The Man Who Fell Through the Earth

Of course, the scene of the crime was not re-enacted, there was merely the shadowed picture of the two men, but Hudson managed to have Rodman conspicuously shadowed in various positions and postures.

And after it was over, and Hudson, back in my office, asked me for my verdict, I was obliged to say:

“Mr. Hudson, if that is not the man I saw quarreling with Mr. Gately, it is his exact counterpart! Were it a less grave occasion, I should not hesitate to swear that it is the same man.”

“That’s enough, Mr. Brice,” and Foxy Jim Hudson went back to Headquarters with his report.

CHAPTER X

Penny Wise and Zizi

And so it was at this stage of affairs that Pennington Wise got into the game. He willingly agreed to take up the case, for the mystery of it appealed to him strongly, and by a stroke of good luck he was not otherwise engaged.

He had promised to call at Miss Raynor’s, and as she had asked me to be present also, I went up there, reaching the house before Wise did.

“What’s he like?” Olive inquired of me.

“Good-looking sort of chap, without being handsome,” I told her. “You’ll like his personality, I’m sure, whether he helps us out of our troubles or not.”

“I don’t care a fig for his personality,” she returned, “but I do want him to solve our two mysteries. I suppose you’ll think I’m dreadful, – but I’d rather Mr. Wise would find Amory Manning for me, than to discover Uncle Amos’ murderer.”

“I don’t blame you at all for that. Of course, we want to find the criminal, but even more, I too, want to find Mr. Manning for you.”

“And, anyway, I suppose the police think now that Mr. Rodman did it.”

“They don’t go so far as to say that, but they’re hunting up evidence, and they’ve got hold of some pretty damaging information. It seems Rodman was mixed up in some wrongdoing, and it begins to look as if Mr. Gately was in some way connected with it, – at least, to a degree.”

“If he was, then he didn’t know it was wrong.” Olive spoke with deep conviction, and I didn’t try to disabuse her mind.

And then Pennington Wise was announced.

As he entered the room his manner showed no trace of self-consciousness, and as I had anticipated, Olive was greatly pleased with her first glimpse of him. But to her surprise, and mine also, he was accompanied, or rather followed, by a young woman, a mere slip of a girl, who paused and stood quietly by.

As Olive smiled at her inquiringly, Wise said:

“That’s Zizi. She’s part of my working paraphernalia, and will just sit and listen while we talk.”

The girl was fascinating to look at. Slight of build, she had a lithe suppleness that made her every motion a gesture of grace, and her pretty smile was appreciative and responsive. She had black hair and very black eyes, which sparkled and danced as she took in her surroundings. But she said no word, acknowledging her brief introduction only by a slight bow, and accepting the chair that Olive offered, she sat quietly, her small gloved hands resting in her lap.

She wore a black suit with a fine set of black fox furs. Unfastening the fur collar, she disclosed a black blouse of soft, thin material which fell away from her slender white throat in becoming fashion.

Her manner was correct in every particular, and she sat in an unembarrassed silence as Wise proceeded to talk.

“I know all that has been in the papers,” he said, somewhat abruptly, “now, I’d like you to tell me the rest. I can’t help feeling there must be more in the way of evidence or clews than has been made public. First of all, do you think Mr. Rodman the guilty man?”

He addressed himself mainly to Olive, though including me in his inquiring glance.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Olive returned; “I won’t believe, however, that Amos Gately was involved in any sort of wrong. His honor and integrity were of the highest type, – I knew him intimately enough to certify to that.”

“What sort of wrongdoing is this Rodman accused of?” asked Wise.

“Nobody seems willing to tell that,” I answered, as Olive shook her head. “I’ve inquired of the police, and they decline to reveal just what they do suspect him of. But I think it’s something pretty serious, and they’re tracking it down as fast as they can.”

“You see,” Olive put in, “if Mr. Rodman is such a bad man, he may have hoodwinked Mr. Gately and made him believe something was all right when it was all wrong.”

“Of course he might,” said Wise, sympathetically. “Did people come here to the house to see Mr. Gately on business?”

“No; never. Uncle had few visitors, but they were always just his friends, not business callers.”

“Then most of our search must be in his offices. You noticed nothing there, Mr. Brice, that seemed indicative?”

Then I told him about the hatpin and the carriage check; and I also related how Norah had found and kept the “powder-paper” that she picked out of the waste basket.

Zizi’s eyes flashed at this, and she said, “Has she traced it?”

It was the first time the girl had spoken, and I was charmed with her voice. Low and soft, it had also a bell-like quality, and seemed to leave a ringing echo in the air after she ceased speaking.

“Yes; to the shop where it was bought,” I replied. “As Norah guessed, it came from a very high-class perfumer’s on Fifth Avenue. But of course he could not tell us to whom he had sold that particular paper.”

“I’d like to see it,” said Zizi, simply, and again relapsed into silence.

“Norah must be a bright girl,” observed Wise, “and she has made a good start by finding the shop. Perhaps we can carry the trail further. It wasn’t yours, Miss Raynor?”

“No; I use a paler tint. This one, I have seen it, is quite a deep pink.”

“Indicating a brunette possibly. Now, it’s not likely it belonged to that old Mrs. Driggs, so we must assume another woman in the office that day. And we must discover who she is.”

“There is the hatpin, you know,” said Olive. “I have it here, if you care to see it. But the police decided it meant nothing.”

“Nothing means nothing,” said Zizi, with a funny little smile. “Please let us see the hatpin.”

Olive took it from a desk drawer and handed it to the girl, who immediately passed it over to Penny Wise.

He looked at it with interest, for a silent minute.

“There couldn’t be a better portrait parlé!” he exclaimed. “This pin belongs to a lady with dark, straight hair, – coarse, and lots of it. She has good teeth, and she is proud of them. Her tastes incline to the flashy, and she is fond of strong perfumes. She is of somewhat untidy habits and given to sentiment. She is intellectual and efficient and, if not wealthy, she has at least a competence.”

“For gracious goodness sake!” gasped Olive; “and I’ve studied that hatpin for hours and never could deduce a thing!”

“What I have read from it may be of no use to us,” said Wise, indifferently; “I think it will be a sufficient indication of which way to look to find the lady in question, but that doesn’t necessarily mean the finding of her will do any good.”

“But she may know something to tell us that will do good,” Olive suggested; “at any rate, let’s find her. How will you go about it?”

“Why, I think it will be a good plan to ask the stenographer, Jenny Boyd, if she ever saw anyone there who fits our description.”

“She’s the lady of the powder-paper, maybe,” murmured Zizi, and Penny Wise said, “Of course,” in a preoccupied way, and went on:

“That Jenny person must be further grilled. She hasn’t told all she knows. She was in Mr. Gately’s employ but a short time and yet she picked up a lot of information. But she hasn’t divulged it all, not by a long shot!”