The Man Who Fell Through the Earth

  CHAPTER X Penny Wise and Zizi

  And so it was at this stage of affairs that Pennington Wise got into thegame. He willingly agreed to take up the case, for the mystery of itappealed to him strongly, and by a stroke of good luck he was nototherwise engaged.

  He had promised to call at Miss Raynor's, and as she had asked me to bepresent also, I went up there, reaching the house before Wise did.

  "What's he like?" Olive inquired of me.

  "Good-looking sort of chap, without being handsome," I told her. "You'lllike his personality, I'm sure, whether he helps us out of our troublesor not."

  "I don't care a fig for his personality," she returned, "but I do wanthim to solve our two mysteries. I suppose you'll think I'm dreadful,--butI'd rather Mr. Wise would find Amory Manning for me, than to discoverUncle Amos' murderer."

  "I don't blame you at all for that. Of course, we want to find thecriminal, but even more, I too, want to find Mr. Manning for you."

  "And, anyway, I suppose the police think now that Mr. Rodman did it."

  "They don't go so far as to say that, but they're hunting up evidence,and they've got hold of some pretty damaging information. It seems Rodmanwas mixed up in some wrongdoing, and it begins to look as if Mr. Gatelywas in some way connected with it,--at least, to a degree."

  "If he was, then he didn't know it was wrong." Olive spoke with deepconviction, and I didn't try to disabuse her mind.

  And then Pennington Wise was announced.

  As he entered the room his manner showed no trace of self-consciousness,and as I had anticipated, Olive was greatly pleased with her firstglimpse of him. But to her surprise, and mine also, he was accompanied,or rather followed, by a young woman, a mere slip of a girl, who pausedand stood quietly by.

  As Olive smiled at her inquiringly, Wise said:

  "That's Zizi. She's part of my working paraphernalia, and will just sitand listen while we talk."

  The girl was fascinating to look at. Slight of build, she had a lithesuppleness that made her every motion a gesture of grace, and her prettysmile was appreciative and responsive. She had black hair and very blackeyes, which sparkled and danced as she took in her surroundings. But shesaid no word, acknowledging her brief introduction only by a slight bow,and accepting the chair that Olive offered, she sat quietly, her smallgloved hands resting in her lap.

  She wore a black suit with a fine set of black fox furs. Unfastening thefur collar, she disclosed a black blouse of soft, thin material whichfell away from her slender white throat in becoming fashion.

  Her manner was correct in every particular, and she sat in anunembarrassed silence as Wise proceeded to talk.

  "I know all that has been in the papers," he said, somewhat abruptly,"now, I'd like you to tell me the rest. I can't help feeling there mustbe more in the way of evidence or clews than has been made public. Firstof all, do _you_ think Mr. Rodman the guilty man?"

  He addressed himself mainly to Olive, though including me in hisinquiring glance.

  "I'm sure I don't know," Olive returned; "I won't believe, however, thatAmos Gately was involved in any sort of wrong. His honor and integritywere of the highest type,--I knew him intimately enough to certify tothat."

  "What sort of wrongdoing is this Rodman accused of?" asked Wise.

  "Nobody seems willing to tell that," I answered, as Olive shook her head."I've inquired of the police, and they decline to reveal just what theydo suspect him of. But I think it's something pretty serious, and they'retracking it down as fast as they can."

  "You see," Olive put in, "if Mr. Rodman is such a bad man, he may havehoodwinked Mr. Gately and made him believe something was all right whenit was all wrong."

  "Of course he might," said Wise, sympathetically. "Did people come hereto the house to see Mr. Gately on business?"

  "No; never. Uncle had few visitors, but they were always just hisfriends, not business callers."

  "Then most of our search must be in his offices. You noticed nothingthere, Mr. Brice, that seemed indicative?"

  Then I told him about the hatpin and the carriage check; and I alsorelated how Norah had found and kept the "powder-paper" that she pickedout of the waste basket.

  Zizi's eyes flashed at this, and she said, "Has she traced it?"

  It was the first time the girl had spoken, and I was charmed with hervoice. Low and soft, it had also a bell-like quality, and seemed to leavea ringing echo in the air after she ceased speaking.

  "Yes; to the shop where it was bought," I replied. "As Norah guessed, itcame from a very high-class perfumer's on Fifth Avenue. But of course hecould not tell us to whom he had sold that particular paper."

  "I'd like to see it," said Zizi, simply, and again relapsed into silence.

  "Norah must be a bright girl," observed Wise, "and she has made a goodstart by finding the shop. Perhaps we can carry the trail further. Itwasn't yours, Miss Raynor?"

