<h2 id="c15"><span class="small">CHAPTER XV</span> <br/>Wise’s Pipe Dream</h2>
<p>The mystery was a baffling one. I learned
from Pennington Wise that he had a pipe
dream that Amory Manning had killed Amos
Gately.</p>
<p>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 shocked, and most considerate
and thoughtful of Olive, but there was no shadow
of guilt on his fine, strong face.</p>
<p>I had looked at him closely both during the excitement
of the tragedy itself, and later, as we were
in the street-car, and I noted his grave, serious
countenance, but though he seemed puzzled and
anxious, there was no mark of Cain on his brow.</p>
<p>I told Wise this, and he listened, duly impressed,
but, as he finally owned up, he saw no other way to
look.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_233">[233]</div>
<p>“It wasn’t Rodman,” he asserted; “that chap is
a traitor and a spy, but he’s no murderer. And, too,
he was in cahoots with Gately, and the last thing
he wanted was to lose his patron. It wasn’t Sadie,
of course; she too, wanted Gately alive, not dead.
I know the unwillingness of Olive’s guardian to
listen to Manning’s suit, seems a slight motive,—yet
where can we find a suspect with a stronger
one?”</p>
<p>“We haven’t as yet,” I returned, “but there must
be people implicated in that spy business,—if that’s
a true bill against Gately——”</p>
<p>“Oh, it’s a true bill, all right. Amos Gately
was a wolf in sheep’s clothing! Miss Raynor will
have to know it sooner or later. She really knows
it now, but she won’t let herself believe it.”</p>
<p>“What about that paper Zizi took from Sadie
Kent?”</p>
<p>“That’s what I’m working on. Meet me this
afternoon at the Raynor house, and I may be able
to tell you.”</p>
<p>The big, cheerful library at Olive’s house had
come to be our general meeting-place of an afternoon.
I usually dropped in there about four o’clock,
and was pretty sure to find Wise or Rivers or both
there. Zizi was a whole vaudeville show herself,
and Olive was always cordial and hospitable. Mrs.
Vail, too, was a gentle old lady, and I had grown
to like her.</p>
<p>So I went, as Wise suggested, and found him
poring over the mysterious paper.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_234">[234]</div>
<p>Looking at it for the first time, I saw merely a
lot of letters, pen-written, and arranged in long
rows that ran clear across the sheet.</p>
<p>There were perhaps twenty rows or so, and each
row held about thirty letters. They were carefully
aligned and evenly spaced, and, without doubt, contained
a hidden message.</p>
<p>“I’ve unraveled a lot of cryptograms in my
time,” said Wise, “but this isn’t a cryptogram. I
mean it isn’t in cipher code,—there’s some other way
of getting at it.”</p>
<p>We all studied it. Olive, Zizi, Wise, and I bent
our heads over the table where it lay, while Mrs.
Vail looked on from a little distance, and babbled
about some man she knew once, who could solve
secret writings.</p>
<p>Suddenly Zizi jumped up, and running around the
table, viewed the paper from the other side.</p>
<p>She cocked her funny little head sidewise, and
then wagged it knowingly as she took a few steps
further and looked at the paper from another angle.
All round the table she went, and finally, with a
murmur of apology, took up the paper and held it
laterally in front of her eager eyes.</p>
<p>“Whee!” she crowed in an ecstasy of satisfaction;
“I’ve got it! You have to have a pattern to
read it by.”</p>
<p>“A pattern!” I repeated, blankly.</p>
<p>“Yep! A paper with holes in it,—a key-paper.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_235">[235]</div>
<p>“Oh!” and Wise looked as if a light had burst
upon him. “That’s it, Ziz! You’re the wonder-child,
after all! Stoo-pid! Stoo-pid!” and he beat
his forehead in self-abasement. “And, oh! I say,
Brice, what did you tell me once about Swiss
cheese?”</p>
<p>“Swiss cheese?”</p>
<p>“Yes; don’t you remember? A carriage-call
check—with holes in it.”</p>
<p>“Oh, that thing. Yes; it was on Mr. Gately’s
desk,—Hudson, the foxy detective, took it.”</p>
<p>“Can we get it?”</p>
<p>“Of course, by sending for it.”</p>
<p>“I’ll go!” cried Zizi; “where? Headquarters?”
