LITMIR.BIZ

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      I greatly wished I had had a few moments’ chat with Amory Manning. I wanted to ask him some questions concerning Amos Gately that I didn’t like to ask of the bank men. Although I knew Gately’s name stood for all that was honorable and impeccable in the business world, I had not forgotten the hatpin on his desk, nor the queer smile on Jenny’s face as she spoke of his personal callers.

      I am not one to harbor premature or unfounded suspicions of my fellow creatures, but

      “A little nonsense, now and then, Is relished by the best of men,”

      And Amos Gately may not have been above enjoying some relaxations that he felt no reason to parade.

      But this was speculation, pure and simple, and until I could ask somebody concerning Mr. Gately’s private life, I had no right to surmise anything about it.

      Carefully, I went over all I knew about the tragedy from the moment when I had opened my outer office door ready to start for home. Had I left a few moments sooner, I should probably never have known anything much of the matter except what I might learn from the newspapers or from the reports current among the tenants of the Puritan Building.

      As it was, and from the facts as I marshaled them in order before my mind, I believed I had seen shadowed forth the actual murder of Amos Gately. A strange thing, to be an eye-witness, and yet to witness only the shadows of the actors in the scene!

      I strove to remember definitely the type of man who did the shooting. That is, I supposed he did the shooting. As I ruminated, I realized I had no real knowledge of this. I saw the shadowed men rise, clinch, struggle, and disappear. Yes, I was positive they disappeared from my vision before I heard the shot. This argued, then, that they wrestled,—though I couldn’t say which was attacker and which attacked,—then they rushed to the next room, where the elevator was concealed by the big map; and then, in that room, the shot was fired that ended Amos Gately’s life.

      This must be the truth, for I heard only one shot, and it must have been the fatal one.

      Then, I could only think that the murderer had deliberately,—no, not deliberately, but with exceeding haste,—had put his victim in the elevator and sent the inert body downstairs alone.

      This proved the full knowledge of the secret elevator on the part of the assassin, so he must have been a frequenter of Mr. Gately’s rooms, or, at least had been there before, and was sufficiently intimate to know of the private exit.

      To learn the man’s identity then, one must look among Mr. Gately’s personal friends,—or, rather, enemies.

      I began to feel I was greatly handicapped by my utter ignorance of the bank president’s social or home life. But it might be that in the near future I should again see Miss Raynor, and perhaps in her home, where I could learn something of her late uncle’s habits.

      But, returning to matters I did know about, I tried hard to think what course of procedure the murderer probably adopted after his crime.

      And the conclusion I reached was all too clear. He had, of course, gone down the stairs, as Jenny had said, for at least a few flights.

      Then, I visualized him, regaining his composure, assuming a nonchalant, business-like air, and stopping an elevator on a lower floor, where he stepped in, without notice from the elevator girl or the other passengers.

      Just as Rodman had entered from a middle floor, when I was descending with Minny.

      Perhaps Rodman was the murderer! I knew him slightly and liked him not at all. I had no earthly reason to suspect him,—only,—he had got on, I remembered, at the seventh floor, and his office was on the tenth. This didn’t seem terribly incriminating, I had to admit, but I made a note of it, and determined to look Mr. Rodman up.

      My telephone bell rang, and with a passing wonder at being called up in such a storm, I responded.

      To my delight, it proved to be Miss Raynor speaking.

      “Forgive me for intruding, Mr. Brice,” she said, in that musical voice of hers, “but I—I am so lonesome,—and there isn’t anyone I want to talk to.”

      “Talk to me, then, Miss Raynor,” I said, gladly. “Can I be of any service to you—in any way?”

      “Oh, I think so. I want to see you tomorrow. Can you come to see me?”

      “Yes, indeed. At what time?”

      “Come up in the morning,—that is, if it’s perfectly convenient for you.”

      “Certainly; in the morning, then. About ten?”

      “Yes, please. They—they brought Uncle home.”

      “Did they? I’m glad that was allowed. Are you alone?”

      “Yes; and I’m frightfully lonely and desolate. It’s such a terrible night I wouldn’t ask any of my friends to come to stay with me.”

      “You expected Mr. Manning to call, I thought.”

      “I did; but he hasn’t come. Of course, the reason is that it isn’t a fit night for anyone to go out. I telephoned his rooms, but he wasn’t in. So I don’t know what to think. I’d suppose he’d telephone even if he couldn’t get here.”

      “Traffic must be pretty nearly impossible,” I said, “it was awful going when I reached home soon after five, and now, there’s a young blizzard raging.”

      “Yes, I couldn’t expect him; and perhaps the telephone wires are affected.”

      “This one isn’t, at any rate, so chat with me as long as you will. You can get some friend to come to stay with you tomorrow, can’t you?”

      “Oh, yes; I could have got somebody tonight, but I hadn’t the heart to ask it. I’m all right, Mr. Brice, I’m not a very nervous person,—only, it is sort of awful. Our housekeeper is a nice old thing, but she’s nearly in hysterics and I sent her to bed. I’ll say good-by now, and I’ll be glad to see you tomorrow.”

Chapter V.

       Olive Raynor

       Table of Contents

      I did see Miss Olive Raynor the next day, but not in the surroundings of her own home as I had expected.

      For I received a rather peremptory summons to present myself at police headquarters at a shockingly early hour, and not long after my arrival there, Miss Raynor appeared also.

      The police had spent a busy night, and had unearthed more or less evidence and had collected quite a cloud of witnesses.

      Chief of Police Martin conducted the inquiry, and I soon found that my story was considered of utmost importance, and that I was expected to relate it to the minutest details.

      This I did, patiently answering repeated questions and asseverating facts.

      But I could give no hint as to the identity, or even as to the appearance of the man who quarreled with Mr. Gately. I could, and did say that he seemed to be a burly figure, or, at least, the shadow showed a large frame and broad shoulders.

      “Had he a hat on?” asked the Chief.

      “No; and I should say he had either a large head or thick, bushy hair, for the shadow showed that much.”

      “Did you not see his face in profile?”

      “If so, it was only momentarily, and the clouded glass of the door, in irregular waves, entirely prevented a clear-cut profile view.”

      “And after the two men rose, they disappeared at once?”

      “They wrestled;—it seemed, I should say, that Mr. Gately was grabbed by the other man, and tried to make a getaway, whereupon the

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