The Man Who Fell Through The Earth. Carolyn Wells

Gately is not only important but mysterious.”

      “I think so, Mr. Talcott,” I responded, “and yet, the whole crux of the matter is whether Mr. Gately is, at present, in some one of his offices, or, perhaps at his home, or whether his whereabouts are undetermined.”

      “Of course, Mr. Brice,” the secretary went on, “it is none of our business where Mr. Gately is, outside of his banking hours; and yet, in view of Mr. Pitt’s report of your account, it is incumbent upon us, the officers of the Trust Company, to look into the matter. Will you tell me, please, all you know of the circumstances pertaining to Mr. Gately’s disappearance,—if he has disappeared?”

      “If he has disappeared!” I snapped back; “and, pray, sir, if he has not disappeared, where is he?”

      Mr. Talcott, still unmoved, responded, “That is aside the question, for the moment. What do you know of the matter, Mr. Brice?”

      I replied by telling him all I knew of the whole affair, from the time I first saw the shadows until the moment when I went down in the elevator and met Mr. Pitt.

      He listened with deepest attention, and then, seemingly unimpressed by my story, began to question Jenny.

      This volatile young lady had regained her mental balance, and was more than ready to dilate upon her experiences.

      “Yes, sir,” she said, “I was sitting at my desk, and nobody had come in for an hour or so, when, all of a sudden, I heard talking in Mr. Gately’s room.”

      “Do callers usually go through your room?” Mr. Talcott inquired.

      “Yes, sir,—that is, unless they’re Mr. Gately’s personal friends,—like Miss Raynor or somebody.”

      “Who is Miss Raynor?” I broke in.

      “His ward,” said Mr. Talcott, briefly. “Go on, Jenny; nobody had gone through your room?”

      “No, sir; and so, I was startled to hear somebody scrapping with Mr. Gately.”

      “Scrapping?”

      “Yes, sir; sort of quarreling, you know; I——”

      “Did you listen?”

      “Not exactly that, sir, but I couldn’t help hearing the angry voices, though I didn’t make out the words.”

      “Be careful, Jenny,” Talcott’s tones were stern, “don’t assume more than you can be sure was meant.”

      “Then I can’t assume anything,” said Jenny, crisply, “for I didn’t hear a single word,—only I did feel sure the two of ’em was scrapping.”

      “You heard, then, angry voices?”

      “Yes, sir, just that. And right straight afterward, a pistol shot.”

      “In Mr. Gately’s room?”

      “Yes, sir. And then I ran in there to see what it meant,——”

      “Weren’t you frightened?”

      “No, sir; I didn’t stop to think there was anything to be frightened of. But when I got in there, and saw——”

      “Well, go on,—what did you see?”

      “A man, with a pistol in his hand, running out of the door——”

      “Which door?”

      “The door of number three,—that’s Mr. Gately’s own particular private room,—well, he was running out of that door, with a pistol in his hand,—and the pistol was smoking, sir!”

      Jenny’s foolish little face was red with excitement and her lips trembled as she told her story. It was impossible to disbelieve her,—there could be no doubt of her fidelity to detail.

      But Talcott was imperturbable.

      “The pistol was smoking,” he repeated, “where did the man go with it?”

      “I don’t know, sir,” said Jenny; “I ran out to the hall after him,—I think I saw him run down the staircase, but I,—I was so scared with it all, I jumped into the elevator,—Minny’s elevator,—and came downstairs myself.”

      “And then?” prompted Talcott.

      “Then, sir,—oh, I don’t know,—I think I lost my head—it was all so queer, you know——”

      “Yes, yes,” said Talcott, soothingly,—he was a most courteous man, “yes, Miss Jenny,—I don’t wonder you were upset. Now, I think, if you will accompany us, we will go upstairs to Mr. Gately’s rooms.”

      It seemed to me that Mr. Talcott did not pay sufficient attention to my presence, but I forgave this, because I felt sure he would be only too glad to avail himself of my services later on. So I followed him and the tow-headed Jenny up to the offices of the bank president.

      We did not go up in Minny’s elevator, but in another one, and our appearance at the door of Mr. Gately’s office number one, was met by Norah,—my Norah, who received us with an air of grave importance.

      She was unawed by the sight of Mr. Talcott, imposing though he was, and was clearly scornful of Jenny, who had already assumed a jaunty manner.

      But Jenny was quite self-possessed, and with a toss of her head at Norah she started to explain.

      “I was in here, at my desk, Mr. Talcott,” she began, volubly; “and in Mr. Gately’s office, I heard somebody talking pretty sharp——”

      “A man?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “How did he get in, if not through your room?”

      “Oh, people often went through the hall doors of number two or three, and sometimes they came through my room.”

      “Who went through your room this afternoon?”

      “Only three people. An old man named Smith——”

      “What was his business?”

      “I’m not quite sure, but it had to do with his getting a part salary from Mr. Gately; he was a down-and-outer, and he hoped Mr. Gately would help him through.”

      “And did he?”

      “Oh, yes, sir! Mr. Gately always was soft-hearted and never turned down anybody in need.”

      “And the other callers?”

      “There was an old lady, to see about her husband’s pension,—and——”

      “Well? I suppose not all the callers were beneficiaries?”

      “No, sir. One was a—a lady.”

      “A lady? Describe her.”

      “Why, she was Miss Olive Raynor,—Mr. Gately’s ward.”

      “Oh, Miss Raynor. Well, there’s no use discussing her. Were there any other ladies?”

      “No, sir.”

      “Nor any other men?”

      “No, sir; that is, not through my room. You know, people could go in to Mr. Gately’s private offices without going through my room.”

      “Yes, I know. But couldn’t you see them?”

      “Only dimly,—through the clouded glass window between my room and Mr. Gately’s.”

      “And what did you see of the callers in Mr. Gately’s room just before you heard the shot fired?”

      Jenny looked dubious. She seemed inclined not to tell all she knew. But Mr. Talcott spoke sharply.

      “Come,” he said; “speak up. Tell all you know.”