The Man Who Fell Through the Earth

“Important, if true,” commented Wise.

“If what’s true?” asked Norah, bluntly.

“My deductions,” he returned. “These letters, if we can call them letters, doubtless were sent to Mr. Gately at separate times and in separate envelopes.”

“They were,” I informed him. “One came the morning after his death.”

“It did! Which one?”

“It isn’t here. All the new mail went to his lawyer.”

“We must get hold of it!”

“But, – do tell me what’s the import of a blank sheet of paper?”

“These aren’t blank,” and he pointed to the stamped dates. “They are very far from blank!”

“Only a date, – on a plain sheet of paper, – what does that mean?”

“Perhaps nothing – perhaps everything.”

It wasn’t like Penny Wise to be cryptic, and I gathered that the papers were really of value as evidence. “Has the writing been erased?” I hazarded.

“Probably not. No. I don’t think so.” He scrutinized more closely.

“No,” he concluded, “nothing like that. The message is all told on the surface, and he who runs may read.”

“Read, ‘The Waldorf-Astoria, December 7.’” I scoffed. “And is the reader greatly enlightened?”

“Not yet, but soon,” Wise murmured, as he kept up his investigation. “Ha!” he went on, “as the actor hath it, – what have we here!”

He was now scrutinizing the ends of two burnt cigarettes, left on the ash-tray of the smoking-set.

“The lady has left her initials! How kind of her!”

“Why, Hudson studied those and couldn’t make out any letters,” I exclaimed.

“Blind Hudson! These very dainty and expensive cigarettes belonged to a fair one, whose name began with K and S, – or S and K. Be careful how you touch it, but surely you can see that the tops of the letters though scorched, show definitely enough to know they must be K and S.”

“They are!” cried Norah; “I can see it now.”

“Couldn’t that S be an O?” I caviled.

“Nope,” and Wise shook his head. “The two, though both nearly burnt away, show for sure that the letters are K and S. Here’s a find! Does Miss Raynor smoke?”

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “I’ve never seen her do so, – and she doesn’t seem that type. And then, – the initials – ”

“Oh, well, she might have had some of her friends’ cigarettes with her. I was only thinking it must have been a pretty intimate caller who would sit here and smoke with Mr. Gately – here are his own cigar stubs you see and of course, Miss Raynor came into my mind. Eliminating her we have, maybe, the lady of the hatpin.”

“And the powder-paper!” cried Norah.

“Yes, they all seem to point to a very friendly caller, who smoked, who took off her hat, and who powdered her nose, all in this room, and all on the day Mr. Gately was killed. For, of course, the whole place was cleaned and put in order every day.”

“And there was the carriage check,” I mused; “perhaps she left that.”

“Carriage check?” asked Wise.

“Yes, a card like a piece of Swiss cheese, – you know those perforated carriage-call checks?”

“I do. Where is it?”

“Hudson took it. But he won’t get anything out of it, and you might.”

“Perhaps. I must see it, anyway. Also, I want to see Jenny, – the young stenographer who was – ”

“Shall I get her here?” offered Norah.

“Yes,” Wise began, but I cut him short.

“I’ve got to go home,” I said. “I promised Rivers I’d see him this afternoon, and take him on some errands. Suppose I go now, and you go with me, Mr. Wise, and suppose Norah gets Jenny and brings her round to my rooms. We can have the interview there; Rivers may not come till later, but I must be there to receive him.”

So Penny Wise and I went down to my pleasant vine and figtree, and as we went, I told him about Case Rivers.

He was interested at once, as he always was in anything mysterious, and he said, “I’m glad to see him. What a strange case! Can he be the missing Manning?”

“Not a chance,” I replied. “The two men are totally dissimilar in looks and in build. Manning is heavy, – almost stocky. Rivers is gaunt and lean. Also, Manning is dark-haired and full-blooded, while Rivers is pale and has very light hair. I tried to make out a resemblance, but it can’t be done. However, Case Rivers is interesting on his own account;” and I told him the story of his journey through the earth.

He laughed. “Hallucination, of course,” he said; “but it might easily lead to the discovery of his identity. That amnesic-aphasia business always fascinates me. That is, if I’m convinced it’s the real thing. For, you know, it’s a fine opportunity to fake loss of memory.”

“There’s no fake in this case, I’m positive,” I hastened to assure him; “I’ve taken a decided liking to Rivers, and I mean to keep in touch with him, for when he regains his memory I want to know about it.”

“Pulled out of the river, you say?”

“Yes, a tugboat picked him up, drowned and frozen, it was supposed. He was taken to the morgue, and bless you, if he didn’t show signs of life when he thawed out a little. So they went to work on him and revived him and sent him over to Bellevue where he became a celebrated case.”

“I should think so. No clothes or any identification?”

“Not a rag. Or rather only a few rags of underwear, – but nothing that was the slightest clew.”

“What became of his clothes?”

“Nobody knows. He was found drifting, unconscious, apparently dead, and entirely nude save the fragments of underclothing.”

“Those fragments have been kept?”

“Oh, yes; but they mean nothing. Just ordinary material, – good, – but nothing individual about them.”

“Where was he picked up?”