  It was the next afternoon that Penny Wise came into my office. It was his first visit there, and I gave him a hearty welcome. Norah looked so eagerly expectant that I introduced him to her, for I couldn’t bear to disappoint the girl by ignoring her. Wise was delightfully cordial toward her, and indeed Norah’s winsome personality always made people friendly. I had tried to get in touch with the detective the day before but he was out on various errands, and I missed him here and there, nor could we get together until he found this leisure. I told him all I had learned from the police, but part of it was already known to him. He was greatly interested in the news which he had not heard before, that there was somebody implicated, who was called “The Link.” “That’s the one we want!” he cried; “I suspected some such person.” “Man or woman?” asked Norah, briefly, and Wise glanced at her. “Which do you think?” “Woman,” she replied, and Penny Wise nodded his head. “Yes, I’ve no doubt ‘The Link’ is a woman, and a mighty important factor in the case.” “But I don’t understand,” I put in. “What does she link?” “Whom,—not what,” said Wise, and he looked very serious. “Of course, you must realize, Brice, there’s a great big motive behind this Gately murder, and there’s also a big reason for Amory Manning’s disappearance. The two are connected,—there’s no doubt of that,—but that doesn’t argue Manning the murderer, of course. No, this Link is a woman of parts,—a woman who is of highest value to the principals in this crime, and who must be found, and that at once!” “Did she have to do with Mr. Gately?” asked Norah, her gray eyes burning with interest. “I—don’t—know.” Wise’s hesitating answer was by no means because of disinclination to admit his ignorance, but because he was thinking deeply himself. “Look here, Brice, can’t we go over Gately’s rooms now? I don’t want to ask permission of the police, but if the Trust Company people would let us in——” “Of course,” I responded, and I went at once to the vice-president for the desired permission. “It’s all right,” I announced, returning with the keys, “come ahead.” We went into the beautiful rooms of the late bank president. Pennington Wise was impressed with their rich and harmonious effects, and his quick eyes darted here and there, taking in details. With marvelous swiftness he went through the three rooms of the suite nodding his head as he noted the special points of which he had been told. In the third room,—the Blue Room,—he glanced about, raised the map from the wall, and dropped it back in place, opened the door to the hall, and closed it again, and then turned back to the middle room, the office of Amos Gately, and apparently, to the detective’s mind, the principal place of interest. He sat down in the fine big swivel-chair, whose velvet cushioning deprived it of all look of an ordinary desk-chair, and mused deeply as his eyes fairly devoured the desk fittings. Nothing had been disturbed, that I noticed, except that the telephone had been set up in its right position, and also the chair which I had found overturned was righted. Wise fingered only a few things. He picked up the penholder, a thick magnificent affair made of gold. “Probably a gift from his clerks,” said I, smiling at the ornate and ostentatious looking thing. “All the other gimcracks are in better taste.” Pennington Wise opened the desk drawers. There was little to see, for all financial papers had been taken away by Mr. Gately’s executors. “Here’s a queer bunch,” Wise observed, as he picked up a packet of papers held together by a rubber band. He sorted them out on the desk. They were sheets of paper of various styles, each bearing the address or escutcheon of some big city hotel. Many of the principal hostelries of New York were represented among them. Each sheet bore a date stamped on it with an ordinary rubber dating-stamp. “Important, if true,” commented Wise. “If what’s true?” asked Norah, bluntly. “My deductions,” he returned. “These letters, if we can call them letters, doubtless were sent to Mr. Gately at separate times and in separate envelopes.” “They were,” I informed him. “One came the morning after his death.” “It did! Which one?” “It isn’t here. All the new mail went to his lawyer.” “We must