Argosy, Vol. 111, No. 1 — page 145: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

TRACING THE SHADOW. Calmly, the girl took from her little hand- bag a piece torn from my desk blotter. It held the drawing done by Rivers while he was waiting for his telephone call and it was the precise duplicate of the figure drawn on the blotter of Amos Gately’s mahogany desk. ‘‘ The same pencil—or, rather, the same hand drew those two,” Wise said positively, and I could not contradict this. Snow-crystals are said by scientists to show hundreds of different shapes, and al- most any illustrated dictionary or text-book of natural science shows several specimens. This one we were looking at was of simple but beautiful design, and I felt sure Rivers had copied it front some picture as one can rarely keep a real snowflake long enough to copy its form. Anyway it was stretching the law of co- incidence a little too far to believe that two men would draw the same form on a desk blotter while telephoning. Of course this sketch on Amos Gately’s desk need not have been made while the artist’s other hand held the telephone re- ceiver, but its juxtaposition to the instru- ment indicated that it was. “Of course Mr. Rivers drew this,” Zizi declared, her little head bobbing as she turned her black eyes from one to the other of us. : She wore a small turban made entirely of red feathers — soft breast feathers of some tropical bird, I suppose. The hat set jauntily on her sleek black hair, and, the motions of her head were so quick and bird- like, that she gave me a fleeting remem- prance of the human birds I saw in the play of ‘ Chantecler.” ‘“‘ Of course he did,” assented Wise, very gravely; ‘“‘ and now we must go on. Grant- ing, for the moment, that Case Rivers—as we call him—drew this little sketch, he must have been in this office the day of Amos Gately’s murder. For I’ve made sure that the blotter on this desk was changed every day, and any marks or blots now on it were therefore made on that day. If he did it, then—or, rather, when he did it—he was telephoning ‘to somebody—’”’ “ Well,” put in Zizi, “‘ perhaps he was just sitting here, talking to Mr. Gately. 135 Maybe, he might draw those things when he just sits idly as well as when he tele- phones.” “Yes; you're right. Well, at any rate, he must have been sitting here, opposite Mr. Gately, on that very day. And I be- lieve he was telephoning, but that makes no difference. Now, if he was here, in this office, on that day—what was he here for, and who is he?” ‘* He is the murderer,”’ said Zizi, but she spoke as if she were a machine. The words seemed to come from her lips without her own volition; her voice was wooden, me- chanical, and her eyes had a far-away, va- cant gaze. ‘I don’t know who he is, but he is the man who shot Mr. Gately.” ‘““Qh, come, now, Zizi,” Wise shook her gently. “ Wake up! Don’t jump at con- clusions. He may be the most innocent man in New York. He may have been in here calling on Gately early in the day, and his errand may have been of the most casual sort. He may have had cause to telephone, and as he sat waiting for his call, he sketched the snowflake pattern, which is his habit when waiting. But that he was here that day is a positive fact—to my mind. Now, it’s for us to find out what he was ‘here for, and who he is. I don’t favor going to him and asking him pointblank. That peculiar phase of amnesia from which he is suffering is a precarious matter to deal with. A sudden shock might bring back his lost memory—or, it might—” ‘* Addle his brain!” completed Zizi. “ All right, O most Wise guy! But when you do find out the truth, it will be that Case Rivers in his right mind and in his own proper person killed Mr. Gately.” ‘“Hush up, Ziz! If you have such a fearful hunch keep it to yourself. I’m not going to believe that, unless I have to! It has always been my conviction that Rivers is—or was, a worth-while man. I feel sure he was of importance in some line—some big line. Moreover, I believe his yarn about faliing through the earth.” ‘You do!” I cried in amazement. ‘‘ You stand for that! ‘ You believe he fell into the globe at Canada—or some northern country, and fell out again in New York City?” COMmiiclooo SS (C©)