BY CAROLYN WELLS Author of “The Room With the Tassels,” “Faulkner’s Folly,” etc. NEW YORK GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY Copyright, 1919, By George H. Doran Company Printed in the United States of America THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO BLANCHE CLARK APOSTLE OF THE FINE ART OF FRIENDSHIP...

One of the occasions when I experienced “that grand and glorious feeling” was when my law business had achieved proportions that justified my removal from my old office to new and more commodious quarters. I selected a somewhat pretentious building on Madison Avenue between Thirtieth and Fortieth Streets, and it was a red-letter day for me when I moved into my pleasant rooms on its top floor. The Puritan Trust Company occupied all of the ground floor and there were also some of the private offic

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. Gatel

Mr. Talcott returned to the middle room and looked more carefully at the disturbed condition of things around and on Mr. Gately’s desk. “It is certain that Mr. Gately left the room in haste,” he said, “for here is what is undoubtedly a private and personal checkbook left open. I shall take on myself the responsibility of putting it away, for the moment, at least.” Mr. Talcott closed the checkbook and put it in a small drawer of the desk. “Why don’t you put away that hatpin, too?” suggested Norah

If I had thought Mr. Talcott somewhat indifferent before, I changed my opinion suddenly. His face turned a ghastly white and his eyes stared with horror. There was more than his grief for a friend, though that was evident enough, but his thoughts ran ahead to the larger issues involved by this murder of a bank president and otherwise influential financier. For murder it was, beyond all doubt. The briefest examination showed Mr. Gately had been shot through the heart, and the absence of any weapo

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 utm

I didn’t reach my office until afternoon, and there I found Norah, in a brown study. She looked up with a smile as I came in. “I’m neglecting my work,” she said, with a glance at a pile of papers, “but that affair across the hall has taken hold of me and I can’t put it out of my mind.” “Nor can I. I feel as if I were deeply involved in it,—if not indeed, an accessory! But there are new developments. Mr. Manning is missing.” “Mr. Manning? What has he got to do with it?” “With the crime? Nothing.

For a day or two I moped around, decidedly out of sorts. I didn’t feel sufficiently acquainted with Miss Raynor to call on her,—though she had once asked me to do so,—but I greatly longed to find out if the police had yet acquainted her with their suspicions. I thought perhaps they were waiting for further proofs, or it might be, waiting until after the funeral of Mr. Gately. There had been, so far, nothing in the papers implicating Olive, and I hoped against hope there would not be. But I felt

“And it is for me,” Olive went on, with a solemn look in her brown eyes, “to avenge the death of my guardian. I am not worried about this surveillance, or whatever they call it, of myself,—it is too absurd to take very seriously. Of course, I shall not leave the city, and I will answer any questions the police may put to me. For, you see, Mr. Brice, the only reason I had for telling falsehoods is a reason no longer. I did resort to ‘white lies’ because Uncle Amos was so unreasonably strict with

I could not suppress a feeling of elation as I once again rang at the door of Olive Raynor’s home that evening. I almost began to feel a proprietary interest in the mansion, as I now was practically the legal adviser of its new mistress. And to be received as a privileged caller, even a welcome one, was a source of gratification to my pride and self-respect. Mrs. Vail was present at our interview this time, and my first sight of her gave me a very favorable impression. A distinguished-looking la

And so it was at this stage of affairs that Pennington Wise got into the game. He willingly agreed to take up the case, for the mystery of it appealed to him strongly, and by a stroke of good luck he was not otherwise engaged. He had promised to call at Miss Raynor’s, and as she had asked me to be present 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’ll like his personality,

So absorbed was I in the new interests that had come into my life, so anxious to be of assistance to Olive Raynor, and so curious to watch the procedure of Pennington Wise, that I confess I forgot all about the poor chap I had seen at Bellevue Hospital,—the man who “fell through the earth”! And I’m not sure I should ever have thought of him again, save as a fleeting memory, if I hadn’t received a letter from him. My dear Brice [he wrote]: I’ve no right to pilfer your time, but if you have a few

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

“Give me a handkerchief, somebody!” commanded Zizi, and not without reason, for her own tiny wisp of cambric was nothing but a wet ball, which she was futilely dabbing into her big black eyes. I hurried into my bedroom and hastily grabbed a fresh handkerchief from a drawer, which I brought to the excited girl. “Thanks,” she said, as she grasped it and plied it diligently; “now, men, we must get busy! It’s after five o’clock, Olive went away before four,—anything may have happened to her—we must

“You’re to stay for dinner,” a voice said, speaking from the shadows at the other end of the long room. As I looked toward it, Zizi’s little white face gleamed between the portières, and in another moment she slid through and was at my side. “Miss Raynor says so, and Mrs. Vail adds her invitation. They’re going to keep Penny Wise when he returns, and Miss Raynor——” “Miss Raynor wants to thank Mr. Rivers for his good work,” and Olive herself followed in Zizi’s footsteps. She was smiling now, but

The mystery was a baffling one. I learned from Pennington Wise that he had a pipe dream that Amory Manning had killed Amos Gately. But, save for the faithful Zizi, he could find no one to share his suspicion. It was too absurd. In the first place, had Manning done the deed, he never would have hung around the scene of the crime as he did, for nearly an hour. I remembered perfectly his demeanor and expression, as I saw him, with Olive Raynor that afternoon. He was deeply concerned, greatly shocke

I looked at the design with interest, but without at first grasping its true significance. Pennington Wise looked at it aghast. “Where did it come from?” he exclaimed. “It’s always been there,” said Zizi. “I mean, I saw it there one day when I was in this room with Mr. Hudson, I—I——” “Didn’t know you’d ever been here, Ziz,” and Wise smiled at the earnest little face. “Yep, I was; and I happened to move the telephone, and under it was that drawing. I didn’t think anything about it, as evidence, b

“He’s afraid,” and Norah wagged her head sagaciously, while her gray eyes had an apprehensive expression. “Afraid of what?” “Afraid of the truth. You see, Mr. Brice, our friend Rivers is nobody’s fool. He’s onto most points regarding this case, and now, he’s getting onto himself. That astute little scrap of humanity, Zizi, knows he is. Of course, living with Miss Raynor, as she does, she has opportunities every day to see Mr. Rivers, for he’s eternally hanging around the Raynor house. Oh, I don’

“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 d