The Man Who Fell Through the Earth

“Come ahead!” cried Rivers; “I promised old Brice, here, that I’d go this very day, and I broke my appointment. Sorry, old man, but I had to see Friend Doctor, on the jump. Let’s go now, in accordance with the Witch’s whim, and we’ll take the big wagon, and all go.”

He often called Zizi the Witch, or the Elf-child, and she liked it from him, though she usually resented any familiarity.

She smiled at him, but I noted an undercurrent of sadness in her gaze, and I knew she was thinking of the evidence of the snow crystal.

For though Zizi liked Rivers a lot, and though she really had faith in his innocence of wrongdoing, yet her whole fealty was to Pennington Wise, and her hunch about the snowflake drawing might lead to disastrous results in more ways than one.

Olive shrank from going to her guardian’s office, – she had never been there since the tragedy, – but a few whispered words from Zizi persuaded her to agree to accompany us.

And to help matters, I told her that if she preferred not to go into Mr. Gately’s rooms, she could remain in my office with Norah, while we went.

Mrs. Vail insisted on being of the party, and ran briskly off to get her bonnet.

The atmosphere seemed peculiarly charged with a feeling of impending disaster, and yet, not one of us would have held back. Pennington Wise was very grave and quiet; Zizi, on the other hand, was as one electrified. She sprang about with quick, darting motions, she giggled almost hysterically and then suddenly became most gentle and tender. She ran for Olive’s wraps herself, and bringing them, put them on with the careful air of a mother dressing her child.

Olive, herself, was as one dazed. She, now and then, looked toward Rivers with a shy, yet wistful glance, and he looked back with a big, hearty smile that seemed to warm her very soul.

We piled into the big touring car and made a quick run to the Puritan Building.

Then we all went to my office first. Norah did the honors as prettily as any hostess in her own home, and her ready tact helped Olive to overcome her dread of the place.

“Well,” said Rivers, at last, “what are we waiting for? I thought we were to go over to Mr. Gately’s rooms. Perhaps Miss Raynor and Mrs. Vail would prefer to stay here with Miss MacCormack.”

“No,” said Olive, firmly, “I want to go, too.”

Norah looked at her uncertainly. Then, probably realizing that for Olive to remain behind would be harder than to face whatever might happen, she said, quite casually, “Very well, Miss Raynor, let us all go.”

I think we were all imbued with a sense of fear, a sort of premonition that the visit across the hall would be productive of grave results.

Rivers was the most light-hearted of the party, and yet I somehow felt that his cheerfulness was forced.

“The keys, Brice?” he said; “oh, you have them. All right, my boy, go ahead.”

And then the same stillness that was on the rest of us fell on him, too, and we entered the rooms in silence.

I went first, through Jenny’s room, on to the middle room, and paused just beyond the desk.

Rivers was next, but Zizi pushed her lithe little body through the group, and came through the door just ahead of him.

Rivers entered with the strangest look I have ever seen on any human face. It was a transition, – not sudden but gradual, – from the dark of forgetfulness to the dawn of memory.

And then, just as he neared Amos Gately’s desk, Zizi, without seeming insistence, – indeed, without seeming intent, – guided him to the chair opposite Mr. Gately’s desk-chair.

Mechanically, almost unconsciously, Rivers dropped into the seat and sat at the great table-desk, – just where, presumably, the slayer of Amos Gately had sat.

With one of her sudden, swift motions, Zizi put the telephone receiver into his left hand, which involuntarily opened to take it, and thus exposed to view the snow crystal drawn on the blotter.

A dead silence fell on us all as Rivers sat there staring at the little sketch. He fairly devoured it with his eyes, his face, meanwhile, becoming set, – like a face of stone.

Then, raising his blank, staring eyes, his gaze sought out Olive and, looking straight at her, he gave a low, piercing cry, – wrung from him as from a soul in mortal agony, – and said:

“I killed Amos Gately!”

I think the scene that followed this announcement was the strangest I have ever experienced. For myself, I felt a sudden sinking, as if the bottom had fallen out of the universe. In fact, a whimsical idea flashed through my stunned brain that I was “falling through the earth,” – or into a bottomless pit.

The white faces that I looked at meant nothing to me, – I saw them as in a dream, so dazed was my intelligence.

And then, they assumed their individuality and I saw that Olive’s lovely countenance was a complete blank; like me, she failed to grasp the full meaning of Rivers’ confession.

Mrs. Vail, her eyes closed, lay back limply in a chair, and groaned audibly, while Norah buried her face in a nearby silken curtain and sobbed.

Pennington Wise looked like a man who has just heard the worst, – but who expected it. However, the shock had unnerved him, I could see by his tightly clenched hands and set lips, as he strove to control himself.

Rivers sat like a stone statue, only his eyes, desperate in their concentration, showed the fearful mental strain he was suffering.

Zizi, – bless her! – stood behind him, – hovering, watchful, – more like a guardian angel than a Nemesis, and with her eerie, elfin face full of anxious suspense.

Rivers drew a long sigh; he looked round the room, appraisingly, his quick, darting glance taking in every detail, he scanned the desk and all the things on it, he looked through into the farther room, – the Blue Room, – and saw the great war map hanging on the wall, and then he rose, straightened his broad shoulders, and shook himself as one who arouses from sleep.

Breathlessly, we who watched, saw a great light come into his eyes, – a new self-respect, a new sense of importance showed in his whole bearing and, with a smile of infinite tenderness he looked at Olive and said:

“I am Amory Manning!”

Zizi yelled. There is no other word for it. Her shrieks of joy filled the room, and she danced about waving her thin little arms like a veritable pixy.

“It’s all right!” she cried, in ecstacy, “Oh, Penny, it’s all right!” and with a spring across the room, she landed in Wise’s arms, who patted her shoulder, and said:

“There, there, Ziz, don’t flatten out now!”

Meantime, Rivers was finding himself. He stood still, with his hands tightly grasping the chair back, and his face working as he received and classified the memories crowding thickly back upon his burdened brain.

“Wait a minute,” he said, struggling with his thoughts, “I know all about it, but – ”

“Amory!” cried Olive, “that’s your voice! I know you now!”

We could all note the change in his speech. Until this moment Rivers had spoken in the peculiar tones I had noticed the first time I met him. Monotonous tones, almost devoid of inflection. Now, his voice was normal, and even more melodious than the average.

Surely, the man had found himself, but if he was really Amory Manning, – well, my mind refused to go further.

And he had also said that he killed Amos Gately!

But I felt no need of asking questions, or even of wondering, for the man before us looked so responsible, so capable of self-explanation, that like the rest of the assembly, I merely waited his further speech.

“There’s so much to be told,” he said, and his smile changed to a look of pain. He gave another glance at Olive, and even took a step toward her, – then he seemed to collapse, and sinking back into the chair he had vacated, he hid his face in his hands and groaned.

“Go on!” whispered an imperious little voice, and Zizi was behind him again, her hand on his shoulder, her tones urgent and encouraging.

“I will!” and Manning, for we felt no doubt of his identity now, – spoke firmly and bravely. He did not look at Olive, and it was clear that this was intentional.