The Elevator
Mr. Talcott returned to the middle room and looked more carefully at the
disturbed condition of things around and on Mr. Gately's desk.
"It is certain that Mr. Gately left the room in haste," he said, "for
here is what is undoubtedly a private and personal checkbook left open. I
shall take on myself the responsibility of putting it away, for the
moment, at least."
Mr. Talcott closed the checkbook and put it in a small drawer of the
desk.
"Why don't you put away that hatpin, too?" suggested Norah, eying the pin
curiously. "I don't think it belongs to Miss Raynor."
"Take it up by the edge," I warned; "I may be jumping to conclusions, but
there is a possibility that a crime has been committed, and we must
preserve what _may_ be evidence."
"Quite right, Mr. Brice," agreed Talcott, and he gingerly picked up the
pin by taking the edges of its ornate head between his thumb and
forefinger. The head was an Egyptian scarab,--whether a real one or not I
couldn't tell,--and was set on a flat backing of gold. This back might
easily retain the thumb print of the woman who had drawn that pin from
her hat in Mr. Gately's office. And who, Norah surmised, was the person
who had fired the pistol that I had heard discharged.
Placing the hatpin in the drawer with the checkbook, Mr. Talcott locked
the drawer and slipped the key in his pocket.
I wondered if he had seen some entry in the book that made him wish to
hide Mr. Gately's private affairs from curious eyes.
"There is indeed a possibility of something wrong," he went on, "at first
I couldn't think it, but seeing this room, that overturned chair and
upset telephone, in connection with the shooting, as you heard it, Mr.
Brice, it certainly seems ominous. And most mysterious! Two people
quarreling, a shot fired by one or other of them, and no sign of the
assailant, his victim, or his weapon! Now, there are three propositions,
one of which _must_ be the truth. Mr. Gately is alive and well, he is
wounded, or he is killed. The last seems impossible, as his body could
not have been taken away without discovery; if he were wounded, I think
that, too, would have to be known; so, I still feel that things are all
right. But until we can prove that, we must continue our search."
"Yes," I agreed, "search for Mr. Gately and also, search for the man who
was here and who quarreled with him."
"Or the woman," insisted Norah.
"I can't think it was a woman," I said. "Although the shadow was
indistinct, it struck me as that of a man, the motions and attitudes were
masculine, as I recall them. The hatpin may have been left here this
morning or any time."
"The visitor must be found," declared Mr. Talcott, "but I don't know how
to go about it."
"Ask the elevator girls," I suggested; "one of them must have brought the
caller up here."
We did this, but the attendants of the three elevators all denied having
brought anyone up to Mr. Gately's offices since the old man and the
elderly lady who had been mentioned by Jenny.
Miss Raynor had been brought up by one of the girls also, but we couldn't
quite ascertain whether she had come before or after the other two.
While waiting for Miss Raynor to come again, I tried to do a little
scientific deduction from any evidence I might notice.
But I gained small information. The desk-blotter, inkwell, and pens were
in immaculate order, doubtless they were renewed every day by a careful
attendant. All the minor accessories, such as paperweights and letter
openers were of individual styles and of valuable materials.
There was elaborate smoking paraphernalia and a beautiful single rose in
a tall silver vase.
"Can you read anything bearing on the mystery, Mr. Brice," asked Talcott,
noting my thoughtful scrutiny.
"No; nothing definite. In fact, nothing of any importance. I see that on
one occasion, at least, Mr. Gately kept a chauffeur waiting an
unconscionably long time, and the man was finally obliged to go away
without him."
"Well, now, how do you guess that?" and Mr. Talcott looked decidedly
interested.
"Like most of those spectacular deductions," I responded, "the
explanation takes all the charm out of it. There is a carriage check on
the desk,--one of those queer cards with a lot of circular holes in it.
That must have been given to Mr. Gately when he left his car, or perhaps
a taxicab, outside of some hotel or shop. As he didn't give it up, the
chauffeur must have waited for him until he was tired."
"He may have gone off with some friend, and sent word to the man not to
wait," offered Talcott.
"But then he would have sent the call-check out to identify him. What a
queer-looking thing it is," and I picked up the card, with its seven
round holes in a cabalistic array.
"Perhaps the caller left it," spoke up Norah; "perhaps he, or she, came
here in a cab, or a car, and----"
"No, Norah," I said, "such checks are not given out at a building of this
sort. Only at hotels, theaters, or shops."
