  “Hello, people! What’s the matter, Zizi? I’ll be on your side! Bank on me, little one, to the last ditch. And, by jumping Jupiter, Brice, I believe the last ditch is coming my way! No, I haven’t got a strangle-hold on that eloping memory of mine yet, but I ’ave ’opes. I’ve had a glimmer of a gleam of a ray of light on my dark, mysterious past, and I beflew myself straight to good little old Doctor Rankin, who’s my Trouble Man every time. And he says that it’s the beginning of the end. That any day, almost any hour now, I may burst forth a full-memoried and properly christened citizen.” “Good for you, old chap,” and thrilled at the elation in his tones, I held out my hand. “Go in and win!” “Oh, won’t it be fine when you remember?” cried Mrs. Vail, wringing her hands in excitement; “why, I knew a man once——” “Yes,” Rivers encouraged her, in his kindly way, “what happened to the lucky chap?” “Why, he was affected something as you are,—or, as you were——” but Wise couldn’t stand for what seemed likely to be a long story. “Excuse me, Mrs. Vail,” he interrupted her, “but, really, I must run away now, and I want a word or two with Mr. Rivers first.” The good lady subsided, but it was plain to be seen she was disappointed. “May I come in?” and a smiling Olive appeared in the doorway. “Am I wanted?” “Are you wanted?” the eager, hungry smile Rivers gave her was pathetic. For it was so spontaneous, so gladly welcoming that it was as if a light was suddenly extinguished when the man, on second thought, hid his real feelings and advanced with a courteous but rather formal air. “You’re always wanted,” he resumed, lightly, but the joy was gone from his tones, and a mere friendly greeting resulted. Surely, he was a gentleman, but he would make no advances while uncertain of his claim in full to that title. And then, he looked at her curiously, as if wondering whether she would hold any place in his restored memory,—should the restoration really occur. It was Zizi who broke the silence that fell on us all. “I want my way, Penny,” she said, in such a wistful, pleading tone, that I felt sure no breathing human heart could refuse her. “What is your way, Zizi?” Wise said, gently. “I want us all to go—all of us,—over to Mr. Gately’s office——” “Come ahead!” cried Rivers; “I promised old Brice, here, that I’d go this very day, and I broke my appointment. Sorry, old man, but I had to see Friend Doctor, on the jump. Let’s go now, in accordance with the Witch’s whim, and we’ll take the big wagon, and all go.” He often called Zizi the Witch, or the Elf-child, and she liked it from him, though she usually resented any familiarity. She smiled at him, but I noted an undercurrent of sadness in her gaze, and I knew she was thinking of the evidence of the snow crystal. For though Zizi liked Rivers a lot, and though she really had faith in his innocence of wrongdoing, yet her whole fealty was to Pennington Wise, and her hunch about the snowflake drawing might lead to disastrous results in more ways than one. Olive shrank from going to her guardian’s office,—she had never been there since the tragedy,—but a few whispered words from Zizi persuaded her to agree to accompany us. And to help matters, I told her that if she preferred not to go into Mr. Gately’s rooms, she could remain in my office with Norah, while we went. Mrs. Vail insisted on being of the party, and ran briskly off to get her bonnet. The atmosphere seemed peculiarly charged with a feeling of impending disaster, and yet, not one of us would have held back. Pennington Wise was very grave and quiet; Zizi, on the other hand, was as one electrified. She sprang about with quick, darting motions, she giggled almost hysterically and then suddenly became most gentle and tender. She ran for Olive’s wraps herself, and bringing them, put them on with the careful air of a mother dressing her child. Olive, herself, was as one dazed. She, now and then, looked toward Rivers with a shy, yet wistful glance, and he looked back with a big, hearty smile that seemed to warm her very soul. We piled into the big touring car and made a quick run to the Puritan Building. Then we all went to my office first. Norah did the honors as prettily as any hostess in her own home, and her ready tact helped Olive to overcome her dread of the place. “Well,” said Rivers, at last, “what are we waiting for? I thought we were to go over to Mr. Gately’s rooms. Perhaps Miss Raynor and Mrs. Vail would prefer to stay here with Miss MacCormack.” “No,” said Olive, firmly, “I want to go, too.” Norah looked at her uncertainly. Then, probably realizing that for Olive to remain behind would be harder than to face whatever might happen, she said, quite casually, “Very well, Miss Raynor, let us all go.” I think we were all imbued with a sense of fear, a sort of premonition that the visit across the hall would be productive of grave results. Rivers was the most light-hearted of the party, and yet I somehow felt that his