and she was already flinging on her coat.</p>
<p>“Let her go,” said Wise, giving the girl a quick,
appreciative glance. “She’ll beat any other messenger,
and she’ll find it.”</p>
<p>We heard Zizi’s imperative little voice demanding
a cab from the telephone, and a bit later heard
the street door close behind her.</p>
<p>“You see,” and Wise explained it to us, “Zizi
noticed,—and then I did,—these letters. At first
glance they seem to be perfectly regular, but noted
closely there are some, here and there, that are a
microscopic fraction of space nearer or farther away
from others. And that shows what kind of a cipher
it is. We may be mistaken about the carriage check,
but I truly believe when we get it we can read the
message this paper carries. We certainly can’t
without it.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_236">[236]</div>
<p>This was so true that we laid the paper aside until
the return of our winged Mercury.</p>
<p>She came soon, and waved triumphantly the perforated
card she had gone in quest of.</p>
<p>“Here you are!” she cried; “let me try it as a
reward for getting it.”</p>
<p>“All right, go to it,” said Wise, and flinging off
her cape, Zizi bent over the puzzle.</p>
<p>“It’s it! It’s it!” she cried, exultantly. “See,
oh, Wise One!”</p>
<p>The detective took the paper and the card.</p>
<p>“You see,” he said, generously sharing the first
sight of the solution with us, “this card has seven
holes, at irregular distances. By placing it in the
right position on this solid bank of letters, certain
ones show through the holes, and these,—I hope,—will
spell the message.”</p>
<p>And it did. After re-adjusting the key card several
times, Wise finally got it right, and the letters
that could be seen through the holes in this card, as
he moved it along, spelled coherent words and
sentences. Of course, the other letters were not to
be used.</p>
<p>He read the message aloud, and as we suspected,
it was information concerning the shipment of munitions,
and told of certain sailing dates.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_237">[237]</div>
<p>“Spy work of the cleverest type,” Wise exclaimed;
“you see, ‘The Link’ got her information
from stolen telegrams, and recorded it in this way,
so it would be unintelligible to anyone not having
this card,—or a duplicate of it.”</p>
<p>I scrutinized with interest the letters as they
showed clearly through the little round holes.</p>
<p>“The information is of no particular value now,”
Wise said; “it refers to yesterday as the sailing
date. The point is, that this card,—this key card,
was found on——”</p>
<p>He paused: a glance at Olive’s agonized face
stopped the words he would have uttered. But we
all knew. That card, found on Amos Gately’s desk,
or in his desk drawer, proved that he was implicated
in the interception of these messages, that he was
guilty of treason to his country!</p>
<p>Wise tried to help matters by saying, hastily,
“Perhaps it was a plant! Perhaps this card was
put where it was found by some sly scoundrel for
the purpose of misleading——”</p>
<p>“Don’t!” said Olive, faintly; “you are kind, Mr.
Wise, but you are saying that merely to give me a
ray of comfort and hope. You know better. You
believe,—and I fear I must believe,—my guardian
was involved in some wrong, some grave wrong—and——”</p>
<p>She broke down utterly and sobbed in Zizi’s arms
which were opened to receive her.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_238">[238]</div>
<p>Feeling that our further stay was an intrusion,
Rivers and I took leave, and Wise came along with
us. We three went down to my rooms, and continued
our confab without the embarrassment of
Olive’s presence.</p>
<p>“It’s clearing itself up pretty quickly in some respects,”
Wise said as he settled himself with a cigar,
and passed the box to Rivers. “I’m not so surprised
as some at Gately’s perfidy. It seems the
Government has been onto him for some time,—at
least, they suspected him, and were secretly investigating
his private affairs. That Sadie person——”</p>
<p>“By the way, Wise,” I interrupted him, “you
sized her up perfectly! Did you ever hear about
that, Rivers? Mr. Wise saw only the girl’s hatpin,
and from it he drew an exact portrait of ‘The Link’
herself. How did you do it, Wise? Tell us the
details.”</p>
<p>“Like all those deductions it was simpler than it
sounded,” the detective said, smiling. “You see,
Mr. Rivers, the head of the pin was a big good-looking
scarab. I don’t know yet whether it was a
real one, but if not it was a first-class imitation.