"It's of no importance," and Mr. Talcott gave a slight shrug of
impatience; "the thing is, where is Mr. Gately?"
Restless and unable to sit still, I wandered into the third room. I had
heard of this sanctum, but I had never expected to see inside of it. The
impulse came to me now to make the most of this chance, for when Mr.
Gately returned I might be summarily, if courteously, ejected.
The effect of the room was that of dignified splendor. It had evidently
been done but not overdone by a decorator who was a true artist. The
predominant color was a soft, deep blue, and the rugs and textile fabrics
were rich and luxurious. There were a few fine paintings in gold frames
and the large war map occupied the greater part of a paneled wall space.
The chairs were spacious and cushioned, and a huge davenport stood in
front of a wide fireplace, where some logs were cheerily burning.
A cozy place to entertain friends, I ruminated, and then, turning back to
the middle room, I reconstructed the movements of the two people I had
seen shadowed.
"As they rose," I said to Mr. Talcott, "Amos Gately was behind this big
table-desk, and the other man,--for I still think it was a man,--was
opposite. The other man upset his chair, on rising, so he must have risen
hastily. Then the shot was fired, and the two disappeared. As Jenny came
into the room at once, and saw the strange man going through the third
room and on out to the stairs, we are forced to the conclusion that Mr.
Gately preceded him."
"Down the stairs?" asked Mr. Talcott.
"Yes, for the flight, at least, or Jenny would have seen him. Also, I
should have seen him, had he remained in this hall."
"And the woman?" asked Norah, "what became of her?"
"I don't think there was any woman present at that time," I returned.
"The hatpin was, doubtless, left by a woman caller, but we've no reason
to suppose she was there at the same time the shooting occurred."
"I can't think of any reason why anyone should shoot Mr. Gately," said
Talcott, musingly. "He is a most estimable gentleman, the soul of honor
and uprightness."
"Of course," I assented; "but has he no personal enemies?"
"None that I know of, and it is highly improbable, anyway. He is not a
politician, or, indeed, a public man of any sort. He is exceedingly
charitable, but he rarely makes known his good deeds. He has let it be
known that he wishes his benefactions kept quiet."
"What are his tastes?" I asked, casually.
"Simple in the extreme. He rarely takes a vacation, and though his home
is on a magnificent scale, he doesn't entertain very much. I have heard
that Miss Raynor pleads in vain for him to be more of a society man."
"She is his ward?"
"Yes; no relation, although she calls him uncle. I believe he was a
college chum of Miss Raynor's father, and when the girl was left alone in
the world, he took her to live with him, and took charge of her fortune."
"A large one?"
"Fairly so, I believe. Enough to tempt the fortune-hunters, anyway, and
Mr. Gately frowns on any young man who approaches him with a request for
Olive Raynor's hand."
"Perhaps the caller today was a suitor."
"Oh, I hardly think a man would come armed on such an errand. No; to me,
the most mysterious thing about it all, is why anyone should desire to
harm Mr. Gately. It must have been a homicidal maniac,--if there is
really such a being."
"The most mysterious part to me," I rejoined, "is how they both got away
so quickly. You see, I stood in my doorway opposite, looking at them, and
then as soon as I heard the shot I ran to the middle door as fast as I
could, then to the third room door, and then back to the first. Of
course, had I known which room was which, I should have gone to door
number one first. But, as you see, I was in the hall, going from one door
to another, and I must have seen the men if they came out into the hall
from any door."
"They left room number three, as you entered number one," said Norah,
carefully thinking it out.
"That must be so, but where did they go? Why, if Mr. Gately went
downstairs, has he not been visible since? I can't help feeling that Amos
Gately is unable to move, for some reason or other. May he have been
kidnaped? Or is he bound and gagged in some unused room, say on the floor
below this?"
"No," said Talcott, briefly. "Without saying anything about it I put one
of the bank clerks on the hunt and I told him to look into every room in
the building. As he has not reported, he hasn't yet found Mr. Gately."
And then, Olive Raynor arrived.
I shall never forget that first sight of her. Heralded by a fragrant
whiff of fresh violets, she came into the first room, and paused at the
doorway of the middle room, where we still sat.
Framed in the mahogany door-casing, the lovely bit of femininity seemed a
laughing bundle of furs, velvets, and laces.
"What's the matter?" said a soft, sweet voice. "Has Uncle Amos run away?