  "No; I use a paler tint. This one, I have seen it, is quite a deep pink."

  "Indicating a brunette possibly. Now, it's not likely it belonged to thatold Mrs. Driggs, so we must assume another woman in the office that day.And we must discover who she is."

  "There is the hatpin, you know," said Olive. "I have it here, if you careto see it. But the police decided it meant nothing."

  "Nothing means nothing," said Zizi, with a funny little smile. "Pleaselet us see the hatpin."

  Olive took it from a desk drawer and handed it to the girl, whoimmediately passed it over to Penny Wise.

  He looked at it with interest, for a silent minute.

  "There couldn't be a better _portrait parle_!" he exclaimed. "This pinbelongs to a lady with dark, straight hair,--coarse, and lots of it. Shehas good teeth, and she is proud of them. Her tastes incline to theflashy, and she is fond of strong perfumes. She is of somewhat untidyhabits and given to sentiment. She is intellectual and efficient and, ifnot wealthy, she has at least a competence."

  "For gracious goodness sake!" gasped Olive; "and I've studied that hatpinfor hours and never could deduce a thing!"

  "What I have read from it may be of no use to us," said Wise,indifferently; "I think it will be a sufficient indication of which wayto look to find the lady in question, but that doesn't necessarily meanthe finding of her will do any good."

  "But she may know something to tell us that will do good," Olivesuggested; "at any rate, let's find her. How will you go about it?"

  "Why, I think it will be a good plan to ask the stenographer, Jenny Boyd,if she ever saw anyone there who fits our description."

  "She's the lady of the powder-paper, maybe," murmured Zizi, and PennyWise said, "Of course," in a preoccupied way, and went on:

  "That Jenny person must be further grilled. She hasn't told all sheknows. She was in Mr. Gately's employ but a short time and yet she pickedup a lot of information. But she hasn't divulged it all, not by a longshot!"

  "How do you know all this?" asked Olive, wonderingly.

  "I've read the papers. I have an unbreakable habit of reading between thelines, and I think Miss Jenny has been persuaded by somebody to suppresscertain interesting bits of evidence that would fit right into ourpicture puzzle."

  "May I come in?" said a gentle voice, and Mrs. Vail appeared in thedoorway.

  As we rose to greet her, Olive presented Mr. Wise, and then Mrs. Vailpermitted herself the luxury of a stare of genuine curiosity.

  His whimsical smile charmed her, and she was most cordial of speech andmanner. Indeed, so absorbed was she in this new acquaintance that shedidn't even see Zizi, who sat, as always, back and in the shadow.

  "Don't let me interrupt," said Mrs. Vail, fluttering into a chair. "Justgo on as if I were not here. I'm _so_ interested, just let me listen! Iwon't say a word. Oh, Olive dear, did you show Mr. Wise the letter?"

  "No; it's unimportant," replied the girl.

  "But I don't think it is, my dear," Mrs. Vail persisted. "You know itmight be a--what do
they call it?--a clew. Why, I knew a lady once----"

  "A letter is always important," said Zizi from her corner, and Mrs. Vailjumped and gave a startled exclamation.

  "Who's that?" she cried, peering through her _lorgnon_ in the directionof the voice.

  "Show yourself, Zizi," directed Wise. "This is my assistant, Mrs. Vail.She is in our council but not of it. I can't explain her exactly, butyou'll come to understand her."

  Zizi leaned forward and gave Mrs. Vail a pleasant if indifferent smile,then sank back to her usual obscurity.

  The girl was, Wise had said, a negligible personality, and yet whenevershe spoke she said something!

  Mrs. Vail looked bewildered, but apparently she was prepared to acceptanything, however strange, in connection with detective work.

  "Well," she observed, "as that pretty little thing says, a letter isalways important, and I think you ought to show it, Olive. I had a letteronce that changed the whole current of my life!"

  "What is this letter, Miss Raynor?" asked Wise, in a matter-of-fact way.

  "One I received in this morning's mail," Olive replied; "I paid noattention to it, because it was anonymous. Uncle Amos told me once neverto notice an anonymous letter,--always to burn and forget it."

  "Good enough advice, in general," said Wise; "but in such serious mattersas we have before us any letter is of interest."

  "Is the letter written by a woman, and signed 'A Friend'?" asked Zizi inher soft voice.

  "Did you write it?" cried Olive, turning to the wraith-like girl who satso quietly behind her.

  "Oh, no, no, no! _I_ didn't write it," and the demure little face showeda fleeting smile.