get hold of it!” “But,—do tell me what’s the import of a blank sheet of paper?” “These aren’t blank,” and he pointed to the stamped dates. “They are very far from blank!” “Only a date,—on a plain sheet of paper,—what does that mean?” “Perhaps nothing—perhaps everything.” It wasn’t like Penny Wise to be cryptic, and I gathered that the papers were really of value as evidence. “Has the writing been erased?” I hazarded. “Probably not. No. I don’t think so.” He scrutinized more closely. “No,” he concluded, “nothing like that. The message is all told on the surface, and he who runs may read.” “Read, ‘The Waldorf-Astoria, December 7.’” I scoffed. “And is the reader greatly enlightened?” “Not yet, but soon,” Wise murmured, as he kept up his investigation. “Ha!” he went on, “as the actor hath it,—what have we here!” He was now scrutinizing the ends of two burnt cigarettes, left on the ash-tray of the smoking-set. “The lady has left her initials! How kind of her!” “Why, Hudson studied those and couldn’t make out any letters,” I exclaimed. “Blind Hudson! These very dainty and expensive cigarettes belonged to a fair one, whose name began with K and S,—or S and K. Be careful how you touch it, but surely you can see that the tops of the letters though scorched, show definitely enough to know they must be K and S.” “They are!” cried Norah; “I can see it now.” “Couldn’t that S be an O?” I caviled. “Nope,” and Wise shook his head. “The two, though both nearly burnt away, show for sure that the letters are K and S. Here’s a find! Does Miss Raynor smoke?” “I don’t think so,” I replied. “I’ve never seen her do so,—and she doesn’t seem that type. And then,—the initials——” “Oh, well, she might have had some of her friends’ cigarettes with her. I was only thinking it must have been a pretty intimate caller who would sit here and smoke with Mr. Gately—here are his own cigar stubs you see and of course, Miss Raynor came into my mind. Eliminating her we have, maybe, the lady of the hatpin.” “And the powder-paper!” cried Norah. “Yes, they all seem to point to a very friendly caller, who smoked, who took off her hat, and who powdered her nose, all in this room, and all on the day Mr. Gately was killed. For, of course, the whole place was cleaned and put in order every day.” “And there was the carriage check,” I mused; “perhaps she left that.” “Carriage check?” asked Wise. “Yes, a card like a piece of Swiss cheese,—you know those perforated carriage-call checks?” “I do. Where is it?” “Hudson took it. But he won’t get anything out of it, and you might.” “Perhaps. I must see it, anyway. Also, I want to see Jenny,—the young stenographer who was——” “Shall I get her here?” offered Norah. “Yes,” Wise began, but I cut him short. “I’ve got to go home,” I said. “I promised Rivers I’d see him this afternoon, and take him on some errands. Suppose I go now, and you go with me, Mr. Wise, and suppose Norah gets Jenny and brings her round to my rooms. We can have the interview there; Rivers may not come till later, but I must be there to receive him.” So Penny Wise and I went down to my pleasant vine and figtree, and as we went, I told him about Case Rivers. He was interested at once, as he always was in anything mysterious, and he said, “I’m glad to see him. What a strange case! Can he be the missing Manning?” “Not a chance,” I replied. “The two men are totally dissimilar in looks and in build. Manning is heavy,—almost stocky. Rivers is gaunt and lean. Also, Manning is dark-haired and full-blooded, while Rivers is pale and has very light hair. I tried to make out a resemblance, but it can’t be done. However, Case Rivers is interesting on his own account;” and I told him the story of his journey through the earth. He laughed. “Hallucination, of course,” he said; “but it might easily lead to the discovery of his identity. That amnesic-aphasia business always fascinates me. That is, if I’m convinced it’s the real thing. For, you know, it’s a fine opportunity to fake loss of memory.” “There’s no fake in this case, I’m positive,” I hastened to assure him; “I’ve taken a decided liking to Rivers, and I mean to keep in touch with him, for when he regains his memory I want to know about it.” “Pulled out of the river, you say?” “Yes, a tugboat picked him up, drowned