I hope he is in a sheltered place for there's a ferocious storm coming up
and the wind is blowing a gale."
The nodding plumes on her hat tossed as she raised her head inquiringly
and looked about.
"What do I smell?" she exclaimed; "it's like--like pistol-smoke!"
"It is," Mr. Talcott said. "But there's no pistol here now----"
"How exciting! What's it all about? Do tell me."
Clearly the girl apprehended no serious matter. Her wide-open eyes showed
curiosity and interest, but no thought of trouble had as yet come to her.
She stepped further into the room, and throwing back her furs revealed a
slender graceful figure, quick of movement and of exquisite poise.
Neither dark nor very fair, her wavy brown hair framed a face whose chief
characteristic seemed to be its quickly changing expressions. Now
smiling, then grave, now wondering, then merry, she looked from one to
another of us, her big brown eyes coming to rest at last on Norah.
"Who are you?" she asked, with a lovely smile that robbed the words of
all curtness.
"I am Norah MacCormack, Miss Raynor," my stenographer replied. "I am in
Mr. Brice's office, across the hall. This is Mr. Brice."
There was no reason why Norah should be the one to introduce me, but we
were all a little rattled, and Mr. Talcott, who, of course, was the one
to handle the situation, seemed utterly at a loss as to how to begin.
"How do you do, Mr. Brice?" and Miss Raynor flashed me a special smile.
"And now, Mr. Talcott, tell me what's the matter? I see something has
happened. What is it?"
She was grave enough now. She had suddenly realized that there was
something to tell, and she meant to have it told.
"I don't know, Miss Raynor," Talcott began, "whether anything has
happened, or not. I mean, anything serious. We--that is,--we don't know
where Mr. Gately is."
"Go on. That of itself doesn't explain your anxious faces."
So Talcott told her,--told her just what we knew ourselves, which was so
little and yet so mysterious.
Olive listened, her great, dark eyes widening with wonder. She had thrown
off her fur coat and was seated in Amos Gately's desk-chair, her dainty
foot turning the chair on its swivel now and then.
Her muff fell to the floor, and, unconsciously, she drew off her gloves
and dropped them upon it. She said no word during the recital, but her
vivid face showed all the surprise and fear she felt as the tale was
told.
Then, "I don't understand," she said, simply. "Do you think somebody shot
Uncle Amos? Then where is he?"
"We don't understand, either," returned Talcott. "We don't know that
anybody shot him. We only know a shot was fired and Mr. Gately is
missing."
Just then a man entered Jenny's room, from the hall. He, too, paused in
the doorway to the middle room.
"Oh, Amory, come in!" cried Miss Raynor. "I'm so glad you're here. This
is Mr. Brice,--and Miss MacCormack,--Mr. Manning. Mr. Talcott, of course
you know."
I had never met Amory Manning before, but one glance was enough to show
how matters stood between him and Olive Raynor. They were more than
friends,--that much was certain.
"I saw Mr. Manning downstairs," Miss Raynor said to Talcott, with a
lovely flush, "and--as Uncle Amos doesn't--well, he isn't just crazy over
him, I asked him not to come up here with me, but to wait for me
downstairs."
"And as you were so long about coming down, I came up," said Mr. Manning,
with a little smile. "What's this,--what about a shot? Where's Mr.
Gately?"
Talcott hesitated, but Olive Raynor poured out the whole story at once.
Manning listened gravely, and at the end, said simply: "He _must_ be
found. How shall we set about it?"
"That's what I don't know," replied Talcott.
"I'll help," said Olive, briskly. "I refuse to believe any harm has come
to him. Let's call up his clubs."
"I've done that," said Talcott. "I can't think he went away
anywhere--willingly."
"How, then?" cried Olive. "Oh, wait a minute,--I know something!"
"What?" asked Talcott and I together, for the girl's face glowed with her
sudden happy thought.
"Why, Uncle Amos has a private elevator of his own. He went down in
that!"
"Where is it?" asked Manning.
"I don't know," and Olive looked about the room. "And Uncle forbade me
ever to mention it,--but this is an emergency, isn't it? and I'm
justified,--don't you think?"
"Yes," said Manning; "tell all you know."
"But that's all I do know. There is a secret elevator that nobody knows
about. Surely you can find it."
"Surely we can!" said I, and jumping up, I began the search.