  "Then how did you know? For it _is_ signed 'A Friend,' but I don't knowwhether it was a woman who wrote it or not."

  "It was," and Zizi nodded her sleek little black head. She had removedher hat and placed it on a nearby chair, and as she nestled into her furswhich formed a dark background, her small white face looked more eeriethan ever. "Ninety per cent. of all anonymous letters are written bywomen, and ninety per cent. of these are signed 'A Friend.' Thoughusually that is a misstatement."

  "May I see the letter?" asked Wise.

  "Sure; I'll get it."

  It was Zizi who spoke! And rising, she went swiftly across the room, to adesk, and from a pigeonhole took an opened letter, which she carried toWise, and then dropped back into her seat again.

  Mrs. Vail gave a surprised gasp, and Olive looked her amazement.

  "How did you know where to find that?" she exclaimed, her great browneyes wide with wonder.

  "Dead easy," said Zizi, nonchalantly; "you've scarcely taken your eyesoff that spot, Miss Raynor, since the letter was mentioned!"

  "But even though I looked at the desk, how could you pick out the veryletter, at once?"

  "Oh, I looked at the desk, too. And I saw your morning's mail, prettywell sorted out. There's a pile of bills, a pile of what are unmistakablysocial notes, and, up above in a pigeonhole, all by itself, was thisletter. You glanced at it a dozen times or more, so I couldn't helpknowing."

  Olive laughed. One couldn't help liking the strange girl whose expressionwas so earnest, even while her black eyes were dancing.

  Meanwhile, Penny Wise examined the missive.

  "I'll read it aloud?" and he glanced at Olive, who acquiesced by a nod.

  "Miss Raynor:

  "Quit looking for slayer of A.G. or you'll be railroaded in yourself.This is straight goods. Call off all Tecs, or beware consequences. Willnot warn twice!

  "A Friend."

  "A woman," Pennington Wise said in a musing voice, after he read it.

  "A business woman," added Zizi from her corner.

  "A stenographer maybe," Wise went on, and Olive cried:

  "Do you mean Jenny?"

  "Oh, no; this is written by a woman with more brains than Jenny everdreamed of. A very clever woman in fact."

  "Who?" breathed Olive, her eager face flushing in her interest andanxious to know more.

  "I don't know that, Miss Raynor, but----"

  "Oh, Mr. Wise," broke in Mrs. Vail; "you are so wonderful! Won't youexplain how you do it, as you go along?"

  She spoke as if he were a conjurer.

  "Anything to oblige," Wise assented. "Well, here's how it looks to me.The writer of this letter is a business woman, not only because she usesthis large, single sheet of bond paper, but because she knows how to useit. She is a stenographer,--by that I do not necessarily mean that is herbusiness,--she may have a knowledge of stenography, and be in some muchmore important line of work. But she is an accomplished typist and arapid one. This, I know, of course, from the neat and uniform typing. Sheis clever, because she has used this non-committal paper, which is in noway especial or individual. She is a business woman, again, because sheuses such expressions as 'quit,' railroaded,' 'Tecs,' 'straightgoods,'----"

  "Which she might do by way of being misleading----" murmured Zizi.

  "Too many of 'em, and too casually used, Ziz. A society girl trying topose as a business woman never would have rolled those words in soeasily. I should have said a newspaper woman but for a certainpeculiarity of style which indicates,--what, Zizi?"

  "You've got it; a telegraph operator."

  "Exactly. Do you know any telegrapher, Miss Raynor?"

  "No, indeed!" and Olive looked astounded at the suggestion that sheshould number such among her acquaintances. "Are you sure?"

  "Looks mighty like it. The short sentences and the elimination ofpersonal pronouns seem to me to denote a telegraph girl's diction. Andshe is very clever! She has sent the carbon copy of the letter and notthe outside typing."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "To make it less traceable. You know, typewriting is very nearly asindividual as pen-writing. The differentiations of the machine as well asof the user's technique, are almost invariably so pronounced as to makethe writing recognizable. Now these peculiarities, while often clear onthe first paper, are blurred more or less on the carbon copy. So 'AFriend,' thinking to be very canny, has sent the carbon. This is a newtrick, though I've seen it done several times of late. But it isn't somisleading as it is thought to be. For all the individual peculiaritiesof the typewriter,--I mean, the machine, are almost as visible on this ason the other. I've noticed them in this case, easily. And moreover, thiswould-be clever writer has overreached herself! For a carbon copy smudgesso easily that it is almost impossible to touch it, even to fold thesheet, without leaving a telltale thumb or finger print! And thiscorrespondent has most obligingly done so!"

