extent of its power; we will offer a reward, when the suitable time comes for that. But the crime must be avenged, the man that shot President Gately must pay the penalty!”
Olive’s flashing eyes showed her sympathy with this sort of talk and I could quite understand the attitude of the girl, whose sense of justice cried out for revenge, while she was forced to admit the deprivations of her life with her guardian.
Somewhat later, the three went away together, Miss Raynor and the men from the bank, but I remained, hoping to learn more from further witnesses. And I did. I learned so much that my thoughts and theories were started off along totally different lines; my half-formed beliefs were knocked down and set up again, with swift continuance.
First, Jenny Boyd, the yellow ear-muffed stenographer came in, wearing her Sunday clothes. Her cheaply fashionable hat was tilted over her pert little face, which showed enthusiastic, if ill-advised application of certain pigments. Her gown was V-necked and short-skirted, but it had a slight claim to style and was undeniably becoming. Her air of importance was such that I thought I had never seen such an enormous amount of ego contained in such a small cosmos.
Minny was with her, but the older sister, in quieter attire, was merely a foil for the ebullient Jenny. Also, they were accompanied by a big, good-natured faced man, whom I recognized at once as the janitor of the Matteawan Building, and who, it transpired, was the father of the two girls.
“Here we are,” he said, in a bluff, hearty way; “here’s me and my girls, and we’d be obliged, Mr. Chief, if you’d cut it short as much as you can, for me and Minny wants to get back.”
“All right, Boyd,” and Chief Martin smiled at him. “I’ll tackle you first. Tell us all about that private elevator of Mr. Gately’s.”
“I will, but savin’ for this murder business, not a word of it would ever have crossed my lips. Well, Mr. Gately, he owned the Matteawan, d’you see? and when it suited his purposes to put in a private elevator up to his rooms on the top floor of the next door building,—The Puritan Building, you know,—what more easy than to run the shaft up in the one building with the opening at the top out into the other house. Anyways, that’s what he done,—a long time ago. I had to know of it, of course,——”
“Of course, as superintendent of the Matteawan.”
“That’s what they call it now, but I like better to be called janitor. As janitor I began, and as janitor I’ll work to the end. Well, Mr. Gately, he went up and down in the little car whenever he chose, and no one noticed him at all. It wasn’t, after all, to say, secret, exactly, but it was a private elevator.”
“But a concealed door in his own office makes the thing pretty secret, I should say.”
“Secret it is, then. But it’s no crime for a man to have a concealed way of gettin’ into or out of his own rooms, is it? Many’s the time Mr. Gately’s come down laughing fit to bust at the way he got away from some old doddering fool who wanted to buzz him to death!”
“You frequently saw him come down, then?”
“Not to say frequently,—but now and again. If I happened to be about at the time.”
“Did anyone else use the elevator?”
“Sometimes, yes. I’ve seen a few people go up or come down,—but mostly it was the boss himself.”
“Did he go up in it yesterday?”
“Not that I seen. But, of course, he may have done so.”
“When did he last come into his offices before—before he disappeared?”
“When did he, Jenny? Speak up, girl, and tell the Chief all you know about it.”
Although Martin had not addressed Jenny, he turned to her now as if inviting her story.
And Jenny bridled, shook out her feather boa, made a futile attempt to pull her brief skirt a trifle farther down toward a silk-stockinged ankle, and began:
“Of course, when Mr. Gately went into his office he most gen’ally went in the middle door, right into his pers’nal office. He didn’t go through my room. And, so, yest’day, he went in the middle door, but right away, almost, he opened my door and stuck his head in, and says, ‘Don’t let anybody in to see me this afternoon, unless you come and ask me first.’”
“Wasn’t this a general rule?”
“’Most always; but sometimes somebody I’d know’d come, like Mr. Talcott or Miss Olive, and they’d just nod or smile at me and walk right in at Mr. Gately’s door. So I says, ‘Yes, sir,’ and I looked sharp that nobody rushed me. Mr. Gately, he trusted me, and I was careful to do just what he said, always.”
“Well, go on. Who called?”
“First, Mr. Smith; and then Mrs. Driggs; and after them, Miss Olive.”
“Miss Raynor?”
“Yes, of course!” and Jenny spoke flippantly. “I even announced her, ’cause I had strick orders. Miss Olive, she just laughed and waited till I come back and said she might go in.”
“What time was this?”
“Couldn’t say for sure. ’Long about two or three, I guess.”
Jenny was assiduously chewing gum, and her manner was far from deferential, which annoyed the Chief.
“Try to remember more nearly,” he said, sharply. “Was Miss Raynor there before or after the other two callers you mentioned?”
“Well, now, it’s awful hard to tell that.” Jenny cocked her head on one side, and indulged in what she doubtless considered most fetching eye-play. “I ain’t a two-legged time-table!”
“Be careful,” advised the Chief. “I want straight answers, not foolishness, from you.”
Jenny sulked. “I’m givin’ it to you as straight’s I can, Mr. Chief. Honest to goodness, I don’t know if Miss Olive was just before the Driggs hen or after her!”
“Also, be more careful of your choice of words. Did Mrs. Driggs go back through your room when she left?”
“Yes, I guess she did,—but,—lemmesee, no, I guess she didn’t either.”
“Isn’t your memory very short?”
“For such trifles, yes, sir. But I can remember lots of things real easy. I’ve got a date now, with——”
“Stop! If you don’t look out, young woman, you’ll be locked up!”
“Behave pretty, now, Jenny girl,” urged her father, who was quite evidently the slave of his resplendent offspring; “don’t be flip; this here’s no place for such-like manners.”
“You’re right, it isn’t,” agreed the Chief, and he glared at Jenny, who was utterly unmoved by his sternness.
“Well, ain’t I behaving pretty?” and the silly thing giggled archly and folded her hands with an air of mock meekness.
Continued harsh words from the Chief, however, made her at last tell a straight and coherent story, but it threw no light on the mysterious caller. In fact, Jenny knew nothing whatever of him, save that she saw or thought she saw him run downstairs, with a pistol in his hand.
“What sort of hat did the man wear?” asked the Chief, to get some sort of description.
“I don’t know,—a soft hat, I guess.”
“Not a Derby?”
“Oh, yes! I do believe it was a Derby! And he had on an overcoat——”
“A dark one?”
“No,—sort of—oh, I guess it wasn’t an overcoat,—but a, you