cheerfulness was forced. “The keys, Brice?” he said; “oh, you have them. All right, my boy, go ahead.” And then the same stillness that was on the rest of us fell on him, too, and we entered the rooms in silence. I went first, through Jenny’s room, on to the middle room, and paused just beyond the desk. Rivers was next, but Zizi pushed her lithe little body through the group, and came through the door just ahead of him. Rivers entered with the strangest look I have ever seen on any human face. It was a transition,—not sudden but gradual,—from the dark of forgetfulness to the dawn of memory. And then, just as he neared Amos Gately’s desk, Zizi, without seeming insistence,—indeed, without seeming intent,—guided him to the chair opposite Mr. Gately’s desk-chair. Mechanically, almost unconsciously, Rivers dropped into the seat and sat at the great table-desk,—just where, presumably, the slayer of Amos Gately had sat. With one of her sudden, swift motions, Zizi put the telephone receiver into his left hand, which involuntarily opened to take it, and thus exposed to view the snow crystal drawn on the blotter. A dead silence fell on us all as Rivers sat there staring at the little sketch. He fairly devoured it with his eyes, his face, meanwhile, becoming set,—like a face of stone. Then, raising his blank, staring eyes, his gaze sought out Olive and, looking straight at her, he gave a low, piercing cry,—wrung from him as from a soul in mortal agony,—and said: “I killed Amos Gately!” I think the scene that followed this announcement was the strangest I have ever experienced. For myself, I felt a sudden sinking, as if the bottom had fallen out of the universe. In fact, a whimsical idea flashed through my stunned brain that I was “falling through the earth,”—or into a bottomless pit. The white faces that I looked at meant nothing to me,—I saw them as in a dream, so dazed was my intelligence. And then, they assumed their individuality and I saw that Olive’s lovely countenance was a complete blank; like me, she failed to grasp the full meaning of Rivers’ confession. Mrs. Vail, her eyes closed, lay back limply in a chair, and groaned audibly, while Norah buried her face in a nearby silken curtain and sobbed. Pennington Wise looked like a man who has just heard the worst,—but who expected it. However, the shock had unnerved him, I could see by his tightly clenched hands and set lips, as he strove to control himself. Rivers sat like a stone statue, only his eyes, desperate in their concentration, showed the fearful mental strain he was suffering. Zizi,—bless her!—stood behind him,—hovering, watchful,—more like a guardian angel than a Nemesis, and with her eerie, elfin face full of anxious suspense. Rivers drew a long sigh; he looked round the room, appraisingly, his quick, darting glance taking in every detail, he scanned the desk and all the things on it, he looked through into the farther room,—the Blue Room,—and saw the great war map hanging on the wall, and then he rose, straightened his broad shoulders, and shook himself as one who arouses from sleep. Breathlessly, we who watched, saw a great light come into his eyes,—a new self-respect, a new sense of importance showed in his whole bearing and, with a smile of infinite tenderness he looked at Olive and said: “I am Amory Manning!” Zizi yelled. There is no other word for it. Her shrieks of joy filled the room, and she danced about waving her thin little arms like a veritable pixy. “It’s all right!” she cried, in ecstacy, “Oh, Penny, it’s all right!” and with a spring across the room, she landed in Wise’s arms, who patted her shoulder, and said: “There, there, Ziz, don’t flatten out now!” Meantime, Rivers was finding himself. He stood still, with his hands tightly grasping the chair back, and his face working as he received and classified the memories crowding thickly back upon his burdened brain. “Wait a minute,” he said, struggling with his thoughts, “I know all about it, but——” “Amory!” cried Olive, “that’s your voice! I know you now!” We could all note the change in his speech. Until this moment Rivers had spoken in the peculiar tones I had noticed the first time I met him. Monotonous tones, almost devoid of inflection. Now, his voice was normal, and even more melodious than the average. Surely, the man had found himself, but if he was really Amory Manning,—well, my mind refused to go further. And he had also said that he killed Amos Gately! But I felt no need of asking questions, or even of wondering, for the man before us looked so responsible, so capable of self-explanation, that like the rest of the assembly, I merely waited his further speech. “There’s so much to be told,” he said, and his smile changed to a look of pain. He gave another glance at Olive, and even took a step toward her,—then he seemed to collapse, and sinking back into the chair he had vacated, he hid his face in his hands and groaned. “Go on!” whispered an imperious little voice, and Zizi was