  "Really!" breathed Zizi, with a note of satisfaction in her low voice.

  "And the peculiarities,--what are they?" asked Olive.

  "The one that jumps out and hits me first is the elevated _s_. Look,--andyou have to look closely, Miss Raynor,--in every instance the letter _s_is a tiny speck higher than the other letters."

  "Why, so it is," and Olive examined the letter with deep interest; "buthow can you find a machine with an elevated _s_?"

  "It isn't a sign-board, it's a proof. When we think we have the rightmachine, the _s_ will prove it,--not lead us to it."

  "Let me see," begged Mrs. Vail, reaching for the paper. "A friend of mineis a stenographer; maybe she----"

  "Excuse me," and Penny Wise folded the letter most carefully. "We can'tget any more finger prints on this paper, or we shall render it useless.Now, Miss Raynor, I'm going. I'll take the letter, and I've little doubtit will be a great help to me in my work. I will report to you from timeto time, but it may be a few days before I learn anything of importance.Zizi?"

  "Yes; I'll stay here," and the girl sat quietly in her chair.

  "That means she'll take up her abode with you for the present, MissRaynor," and Wise smiled at Olive.

  "Live here?"

  "Yes, please. It is necessary, or she wouldn't do it."

  "Oh, let her stay!" cried Mrs. Vail; "she's so interesting--and
queer!"

  The object of her comment gave her an engaging smile, but said nothing,and beckoning me to go with him, Wise rose to take leave.

  But I wanted to have a little further talk with Olive on several mattersand I told Wise I'd join him a little later.

  "Be goody-girl, Zizi," he adjured as he went off, and she nodded herhead, but with a saucy grimace at the detective.

  "My room?" she said, inquiringly, with a pretty, shy glance at Olive."I'm no trouble,--not a bit. Any little old room, you know."

  "You shall have it in a few moments," and Olive went away to see thehousemaids about it.

  Mrs. Vail snatched at a chance to talk uninterruptedly to the strangegirl.

  "What is your work?" she inquired; "do you help Mr. Wise? Isn't hewonderful! How you must admire him. I knew a detective once,--or, atleast, a man who was going to be a detective, but---- Oh, _do_ tell mewhat your part of the work is!"

  "I sit by," returned Zizi, with a dear little grin that took off all edgeof curtness.

  "Sit by! Is that some technical term? I don't quite understand."

  "I don't always understand myself," and the girl shook her head slowly;"but I just remain silent until Mr. Wise wants me to speak,--to tell himsomething, you know. Then I tell him."

  "But how do _you_ know it?" I put in, fascinated by this strange child,for she looked little more than a child.

  "Ooh!" Zizi shuddered, and drew her small self together, her black eyesround and uncanny-looking; "ooh! I donno how I know! I guess the bogieman tells me!"

  Mrs. Vail shuddered too, and gave a little shriek.

  "You're a witch," she cried; "own up, now, aren't you a witch?"

  "Yes, lady, lady! I _am_ a witch,--a poor little witch girl!" and Zizilaughed outright at her own little joke.

  If her smile had been charming, her laugh was more so. It was not only ofa silvery trill, but it was infectious, and Mrs. Vail and I laughed insympathy.

  "What are you all laughing at?" said Olive, reappearing.

  "At me," and Zizi spoke humbly now; "I made 'em laugh. Sorry!"

  "Come along with me, you funny child," and Olive led her away, leaving meto be the victim of Mrs. Vail's incessant stream of chatter.

  The good lady volubly discussed the detective and his assistant anddetailed many accounts of people she had known. Her acquaintance wasseemingly a wide one!

  At last Olive returned, smiling.

  "I never saw anything like her!" she exclaimed; "I gave her a prettylittle room, not far from mine. I don't know, I'm sure, why she's stayinghere, but I like to have her. Well, in about two minutes she had thefurniture all changed about. Not the heavy pieces, of course, but shemoved a small table and all the chairs, and finally unscrewed an electriclight bulb from one place and put it on another, and then, after lookingall about, she said, 'Just one thing more!' and if she didn't spring upon to a table with one jump and take down quite a large picture! 'There,'she said, and she set it out in the hall; 'I can't bear that thing! Nowthis is a lovely room, and I thank you, Miss Raynor. The pink one wepassed is yours, isn't it?'

  "'Yes; how did you know?' I asked her. And she said, 'I saw a photographof Mr. Manning on your bureau.' Little rascal! I can't help liking her!"