This argued a person of education and taste. The
average young woman doesn’t lean toward scarabs.
Then, there was a short bit of a human hair caught
in the setting. This was black, rather coarse, and
strong, denoting a healthy, buxom brunette. Hair
is a clear indication of physical appearance, as a
rule. That’s how I know you aren’t Amory Manning,”
he broke off suddenly and looked at Case
Rivers. “I’ve had his description from Miss Raynor
and from Brice, here, and they agree that Manning
had dark, heavy hair, rather—footballish type.
Yours is light, fine, and a little scant. And you
have all the characteristics that belong to it. Oh,
yes, I admit I’ve been trying to fasten Manning’s
identity on you, but without success.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_239">[239]</div>
<p>“Don’t apologize,” laughed Rivers, “I’ve been
trying to connect up with the missing Manning myself,
but I can’t work it. So, I’m out for the reward
for finding that elusive individual. But I fear he’s
gone beyond recall.”</p>
<p>“By the way,” Wise put in, “I’ve found out who
offers the reward. And, if you please, it’s none
other than the United States Government!”</p>
<p>“Why?” Rivers asked, interestedly.</p>
<p>“Well, it seems Manning is,—or was,—a Secret
Service man and he was set on the trail of Amos
Gately. He worked secretly, of course, and——”</p>
<p>“And he was kidnaped by Gately’s friends!” I
cried; “by some of Rodman’s underlings, and put
out of the way! I don’t believe Manning is alive!”</p>
<p>“Go on about the hatpin, Mr. Wise, won’t you?”
urged Rivers. “I think I’m going to grow up to be
a detective and I’m taking notes.”</p>
<p>“Well,” said Wise, good-humoredly, “as I remember
it, I mentioned the lady’s good teeth. This,
because the prints on the rather soft gold of the
pin were straight and even.”</p>
<p>“You said she was proud of them,” I put in.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_240">[240]</div>
<p>“A glittering generality,” and Wise laughed.
“Aren’t all girls proud of good teeth? Also, I assumed
she had rather flashy tastes, for the scarab,
large, and of a bright greenish-blue color, was not
a quiet affair. A strong perfume clung to it, which
also indicated a certain lack of refinement.”</p>
<p>“And you said untidy habits,” I reminded him.</p>
<p>“Because the pin was bent to a real crookedness.
Also, it had been broken and mended. The break
proving probable carelessness, and the mending
seemed to me to show that she was sentimentally
fond of it, for it was skilfully mended and the
cost of that would have bought a new one, I should
judge. I assumed her to be somewhat intellectual
to care so much for a scarab, and I deduced her
fairly well off to own and to care for the
rather valuable trinket. None of these deductions
amounted to much by itself, but the combination
helped us to find a way to look for the owner.
Of course, the cigarette stubs and the powder-paper
helped, too. In fact, Miss Kent left pretty strong
evidences of her call on Mr. Gately. But,—she
didn’t kill him. Now, who did? We are learning
lots of things, but not one shred of evidence have
we yet found against any individual as the actual
murderer.”</p>
<p>“No,” I agreed. “You see, the shadow of the
head that I saw on the glass door couldn’t have been
Rodman’s.”</p>
<p>“And so it may have been anybody’s. I mean, it
shows that heads look pretty much alike, when
merely shadowed on a thick, waved glass.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_241">[241]</div>
<p>“Yes,” I mused, “it may have been anybody’s.
But whose? It seems as if we ought to have a suspect
by this time.”</p>
<p>“I’ll get you a suspect,” spoke up Case Rivers.
“I’m going into this thing for all I’m worth. The
way lies through the Rodman crowd. ‘The Link’
sold her information to Rodman and he took it to
Gately, but of late, ‘The Link’ became more bold
and went straight to Gately herself. Now, there
must be others concerned, and an interview with
Miss Kent would give us an inkling of who they
are. She’s lost some of her bravado, by this time,
I’ve no doubt, and I’m going to chase her up. Then,
too, I want to go to Mr. Gately’s office. I’ve never
been there yet! Don’t think, Wise, that I’m butting
in on your game, but sometimes two heads are better
than one, if one is a nameless wanderer on the face
of the earth.”</p>
<p>“All right, Rivers,” and Wise nodded genially,
“go in and win. We’re together on this matter.
