  The elevators in the building were run by girls, and the one I entered was in charge of Minny Boyd, a sister of Jenny, who was in Mr. Gately’s office. As soon as I stepped into the car I saw that Minny was in a state of excitement. “What’s the matter?” I asked, sympathetically. “Oh, Mr. Brice,” and the girl burst into tears, “Jenny said——” “Well,” I urged, as she hesitated, “what did Jenny say?” “Don’t you know anything about it?” “About what?” I asked, trying to be casual. “Why, about Mr. Gately.” “And what about him?” “He’s gone! Disappeared!” “Amos Gately? The president of the Puritan Trust Company! Minny, what do you mean?” “Why, Mr. Brice, only a little while ago, I took Jenny down. She was crying like everything and she said that Mr. Gately had been shot!” “Shot?” “Yes, that’s what she said——” “Who shot him?” “I don’t know, but Jenny was nearly crazy! I told her to go to the lunchroom,—that’s where the girls go when off duty,—and I said I’d come to her as soon as I could. I can’t leave my car, you know.” “Of course not, Minny,” I agreed; “but what did Jenny mean? Did she see Mr. Gately shot?” “No, I don’t think so,—but she heard a pistol fired off, and she—she——” “What did she do?” “She ran into Mr. Gately’s private office,—and, he wasn’t there! And then she—oh, I suppose she hadn’t any right to do it,—but she ran on to his own personal room,—the one where she is never allowed to go,—and there wasn’t anybody there! So Jenny was scared out of her senses, and she ran out here,—to the hall, I mean,—and I took her downstairs,—and oh, Mr. Brice, I’ve got to stop at this floor,—there’s a call,—and please don’t say anything about it,—I mean don’t tell I said anything—for Jenny told me not to——” I saw Minny was in great perturbation, and I forebore to question her further, for just then we stopped at the seventh floor and a man entered the elevator. I knew him,—that is, I knew he was George Rodman,—but I wasn’t sufficiently acquainted to speak to him. So the three of us went on down in silence, past the other floors, and reached the ground floor, where Rodman and I got out. Waiting to go up, I found Mr. Pitt, a discount clerk of the Puritan Trust Company. “This is Mr. Brice?” he said, in a superior way. I resented the superiority, but I admitted his soft impeachment. “And you say there is something to be investigated in Mr. Gately’s offices?” he went on, as if I were a Food Administrator, or something. “Well,” I returned, a little curtly, “I chanced to see and hear and smell a pistol shot,—and further looking into the matter failed to show anybody killed or wounded or—in fact, failed to disclose anybody whatever on the job, and I confess it all looks to me mighty queer!” “And may I ask why it appeals to you as queer?” I looked Friend Pitt square in the eye, and I said, “It seems to me queer that a bank president should drop out of existence and even out of his business affiliations in one minute without any recognition of the fact.” “Perhaps you overestimate an outside interest,” said Pitt. “You must know it is really none of the business of the Puritan Trust Company what Mr. Gately does in his leisure hours.” “Very well, Mr. Pitt,” I returned, “then let us go and interview the young woman who is Mr. Gately’s stenographer and who is even now in hysterics in the employees’ lunchroom.” Mr. Pitt seemed duly impressed and together we went to find Jenny. The lunchroom for the employees of the building was a pleasant place, on the ground floor, and therein we found Jenny, the yellow-haired stenographer of Amos Gately. The girl was, without doubt, hysterical, and her account of the shooting was disjointed and incoherent. Moreover, Mr. Pitt was of the supercilious type, the kind who never believes anything, and his manner, as he listened to Jenny’s story, was incredulous and almost scoffing. So Jenny’s story, though to me illuminating, was, I felt sure, to Pitt, of little value. “Oh,” Jenny exclaimed, “I was in my room, the first room, and I didn’t mean to listen,—I never do! and then, all of a sudden, I heard somebody threatening Mr. Gately! That made me listen,—I don’t care if it was wrong—and then, I heard somebody quarreling with Mr. Gately.” “How do you know they were quarreling?” interposed Pitt’s cold voice. “I couldn’t help knowing, sir. I heard Mr. Gately’s usually pleasant voice raised as if in anger, and I heard the visitor’s voice, high and angry too.” “You didn’t know the visitor’s voice? you had never heard it before?” asked Pitt. “No, sir; I’ve no idea who he could have been!” and the foolish little Jenny bridled and looked like an innocent ingÉnue. I broke in. “But didn’t you admit all visitors or callers to Mr. Gately?” I demanded. Jenny looked at me. “No, sir,” she replied; “I received all who came to my door, but there were others!” “Where did they enter?” asked Pitt. “Oh, they came in at the other doors. You see, I only looked after my own room. Of course, if Miss Raynor came,—or anybody that Mr. Gately knew personally——” Jenny paused discreetly. “And did Miss Raynor come this morning?” I asked. “Yes,” Jenny replied, “she did. That is, not this morning, but early this afternoon. I know Miss Raynor very well.” Mr. Pitt seemed a little disturbed from his usual calm, and with evident reluctance said to me, “I think, Mr. Brice, that this matter is more serious than I thought. It seems to me that it would be wise to refer the whole matter to Mr. Talcott, the secretary of the Trust Company.” Now, I was only too glad to refer the matter to anybody who could be considered authoritative, and I agreed at once. “Moreover,” said Mr. Pitt, as he gave an anxious glance at Jenny, “I think it well to take this young woman along, as she is the secretary of Mr. Gately and may know——” “Oh, no, sir,” cried Jenny, “I don’t know anything! Please don’t ask me questions!” Jenny’s perturbation seemed to make Mr. Pitt’s intentions more definite, and he corralled the young woman, as he also swept me along. In a moment, we were all going into the offices of the Puritan Trust Company. And here, Mr. Pitt faded from view, and he left us in the august presence of Mr. Talcott, the secretary of the Company. I found myself in the quiet, pleasant atmosphere of the usual banker’s office, and Mr. Talcott, a kindly gentleman of middle-aged aristocracy, began to question me. “It seems to me, Mr. Brice,” he began, “that this story of yours about Mr. 