behind him again, her hand on his shoulder, her tones urgent and encouraging. “I will!” and Manning, for we felt no doubt of his identity now,—spoke firmly and bravely. He did not look at Olive, and it was clear that this was intentional. Instead, he turned to Zizi, and seemed to address himself to her. He couldn’t have done better if he wanted helpful sympathy, for the black eyes that gazed at him were soft and tender with something like a maternal sweetness. This mood of Zizi’s, rarely shown, was one of her chiefest charms, and Manning gratefully accepted it, and let it help him. “Shall I tell all,—now and here?” he asked, glancing at Pennington Wise. “Yes,” said the detective, after a moment’s thought. “Yes, if you will.” “Very well, then.” Manning was entirely composed now, but it was evident he was holding himself together by a strong effort. Also, he carefully refrained from looking in Olive’s direction. This alarmed me a little, for to my mind, it argued him a guilty man, and, that, in fact, he had declared himself to be. Norah and I exchanged glances of understanding,—or, rather, of not understanding,—and Manning began his story. “I think I will begin right here,” he said, in a slow, methodical way, and with the air of one who has a disagreeable duty to perform, but who has no intention of shirking any part of it. “I remember everything—everything,—and it is not all pleasant remembrance! But it must be told, and then I must go at once and report to my superiors. “I am Amory Manning, a special agent in the Secret Service. I was detailed by the Government to hunt down a certain branch of the enemy spy system in New York City, and in pursuance of my duty, I learned that Amos Gately was the man I sought.” Manning still kept his glance averted from Olive, indeed, he looked almost constantly at Zizi, whose dark little face, lovely in its sympathy, seemed to drink in his every word. “I knew all about Rodman, I was on the trail of Sadie, ‘The Link,’ and I came here, that afternoon, primarily to get an incriminating paper, which would have been positive evidence against Gately, and I had orders to arrest him if he was unable to clear himself. “We had a stormy interview, and I found the man was guilty of the blackest treason. He had been a receiver of the stolen information sold by ‘The Link,’ and had transmitted it, by secret channels of his own, to the enemy government. I charged him with this, and he put up a fight. I tried to overcome him, and take him peaceably, but he was desperate and evaded my grasp. He ran toward that map in the other room, and I stood just here, where I am now sitting. I had overturned the chair in our struggle and as I suddenly saw him push aside the map and enter what was beyond all doubt a secret mode of exit, I fired at him. Of course, I meant merely to wing him,—merely to prevent his escape,—but as I fired he turned and received the bullet in his heart. Of course, I didn’t know this at the time, nor did I know where he had gone. But I heard the car descend, and knew that it must be a private elevator. “I ran into that room, and finding the elevator entrance, behind the map, fastened, I flew out to the hall and downstairs. In my haste, there being no car waiting, I thought I could get down faster by the stairs. But after running down two flights, I saw a waiting elevator and got in. I had dropped my pistol somewhere when trying to stuff it into my overcoat pocket as I ran downstairs. But I gave no thought to anything save preventing the escape of my prisoner. Of course, I didn’t then know how seriously he was hurt. “I failed to find the exit from the private elevator, and never dreaming it was in the building next door, I hunted this building for quite a time. I investigated the ground floor, the basement and sub-basement, but couldn’t find it. Greatly puzzled, I began the search all over again, and then, Olive,—Miss Raynor, came, and—later, I found that others had discovered the dead body of the man I had shot. “I waited only to be sure of this, and then started at once to report to the Federal Bureau.” “I know it,” I interrupted, unable to keep quiet, as the recollection surged over me, “and you went down Third Avenue on the street-car——” “I did,” Manning’s face showed only an intense effort at reconstructing the scene, “I was going to stop at my rooms on the way, for something I needed, and——” “Wait a minute,” Wise said, “I’m interested in the Case Rivers phase of your existence. Don’t forget you’re the Man Who Fell Through the Earth.” A strange smile passed over Manning’s face. “I’m just coming to that,” he said; “I am that man, and I can tell you right now, how, where, and why I made the trip!” All eyes were upon him. This strange talk,—and he had been so sensible up to now. Was the hallucination of falling through the earth destined to mar his newly returned sanity? “Go on,” repeated Zizi, and the calmness of her voice restored Manning’s poise, and also raised my hopes