Nor did it take long. There were not very many places where a private
entrance could be concealed, and I found it behind the big war map, in
the third room.
The door was flush with the wall, and painted the same as the panel
itself. The map simply hung on the door, but overlapped sufficiently to
hide it. Thus the door was concealed, though not really difficult of
discovery.
"It won't open," I announced after a futile trial.
"Automatic," said Talcott. "You can't open that kind, when the car is
down."
"How do you know the car is down?" I asked.
"Because the door won't open. Well, it does seem probable that Mr. Gately
went away by this exit, then."
"And the woman, too," remarked Norah.
As before Mr. Talcott didn't object to Norah's participation in our
discussion, in fact, he seemed rather to welcome it, and in a way,
deferred to her opinions.
"Perhaps so," he assented. "Now, Miss Raynor, where does this elevator
descend to? I mean, where does it open on the ground floor?"
"I don't know, I'm sure," and the girl looked perplexed. "I've never been
up or down in it. I shouldn't have known of it, but once Uncle let slip a
chance reference to it, and when I asked him about it, he told me, but
told me not to tell. You see, he uses it to get away from bores or people
he doesn't want to see."
"It ought to be easy to trace its shaft down through the floors," said
Amory Manning. "Though I suppose there's no opening on any floor until
the street floor is reached."
Manning was a thoughtful-looking chap. Though we had never met before, I
knew of him and I had an impression that he was a civil engineer or
something like that. I felt drawn to him at once, for he had a pleasant,
responsive manner and a nice, kindly way with him.
In appearance, he was scholarly, rather than business-like. This effect
was probably due in part to the huge shell-rimmed glasses he wore. I
can't bear those things myself, but some men seem to take to them
naturally. For the rest, Manning had thick, dark hair, and he was a bit
inclined to stoutness, but his goodly height saved him from looking
stocky.
"Well, I think we ought to investigate this elevator," said Talcott.
"Suppose you and I, Mr. Brice, go downstairs to see about it, leaving
Miss Raynor and Mr. Manning here,--in case,--in case Mr. Gately returns."
I knew that Talcott meant, in case we should find anything wrong in the
elevator, but he put it the more casual way, and Miss Raynor seemed
satisfied.
"Yes, do," she said, "and we'll wait here till you come back. Of course,
you can find where it lands, and--oh, wait a minute! Maybe it opens in
the next door building. I remember, sometimes when I've been waiting in
the car for Uncle, he has come out of the building next door instead of
this one, and when I asked him why, he always turned the subject without
telling me."
"It may be," and Talcott considered the position of the shaft. "Well,
we'll see."
Norah discreetly returned to my offices, but I felt pretty sure she
wouldn't go home, until something was found out concerning the mysterious
disappearance.
On the street floor we could find no possible outlet for the elevator in
question, and had it not been for Olive's hint as to where to look, I
don't know how we should have found it at all.
But on leaving the Trust Company Building, we found the place at last. At
least, we found a door which was in the position where we supposed the
elevator shaft would require it, and we tried to open it.
This we failed to do.
"Looks bad," said Talcott, shaking his head. "If Amos Gately is in there,
it's because he's unable to get out--or--unconscious."
He couldn't bring himself to speak the crueler word that was in both our
minds, and he turned abruptly aside, as he went in search of the janitor
or the superintendent of the building.
Left by myself I stared at the silent door. It was an ordinary-looking
door, at the end of a small side passage which communicated with the main
hall or lobby of the building. It was inconspicuous, and as the passage
had an angle in it, Amos Gately could easily have gone in and out of that
door without exciting comment.
Of course, the janitor would know all about it; and he did.
He returned with Mr. Talcott, muttering as he came.
"I always said Mr. Gately'd get caught in that thing yet! I don't hold
with them automaticky things, so I don't. They may go all right for years
and then cut up some trick on you. If that man's caught in there, he must
be pretty sick by this time!"
"Does Mr. Gately use the thing much?" I asked.
"Not so very often, sir. Irregular like. Now, quite frequent, and then,
again, sort of seldom. Well, we can't open it, Mr. Talcott. These things
won't work, only just so. After anybody gets in, and shuts the door, it
can't be opened except by pressing a button on the inside. Can't you get
in upstairs?"
"No," said Talcott, shortly. "Get help, then, and break the door down."
This was done, the splintered door fell away, and there, in a crumpled
heap on the floor of the car, was Amos Gately,--dead.