and frozen, it was supposed. He was taken to the morgue, and bless you, if he didn’t show signs of life when he thawed out a little. So they went to work on him and revived him and sent him over to Bellevue where he became a celebrated case.” “I should think so. No clothes or any identification?” “Not a rag. Or rather only a few rags of underwear,—but nothing that was the slightest clew.” “What became of his clothes?” “Nobody knows. He was found drifting, unconscious, apparently dead, and entirely nude save the fragments of underclothing.” “Those fragments have been kept?” “Oh, yes; but they mean nothing. Just ordinary material,—good,—but nothing individual about them.” “Where was he picked up?” “I don’t know exactly, but not far from the morgue, I believe. It was the same day as the Gately murder, that’s why I remember the date. It was a dreadfully cold snap, the river was full of ice and it’s a wonder he wasn’t killed, as well as knocked senseless.” “Was he knocked senseless?” “I’m not sure, but he was unconscious from cold and exposure and very nearly frozen to death.” “And his memory now?” “Is perfect in all respects, except he doesn’t know who he is.” “A fishy tale!” “No; you won’t say so after you’ve seen him. When I say his memory is perfect, I mean regarding what he has read or has studied. But it is his personal recollections that have gone from him. He has no remembrance of his home or his friends or his own identity.” “Can’t you deduce his previous occupation?” “I can’t. Perhaps you can. He can draw, and he is well-read, that’s all I know.” We were at my rooms by that time, and going up, we found Case Rivers already there awaiting us. I lamented my lack of promptness, but he gracefully waived my apology. “It’s all right,” he smiled in his good-humored way, “I’ve been browsing among your books and having the time of my life.” I introduced the two men, and told Rivers that Wise was the famous detective I had mentioned to him. “I’m downright glad to know you,” Rivers said, earnestly; “if you can do a bit of deduction as to who I am, I’ll be under deepest obligation. I give you myself as a clew.” “Got a picture of Amory Manning?” asked Wise, abruptly. I handed him a folded newspaper, whose front page bore a cut of Manning, and the story of his mysterious disappearance. Wise studied the picture and compared it with the man before him. “Totally unlike,” he said, disappointedly. “Not a chance,” laughed Rivers; “I wish I could step into that chap’s shoes; but you see, I came from far away.” “Tell me about that trip of yours,” asked Wise. “Don’t know much to tell,” returned Rivers; “but what I do know, I know positively, so I’ll warn you beforehand not to chuckle at me, for I won’t stand it!” Rivers showed a determination that I liked. It proved that I was right in ascribing a strong character to him. He would stand chaffing as well as anyone I knew, but not on the subject of his fall through the earth. “I don’t know when or where I started on my memorable journey, but I distinctly remember my long, dark fall straight down through the earth. Now it would seem impossible, but I can aver that I entered in some very cold, arctic sort of country, and I came on down feet first, till I made exit in New York. I was found, but how I got into the river, I don’t know.” “You were clothed when you started?” “I can only say that I assume I was. I’m a normal, decent sort of man, and I can’t think I’d consciously set out on a trip of any sort undressed! But I’ve no doubt my swashing around in the ice-filled river did for my clothes. Probably, as related by the Ancient Mariner, ‘the ice was here, the ice was there, the ice was all around: it cracked and growled and—something or other—and howled, like noises in a swound.’ You see, I still know my ‘Familiar Quotations’ by heart.” “That’s a queer phase,” and Wise shook his head. “It may be you are a poet——” “Well, I haven’t poetized any since my recrudescence.” “And that’s another queer thing,” pursued the detective. “Most victims of aphasia can’t remember words. You are exceptionally fluent and seem to have a wide vocabulary.” “I admit it all,” and Rivers looked a little weary, as if he were tired of speculating on his own case. “Now, to change the subject, how are you progressing, Mr. Wise, with your present work? How goes the stalking of the murderer?” “Haven’t got him yet, Mr. Rivers, but we’ve made a good start. You know the details?” “Only the newspaper accounts, and such additional information as Mr. Brice has given me. I’m greatly interested,—for,—tell it not to Gath detectives,—I fancy I’ve a bent toward sleuthing myself.” Pennington Wise smiled. “You’re not alone in that,” he said, chaffingly, but so good-naturedly that Rivers took no offense. “I suppose it’s your reflected light that makes everybody who talks with you feel that way,” he came back. “Well, if you get up a stump, lean on me, Grandpa,—I’m ’most seven.” And then we all three discussed the case, in all its phases, and though Rivers said nothing of great importance, he showed such an intellectual grasp of it all, and responded so intelligently to Wise’s theories and opinions that the two soon became most friendly. The announcement of the rewards stirred Rivers to enthusiasm. “I’m going to get ’em!” he cried; “both of ’em! With all due respect to you, Mr. Wise, I’m going to cut under and win out! Don’t say I didn’t warn you, and hereafter all you say will be used against you! If there’s one thing I need more than another it’s ten thousand dollars,—I could even do with twenty! So, here goes for Rivers, the swiftsure detective!” Not a bit offended, Penny Wise laughed outright. “Go ahead, my boy,” he cried; “here’s a bargain; you work with me, and I’ll work with you. If we get either Manning or the murderer or both, then either or both rewards shall be yours. I’ll be content with what else I can get out of it.” “Done!” and Case Rivers was jubilant. “Perhaps Manning is the murderer,” he said, thoughtfully. “No,” I put in. “That won’t do. Manning is in love with Miss Raynor, and he wouldn’t queer his cause by killing her guardian.” “But Guardy didn’t approve of Suitor Manning,” Rivers said. “No; but I know Manning and you don’t,—well, that is, I know him only slightly. But I’m sure he’s not the man to shoot a financial magnate and a first-class citizen just because he frowned on his suit. Try again, Rivers.” “All right: what you say goes. But I’m just starting in, you know. And, by the way, I’m to get a job of some sort today—yes?” He looked at me inquiringly, but Wise answered. “Wait a bit, Rivers, as to that. If you’ll agree, I’ll grubstake you for a fortnight or so, and you can help me. Really, I mean it, for as a stranger you can go to places, and see people, where I can’t show my familiar face. Then, when you get the two rewards you can repay me my investment in you. And if you fail to nail the ten thousand, I’ll take your note.” “I’ll go you!” said Rivers, after a moment’s thought. “You’re a brick, Penny Wise!” A tap at the door announced Norah, and with her came Jenny Boyd. Nor was Jenny dragged unwillingly,—she seemed eager to enter,—but her absurd little painted face wore a look of stubbornness and her red lips were shut in a determined pout. “Jenny knows who ‘The Link’ is, and she won’t tell,” Norah declared, as a first bit of information. “Oh, yes, she will,” and Penny Wise winked at the girl. He really gave a very knowing wink, as who should say: “We understand each other.” As they had never met before, I watched to see just how Jenny would take it, and to my surprise she looked decidedly frightened. Wise saw this too,—doubtless he brought about the effect purposely,—but in a moment Jenny regained her poise and was her saucy self again. “I don’t know for sure,” she said, “and so I don’t want to get nobody into trouble by suspicioning them.” “You won’t get anybody into trouble,” Wise assured her, “unless she has made the trouble for herself. Let’s play a game, Jenny,—let’s talk in riddles.” Jenny eyed him curiously, and then, as he smiled infectiously, she did, too. “Now,” went on Wise, “this is the game. I don’t know, of course, whom you have in mind, and you don’t know whom I have in mind, so we’ll play the game this way: I’ll say, ‘I know she is a clever woman.’ Now you make a truthful statement about her.” Enthralled by his manner, Jenny said, almost involuntarily, “I know she is a wrong one!” “I know she’s pretty,” said Wise. “I know she isn’t!” snapped Jenny. “I know she is black-haired and dresses well and owns a scarab hatpin.” “I know that, too,” and Jenny was breathless with interest. “No; that won’t do. You must know something different from my know.” “Well, I know she’s a friend of Mr. Rodman.” “And of Mr. Gately,” added Wise. “Oh, no, sir, I don’t think so!” Jenny’s surprise was unfeigned. “Well, I know she’s a telegraph girl.” “Yes: and I know she has more money to spend than she gets for a salary.” “I know she’s a good girl.” “Oh, yes, sir,—that way. But she——” “She smokes cigarettes.” “Yes; she does. Oh, I think that’s awful.” “Well, it’s your turn. You know she’s ‘The Link’?” “I know she’s been called that, but it isn’t a regular nickname, and I don’t know what it means.” “Where is she?” “Her work, you mean?” “Yes; she’s in the company’s office,——” Here Jenny whispered the address to Wise. “Good girl,” he commented. “Keep it dark. No use in telling all these people!” He turned to my telephone, then said: “No, Brice, you do it. Call Headquarters and tell the Chief to arrest,—what’s her name, Jenny?” “I—I didn’t say, sir.” The girl’s caution was returning. “Say now, then,” commanded Wise. “I know, anyway. It begins with S.” “Her first name,—yes, sir.” “And the last name with K. You see I know! So, out with it!” “Sadie Kent,” whispered Jenny, her nerves beginning to go to pieces at realizaton of what she had done. “Yes, of course. Sadie Kent. Go ahead, Brice. Fix it all up,—and go to the telegraph office yourself. Meet the officers there. Scoot!” I scooted. The strong arm of the law works swiftly when it wills to do so. Within half an hour Sadie Kent was arrested at her key in the telegraph office on charge of stealing confidential telegrams sent by officials in Washington to munition plants and steamship companies and delivering them to persons who she knew would transmit them to the German Foreign Office. When approached, the girl,—the woman rather,—put up a bold bluff, but it was of no avail. She was taken into custody, and all her appeals for mercy denied. All but one. She begged so hard to be allowed to telephone to her mother that Hudson, who was present, softened. “You can’t, my lady,” he said, “but I’ll have it done for you. Mr. Brice, now, maybe he’ll do it.” “Oh, if you would be so kind,” and the beautiful brunette, for she was that, gave me a grateful look. “Just call 83649 Greenwich Square, and ask for Mrs. Kent. Then tell her, please, that—that I won’t be home tonight. That’s all.” Her voice broke and she sobbed softly in her handkerchief. They took her away, to be detained pending developments. I made the call and gave the message exactly as she had asked me. A pleasant voice responded, saying the speaker was Mrs. Kent, and she thanked me for sending word. I hurried back to my rooms. Wise and Rivers were still there but Norah and Jenny had left. I had no sooner got my coat off than Zizi came flying in. “Oh, everybody,” she cried, in a whirl of excitement, “Olive’s gone! She’s kidnaped or abducted or something. A telephone message came and she flew off, telling nobody but Mrs. Vail, and telling her not to tell!” “Where’s she gone?” I cried, flinging back into my coat. “Nobody knows. I only got it out of Mrs. Vail this minute, and then only by threatening her with all sorts of horrors if she didn’t tell me. She doesn’t know where Olive’s gone,—nobody knows,—but whoever telephoned said he had Amory Manning with him, just for a few moments and for her to come at once if she wanted to see him. A car would come for her at four o’clock, exactly, and she was to get in and ask no questions. And she did—and she told Mrs. Vail that as soon as she got to Mr. Manning she would telephone back,—in about fifteen minutes. And now it’s over an hour! and no word from her! That stupid old woman just walks up and down and wrings her hands!” “I should think she would! Which way shall we look, Wise?” “I don’t know, I’m sure!” and for once the resourceful detective was absolutely at a loss. “Oh, Penny Wise,” and Zizi burst into tears, “if you don’t know what to do, nobody does! Olive will be killed or held for ransom or some dreadful thing! What can we do?” But the dull silence that fell on us all proved that no one present was able to offer any suggestion. |
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