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.” “I didn’t hear anybody come in,” said Jenny, slowly; “and then, all of a sudden, I heard loud voices,—and then, I heard quarrelly words——” “Quarrelly?” “Yes, sir, as if somebody was threatening Mr. Gately. I didn’t hear clearly, but I heard enough to make me look through the window between the two rooms——” “This window?” “Yes, sir,” and Jenny nodded at the clouded glass pane between her room and Mr. Gately’s office. “And I saw sort of shadows,—and then in a minute I saw the shadows get up—you know, Mr. Gately and another man,—and then,—I heard a pistol fired off, and I yelled!” “It was your scream I heard, then!” I exclaimed. “I don’t know,” Jenny replied, “but I did scream, because I am fearfully scared of pistol shots, and I didn’t know who was shooting.” “What did you do next?” asked Mr. Talcott, in his quiet way. “I ran into Mr. Gately’s room——” “And you weren’t frightened?” “Not for myself. I was frightened of the shot,—I always am afraid of firearms, but I wanted to know what was doing. So, I opened the door and ran in——” “Yes; and?” “I saw nobody in Mr. Gately’s room,—I mean this room next to mine,—so I ran on, to the third room,—I am not supposed to go in there,—but I did, and there I saw a man just going out to the hall and in his hand was a smoking revolver.” “Out to the hall? Did you follow him?” “Of course I did! But he ran down the staircase. I didn’t go down that way, because I thought I’d get down quicker and head him off by going down in the elevator.” “So you went down in the elevator?” “Yes, sir. It was Minny’s elevator,—Minny’s my sister,—and after I got in,—and saw Minny, I got sort of hysterical and nervous, and I couldn’t remember what I was about.” “What became of the man?” asked Talcott, uninterested in Jenny’s nerves. “I don’t know, sir. I was so rattled,—and I only saw him a moment,—and——” “Would you know him if you saw him again?” “I don’t know,—I don’t think so.” “I wish you could say yes,—it may be of gravest importance.” But Jenny seemed to resent Mr. Talcott’s desire. “I don’t see how you could expect it, sir,” she said, pettishly; “I saw him only in a glimpse,—I was scared to death at the sound of the pistol shot,—and when I burst into this room and found Mr. Gately gone I was so kerflummixed I didn’t know what I was about! That I didn’t!” “And yet,” Norah remarked, quietly, “after you went downstairs and these gentlemen found you in the lunchroom, you were perfectly calm and collected——” “Nothing of the sort!” blazed back Jenny; “I’m all on edge! My nerves are completely unstrung!” “Quite so,” said Mr. Talcott, kindly, “and I suggest that you go back to the lunchroom, Miss Jenny, and rest and calm yourself. But please remain there, until I call for you again.” Jenny looked a little disappointed at being thus thrust out of the limelight, but as Mr. Talcott held the door open for her, she had no choice but to depart, and we presently heard her go down in her sister’s elevator. “Now,” Mr. Talcott resumed, “we will look into this matter further. “You see,” he proceeded, speaking, to my surprise, as much to Norah as to myself, “I can’t really apprehend that anything serious has happened to Mr. Gately. For, if the shot which Jenny heard, and which you, Mr. Brice, heard,—had killed Mr. Gately, the body, of course, would be here. Again, if the shot had wounded him seriously, he would in some way contrive to make his condition known. Therefore, I feel sure that Mr. Gately is either absolutely all right, or, if slightly wounded, he is in some anteroom or in some friend’s room nearby. And, if this is the case,—I mean, if our Mr. Gately is ill or hurt, we must find him. Therefore, careful search must be made.” “But,” spoke up Norah, “perhaps Mr. Gately went home. There is no positive assurance that he did not.” Mr. Talcott looked at Norah keenly. He didn’t seem to regard her as an impertinent young person, but he took her suggestion seriously. “That may be,” he agreed. “I think I will call up his residence.” He did so, and I gathered from the remarks he made on the telephone that Amos Gately was not at his home, nor was his niece, Miss Olive Raynor, there. Talcott made another call or two, and I finally learned that he had located Miss Raynor. For, “Very well,” he said; “I shall hope to see you here in ten or fifteen minutes, then.” He hung up the receiver,—he had used the instrument in Jenny’s room, and not the upset one on Mr. Gately’s desk,—and he vouchsafed: “I think it is all right. Miss Raynor says she saw her uncle here this afternoon, shortly after luncheon, and he said he was about to leave the office for the day. She thinks he is at his club or on the way home. However, she is coming around here, as she is in the limousine, and fearing a storm, she wants to take Mr. Gately home.” |
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