toget off, too, still anxious to speak to him regarding the scene oftragedy we had just left.

  So I swung off the rear end of the car, and it moved on through thestorm.

  I looked about for Manning, but as I stepped to the ground a gust of windgave me all I could do to preserve my footing. Moreover, it sent a flurryof snowflakes against my glasses, which rendered them almost opaque.

  I dashed them clear with my gloved hand, and looked for my man, but hewas nowhere to be seen from where I stood in the center of the fourstreet corners.

  Where could Manning have disappeared to? He must have flown like thewind, if he had already darted either up or down Third Avenue or alongTwenty-second Street in either direction.

  However, those were the only directions he could have taken, and Iconcluded that as I struggled to raise my umbrella and was at the sametime partially blinded by my snowed-under glasses, he had hurried awayout of sight. Of course, he had no reason to think I was trying to catchup with him, indeed, he probably did not know that I also left the car,so he had no need for apology.

  And yet, I couldn't see how he had disappeared with such magicalcelerity. I asked a street cleaner if he had seen him.

  "Naw," he said, blowing on his cold fingers, "naw, didn't see nobody.Can't see nothin' in this here black squall!"

  And that's just what it was. A sudden fierce whirlwind, a maelstrom oftossing flakes, and a black lowering darkness that seemed to envelopeverything.

  "Mad Mary," the great clock nearby, boomed out five solemn notes thatsomehow added to the weirdness of the moment, and I grasped my umbrellahandle, pushed my glasses more firmly into place, and strode toward myhome.

  With some, home is where the heart is, but, as I was still heart-wholeand fancy-free, I had no romantic interest to build a home around, and myhome was merely two cozy, comfy rooms in the vicinity of Gramercy Park.

  And at last I reached them, storm-tossed, weary, cold, and hungry, all ofwhich unpleasant conditions were changed for the better as rapidly as Icould accomplish it.

  And when, finally, I found myself seated, with a lighted cigar, at my owncheery reading table, I congratulated myself that I had come home insteadof remaining at the Matteawan Building.

  For, I ruminated, if the police had corralled me as witness, and held mefor one of their protracted queryings, I might have stayed there untillate into the night or even all night. And the storm, still howlingoutside my windows, made me glad of warmth and shelter.

  Then, too, I was eager to get my thoughts in order. I am of a methodicalmentality, and I wanted to set down in order the events I had experiencedand draw logical and pertinent deductions therefrom.

  I greatly wished I had had a few moments' chat with Amory Manning. Iwanted to ask him some questions concerning Amos Gately that I didn'tlike to ask of the bank men. Although I knew Gately's name stood for allthat was honorable and impeccable in the business world, I had notforgotten the hatpin on his desk, nor the queer smile on Jenny's face asshe spoke of his personal callers.

  I am not one to harbor premature or unfounded suspicions of my fellowcreatures, but

  "_A little nonsense, now and then,_ _Is relished by the best of men,_"

  And Amos Gately may not have been above enjoying some relaxations that hefelt no reason to parade.

  But this was speculation, pure and simple, and until I could ask somebodyconcerning Mr. Gately's private life, I had no right to surmise anythingabout it.

  Carefully, I went over all I knew about the tragedy from the moment whenI had opened my outer office door ready to start for home. Had I left afew moments sooner, I should probably never have known anything much ofthe matter except what I might learn from the newspapers or from thereports current among the tenants of the Puritan Building.

  As it was, and from the facts as I marshaled them in order before mymind, I believed I had seen shadowed forth the actual murder of AmosGately. A strange thing, to be an eye-witness, and yet to witness onlythe shadows of the actors in the scene!

  I strove to remember definitely the type of man who did the shooting.That is, I supposed he did the shooting. As I ruminated, I realized I hadno real knowledge of this. I saw the shadowed men rise, clinch, struggle,and disappear. Yes, I was positive they disappeared from my vision beforeI heard the shot. This argued, then, that they wrestled,--though Icouldn't say which was attacker and which attacked,--then they rushed tothe next room, where the elevator was concealed by the big map; and then,in that room, the shot was fired that ended Amos Gately's life.

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

  Then, I could only think that the murderer had deliberately,--no, notdeliberately, but with exceeding haste,--had put his victim in theelevator and sent the inert body downstairs alone.

  This proved the full knowledge of the secret elevator on the part of theassassin, so he must have been a frequenter of Mr. Gately's rooms, or, atleast had been there before, and was sufficiently intimate to know of theprivate exit.

  To lear
n the man's identity then, one must look among Mr. Gately'spersonal friends,--or, rather, enemies.

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

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

  And the conclusion I reached was all too clear. He had, of course, gonedown 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 hestepped in, without notice from the elevator girl or the otherpassengers.

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

  Perhaps Rodman was the murderer! I knew him slightly and liked him not atall. I had no earthly reason to suspect him,--only,--he had got on, Iremembered, at the seventh floor, and his office was on the tenth. Thisdidn't seem terribly incriminating, I had to admit, but I made a note ofit, and determined to look Mr. Rodman up.

  My telephone bell rang, and with a passing wonder at being called up insuch 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 ofhers, "but I--I am so lonesome,--and there isn't anyone I want to talkto."

  "Talk to me, then, Miss Raynor," I said, gladly. "Can I be of any serviceto 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 nightI 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 fitnight for anyone to go out. I telephoned his rooms, but he wasn't in. SoI don't know what to think. I'd suppose he'd telephone even if hecouldn't get here."

  "Traffic must be pretty nearly impossible," I said, "it was awful goingwhen I reached home soon after five, and now, there's a young blizzardraging."

  "Yes, I couldn't expect him; and perhaps the telephone wires areaffected."

  "This one isn't, at any rate, so chat with me as long as you will. Youcan 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 toask 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'snearly in hysterics and I sent her to bed. I'll say good-by now, and I'llbe glad to see you tomorrow."