And when it’s over, I’m going to take up <i>your</i> case,
and see just how, when, and where you fell through
the earth.”</p>
<p>“I wish you would,” and Rivers looked
earnestly at the detective, “for I see that trip
every night in my dreams. I see myself falling
through—oh, I won’t bore you with that same old
story!”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_242">[242]</div>
<p>“It doesn’t bore me, but just now we’ll put all our
energies on the present puzzle. We must get
Gately’s murderer, and then we must get Amory
Manning.”</p>
<p>“Zizi says——” I began.</p>
<p>“I know she does,” returned Wise, looking
thoughtful. “Zizi says Manning is the murderer.
But the kid has no reason to say it but a hunch.
She’s a witch though for hunches, and I keep her
idea in mind.”</p>
<p>“No,” and Rivers spoke positively, “it doesn’t
seem to me that Manning is the murderer. If he
was in the Secret Service, he may be purposely in
hiding now, for some reason entirely unconnected
with Amos Gately’s murder.”</p>
<p>“Very likely,” assented Wise. “Only, as I say,
I often remember Zizi’s notions because they so
often pan out correct.”</p>
<p>“She’s a marvel, that child,” said Rivers;
“where’d you get her?”</p>
<p>“She’s my model. In civilian life, I’m by way
of being an artist, you know. I sketch her over
and over, but never have I successfully caught her
smile. She’s a witch child, a sprite.”</p>
<p>“Yes; she seems gypsy born. But clever! And
of a charm.”</p>
<p>“All that,” agreed Wise. “And a good little
thing. Devoted to me, like a faithful dog, and yet,
absolutely impersonal. Oh, I couldn’t get along at
all without Ziz.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_243">[243]</div>
<p>And almost as he spoke the door opened and Zizi
came gliding in. Her mode of entering a room was
one of her individual characteristics. She slid in
softly and unobtrusively, yet one was at once aware
of her. It seemed to electrify the atmosphere, and
the place was brighter and more vital in feeling.
She moved across the room as quietly as a shadow,
she said no word, yet her whole presence spoke.</p>
<p>“Hello, Ziz,” and Wise smiled at her.
“Watcha want?”</p>
<p>“Mr. Rivers,” she replied, flashing her black eyes
at him. “Miss Olive sent me. And she wants the
other crystal.”</p>
<p>“A new mystery?” and Wise laughed. “I can’t
see through the other crystal! Has it to do with a
pair of glasses?”</p>
<p>“No,” and Rivers took out a pocket-book, from
which he extracted some flimsy paper. These
proved to be tracings of snow crystals similar to
those I had seen him drawing while he was still
in the hospital.</p>
<p>“How lovely!” Zizi exclaimed, as she took the
traced patterns. “You see,” and she showed them
to Wise, “Miss Olive is making lace work,—and
Mr. Rivers makes her these patterns. Aren’t they
exquisite?”</p>
<p>They were. They were forms of snow crystals,
than which there is nothing more beautiful, and
Rivers had adapted and combined them into a delicate
lace-like pattern, which Olive was to copy with
linen threads, or whatever women use to make lace
out of.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_244">[244]</div>
<p>“I was going to take them round,” Rivers said;
“I hope the delay hasn’t bothered Miss Raynor.”</p>
<p>“Oh, no,” Zizi assured him, “but she is impatient
to see this new design and couldn’t wait. So
I offered to run down for it. I knew you were
here.”</p>
<p>“But I’m just going up to Miss Raynor’s,” Rivers
spoke as if disappointed, “and the patterns are my
only excuse for a call! So, if you please, Miss Zizi,
I’ll take them to the impatient lady, and I’ll go at
once.”</p>
<p>“I think she’s gone out, Mr. Rivers, she was
about to go as I left. If you telephone you’ll likely
catch her.”</p>
<p>Quite unembarrassed at our knowing smiles,
Rivers took up my desk-telephone and called Olive’s
number. While waiting for the response he picked
up a pencil from my pen-tray, and idly drew a snow
crystal on the big desk-blotter.</p>
<p>I watched him, for his skill fascinated me. He
drew the dainty six-sided figure with the accuracy of
a designer. The tiny fronds, all six alike, made a
lovely hexagonal form as it grew beneath his
fingers.</p>
<p>He was apparently unconscious of what he was
doing, and drew without thinking, for he spoke to
us several times while waiting for the desired connection.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_245">[245]</div>
<p>At last Olive answered him, and he dropped the
pencil and talked to her. In a wheedlesome mood,
he persuaded her to defer her proposed errand until
he could join her and he would accompany her.