of a plausible explanation. “You were with me, Brice,” Manning looked at me, as if for corroboration. “Yes; I was in the car with you, but we were not near enough to speak. There was a big crowd,—and I was standing at the rear end, while you were well forward. But I say, Rivers, it’s hard to believe that man in the car was you! Why, you’re not the same type——” “Wait a minute,” the speaker waved his hand as if to check interruption, “I am Manning,—I’ll explain later,—but now I want to get that occasion well in hand. I got off the front end of the car,—I don’t know what you did,—and as I stepped off, a sudden fierce blast of wind nearly took me off my feet. I was right in the middle of the street but it seemed the middle of a howling blizzard, and as I took a step,—I went down an open manhole into the sewer. “This I distinctly remember,—the street cleaners were working there, shoveling the snow into the sewer. They had no business to leave the manhole open and unguarded, but that black squall was so sudden and terrific, no one could see or know anything for the time being. “However, I knew perfectly well, as I fell in, what had happened, but then,—and I remember this, too,—I fell and fell,—down, down,—it seemed for miles; I was whirled dizzily about,—but still I fell—on and on,—interminably. I felt my consciousness going,—at first, abnormally acute, my senses became dulled, and I had only a sensation of falling—ever falling—through the earth! “There my memory ceases. And as I next remember finding myself in a bed in Bellevue Hospital, and as I have had detailed to me the full account of my being found floating, nearly dead, in the East River, I can only accept the inevitable conclusion that I was carried by the rush of the sewer, straight out to the river, and picked up for dead. “That a sign of life was found, after I was taken to the morgue, was of the nature of a miracle, and only the most desperate efforts fanned that little spark into resuscitation. The rest you know. The shock, the exposure, the cold, and perhaps a blow or two on my head, all combined, resulted in a total loss of memory as to my identity or to the events of my former life. “I had only remaining the positive recollection of that fall—” Manning shuddered,—“that interminable, that never-ending fall through the earth.” “But you fell through water,” said Wise, his eyes staring at the narrator of all this. “Not to my knowledge. My realization of falling only lasted until I struck the water in the sewer. That, doubtless, knocked me out for good and all,—mentally, I mean. I have to thank my wonderful vitality and strong constitution for the fact that I really lived through the catastrophe. Think what it means! Hurtled through that rushing torrent of a sewer half filled with melted snow and water,—flung out into the river, dashed about among the floating cakes of ice, and all with sufficient force to tear off my clothing,—and yet to live through it!” “Going some!” cried Zizi, and the sparkle of her dancing eyes and the delight on her small, smiling face, made the rude phrase seem quite fit for the occasion. “And so,” Manning went on, quietly, “I have accomplished my quests. I have been working hard to discover three things,—my own identity, the whereabouts of Amory Manning, and—the slayer of Amos Gately. I, myself, am the answer to all three questions.” A silence fell; and then Olive spoke. “You are no slayer,—you are no murderer. You shot Mr. Gately by accident, in the pursuance of your duty. You are not only exonerated, but you did a deed, in freeing the world of a traitor, that entitles you to a Distinguished Service Cross! I respected my guardian,—I was fond of him,—but now I know what he was. I have only contempt and hatred of him! You, Amory, are a hero!—my hero.” Olive held out her hands with a beautiful gesture of affection, and Manning strode across the room to her side. “Now I have the only forgiveness I care for,” he said, and his face was radiant. “Now, I must go at once, and report. My duty lies to my country,—to my government! Oh, there are so many things yet to think of! They,—the Government,—offered a reward for me!” “Which you have won yourself!” exclaimed Penny Wise. “Yes,” chuckled Zizi, “and you’ve won the reward offered for Mr. Gately’s—” she hesitated,—“for the man who freed the world of one more traitorous viper!” “And, incidentally,” I added, “you’ve cleared up the puzzle of the man who fell through the earth!” “It is well that Gately is no more,” Manning said, musingly; “he was especially dangerous because he was in such a high position and so trusted by everybody. Rodman was an equal scoundrel, but he worked inconspicuously. Gately banked on his reputation for honor and probity,—used his own well-earned fame to further the meanest cause on earth! “Whatever happens, I’m glad he is unable to do further harm. I didn’t mean to kill him—it was an accident,—but the world is well rid of him.” “Amen,” said Olive, softly. “Well, the end justifies the means,” said Mrs. Vail, a little hysterically. “Why, once I heard of——” Ruthlessly, I shut her off. “Accept my greetings, Mr. Manning,” I said, offering my hand to our new-found friend. “I’m proud to know you!” And then there was a scene of handshaking and smiling welcome such as any hero might be proud to receive. “Wait a minute,” Manning said, at last, “that day, I was hunting a paper, you know. If it was sent off, there will yet be trouble from it. Has it been found, do you know, Mr. Wise?” “No; what sort of a paper?” “One of the stolen telegrams. It was concealed, I had reason to think, somewhere in Gately’s desk——” “Do you know that?” “I think so—wait,—I had just thought I knew where to look for it, when Gately said something that made me telephone for assistance in his arrest. I was waiting for an answer to my call——” “When you drew the snow crystal!” Zizi cried. “Yes,” he smiled. “And then, I saw something that hinted a possible hiding-place—ah, here it is!” He stepped to the desk and picked up the heavy, ornate gold penholder. He fussed with it a moment, and then, unscrewing it in the middle, showed that it was a cleverly constructed place to hide a tiny roll of thin paper. There was such a roll in it, and pulling it out, Manning grinned with glee. “All right,” he cried, joyfully; “this is the paper, a Government secret! See, you read it by that carriage-call check, and it’s safe now!” It was a paper filled with rows of letters, such a paper as had been found in Sadie’s possession and also in Rodman’s. “Now, I am satisfied,” Manning declared; “and now I must go straight down to the Federal Bureau. But first——” “Sure!” said Zizi, reading his thoughts; “we’re excused!” And with a saucy smile, she flew over and kissed Olive heartily. Then, with an imperious air, she took command, and almost before we knew it she had herded every last one of us, except Olive and Manning, across the hall to my office. I was the last to go, and Manning smiled broadly as he called after me, “I want Miss Raynor to say once more that she exonerates me, and then I’ll report to my other Superior!” Laughing happily, I entered my office, and found it a scene of hilarious gayety. Mrs. Vail was positively cavorting about, as Norah waltzed her up and down the room; Pennington Wise was sitting on the corner of my desk whistling dance music for them, and Zizi, her arms waving, executed a sort of glory dance of her own making-up. After a time, the door of the Gately room opened, and Olive’s blushing face appeared, followed by that of the Man Who Fell Through the Earth. “I want to correct a misstatement of mine,” she said; “I told you I wasn’t engaged to Amory Manning—but,—I am!” The two came over to my office, and the ovation we gave them was second only to our reception of Manning himself a few moments before. “Are you sure it is Manning?” Wise teased her. “Yes,” said Olive, most seriously. “You see he was in disguise when he was himself, and so——” Her voice was lost in the shout that went up at her remark, and she looked around in bewilderment. “She’s right,” said Manning, smiling; “I was. You see, when I became a Secret Service man, I had certain peculiar duties assigned me and it was important that I shouldn’t be known. So I adopted a permanent disguise,—oh, nothing much,—merely a mild dye for my hair and beard, which washed off easily, and a pair of big, horn-rimmed specs, which were really rather becoming than otherwise. But Olive, and many of my acquaintances knew me only in this way. I wore a Vandyke beard, and a small mustache of the Charles I type. “Then you see, when I was taken in at the hospital, and shaved, I continued to adopt a clean-shaven face. Also, the dye was thoroughly washed out in the sewer, and as my memory was washed out with it, I experienced no surprise at finding a light-haired man in my mirror. “Olive tells me, too, that my voice was of a totally different caliber, due, no doubt, to a certain vacuity made in my brain by the loss of my memory. Oh, well, that’s the story. And but for my peculiarity of drawing snow crystals,—a thing I’ve done just about all my life,—and but for Zizi’s quick-witted realization of this habit of mine, I might never have regained consciousness of my true personality!” “Probably something else would have brought it about,” said Wise, “but your drawing of the snow crystals began with Brice’s first interview with you. I ought to have found that drawing on Gately’s desk long ago! Stoo-pid!” and he beat his head in mock self-abasement. “Yes,” said Zizi, giving Wise a smile that was both impudent and affectionate, “you should have, oh, Wise Guy! You ought to have found that snowflake drawing for yourself.” “Oh, that’s what I have you for, Ziz, to look up clews for me.” “Of course you do, Penny Wise. I’m only your Pound Foolish, but at least, I can see through a clew that is as clear as crystal!” |
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