The kindly familiarity with which he carried on the
conversation and the jaunty assurance he showed
that she would accede to his request proved to us,
listeners perforce, that there was good comradeship
between them.</p>
<p>Rivers hung up the receiver, and turned to me
with a boyish smile. “I’m going now,” he said,
“Miss Raynor is waiting for me. I’ll see you again,
tonight, Brice.” And with a general nod of farewell
he went off.</p>
<p>Zizi sat staring at my desk.</p>
<p>The strange child was thinking of something,—more,
she had made a discovery, or had sensed
some new information.</p>
<p>She leaned over the desk, her outstretched hands
resting on the big blotter and her black eyes wide
with an expression of surprised fear.</p>
<p>“Look!” she cried; “look!”</p>
<p>But her slender finger pointed only to the snow
crystal that Rivers had drawn. It was a graceful
figure, not quite finished, but a delicate tracery of
one of the myriad forms that snow crystals show.
How often I had looked at the lovely things as they
rested for a moment on my dark coat sleeve when
I was out in a snowstorm. And after seeing Rivers
draw them so skilfully, several times, they had
taken on a new interest to me. But what had so
moved Zizi I could not imagine. It was as if the
little drawing were fraught with some dreadful
significance of which I knew nothing.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_246">[246]</div>
<p>Nor was Pennington Wise any more aware than
I of the girl’s meaning.</p>
<p>He smiled quizzically, and said, “Well, Zizi,
girl, what’s hypnotizing you? That drawing of
Rivers’?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” and Zizi turned her big black eyes from
my face to Wise’s, and gave a queer little sigh.</p>
<p>“Out with it, girlie,” urged Wise. “Tell your
old Penny Wise what’s the matter.”</p>
<p>“Will you do what I want?” she asked, her
voice tense and thrilled with strong feeling.</p>
<p>“Yes; to the limit.”</p>
<p>“Then look at that thing! That snow crystal!”</p>
<p>“Yes, I’ve looked,” and after a moment’s close
scrutiny Wise turned his eyes again to the eerie
face, so vividly emotional, so white with that unnamed
fear.</p>
<p>“You look, too, Mr. Brice,” and I did.</p>
<p>“Note the design,” Zizi went on, “see just how
the fronds are marked. Isn’t it funny how people
always draw or scribble while they’re waiting to get
a telephone call?”</p>
<p>“Oh, come now, Ziz,” and Penny Wise patted
her arm, “you’re putting up a game on us. We
know Rivers draws these things beautifully. Why
act as if you never knew it before?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_247">[247]</div>
<p>“Come with me,” and Zizi rose and began to put
her long black cloak round her, shivering with excitement
as she did so. “You come, too, Mr.
Brice.”</p>
<p>We obeyed the strange child, for I remembered
how Pennington Wise respected what he called her
“hunches,” and before going downstairs she directed
that I call a taxicab.</p>
<p>In the cab she said nothing, having already bade
us go to Amos Gately’s office, and arrange to get
into the rooms.</p>
<p>And then, when we were there, when I had obtained
the keys from the bank people and had
entered the dim, quiet rooms, Zizi went straight
to the middle room, straight to Amos Gately’s desk,
and lifting the telephone from where it stood on the
big desk-blotter, she disclosed the exact counterpart
of the snow crystal we had seen drawn at my desk
by Case Rivers!</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_248">[248]</div>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />