Pulp Fiction, 1919 · page 146 of 188
Argosy, Vol. 111, No. 1 — page 146: what you’re looking at
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136 “Not quite that,” and Wise smiled. “But I believe he had some mighty strange experience, of which his tale is a pretty fair description, if not entirely the literal truth.” “¢ Such as?” “Why, suppose he fell down a mine shaft, in Canada. Suppose that knocked out his memory. ‘Then suppose he was rescued, and sent to New York for treat- ment, say, at some private hospital or sani- tarium. Then suppose he escaped, and, still loony, threw himself into the East River—oh, I don’t know—only, there are lots of ways that he could have that notion about his fall through the earth, and have something real to base it on.” ‘Gammon and spinach!” I remarked, my patience exhausted. ‘“ The man had a blow or a fall or something that jarred his memory, but his ‘ falling through the earth ’ idea is a hallucination, pure and simple. However, that doesn’t matter. Now we must follow this new‘trail, and see if we can get a line on his personality. He can’t tell us what he was here for—if he doesn’t re- member that he was here.” ‘Perhaps he does remember,’ Wise spoke musingly. ‘“ Nixy!”’ and Zizi’s saucy head nodded positively. whatever he was before. He doesn’t re- ‘member shooting Mr. Gately—”’ “Stop that, Zizi!’ Wise spoke more sharply than I had ever heard him. “I forbid you to assume that Rivers is the murderer—you are absurd!” “ But I’ve got a hunch—” Zizi’s black eyes stared fixedly at Wise, ‘“‘ and—” ‘“‘ Keep your hunch to yourself! you that before! Now, hush up.” Not at all abashed, Zizi made a most wicked little moue at him, but she said no more just then. ‘We have a new direction in which to look, though,” Wise went on, ‘“‘ and we must get about it. You remember, we found a hatpin here that led us to Sadie, the Link, &s straight as a sign-board could have done.”’ “Yes,” scoffed Zizi, ‘ with the help of Norah and her powder-paper, and Jenny and her tattle-tongue!”’ “All right.”” Wise was unperturbed. I told “Mr. Rivers is sincere now, THE ARGOSY. “We got her all the same. Now, perhaps the man who fell through the earth also left some indicative clues. Let’s look round.” ‘“ He couldn’t leave anything more indi- cative than the drawing on the blotter,” persisted Zizi. “‘ He drew on Mr. Brice’s blotter to-day and he drew on this blotter of Mr. Gately’s the day Mr. Gately was killed. That much is certain.” ‘* So it is, Zizi,” agreed Wise; “‘ but noth- ing further is certain as yet. But we may find something more.” As he talked the detective rummaged in the desk drawers. He pulled out the packet of papers that had interested him before. ‘““T'd like to read these,’ he said; “‘ you see, they’re dated in chronological order, and they must mean something.” ‘““Tt’s where they come from,” said Zizi, with an air of wisdom; ‘“ you see, Spitz- Charlton means a certain message in their code-book, and St. Dunstan means another, Giltmore paper means another, and so on.” “* Right you are, as usual,’’ Wise said, so approvingly that Zizi smiled all over her queer little countenance. ‘Part of the Link’s spy business,” she went on, and [I cried out in denial. ‘““Qh, come off, Mr. Brice,” she said, ‘* you may. as well admit, first as last, that you know Mr. Gately was mixed up in this spy racket. I don’t know yet, just how deeply, or how knowingly—” ‘You mean,” I caught at the straw, “that he was a go-between, but didn’t know it?” - “TJ thought that at first,” said Wise, “I hoped it was so. That of course, would argue that he was infatuated with Sadie, and she wound him around her finger and used him to further her schemes while he himself was innocent. But the theory, though a pretty one, won’t work. Gately wasn’t quite gullible enough for that, and, too, he is more deeply concerned in it all than we know.” “Yes,” I agreed, ‘“‘ these letters—I mean, these blank sheets were sent to him by mail. One came the day after he died.” “T know it. And as Zizi says, they mean something definite in accordance with a prepared code. For instance, a sheet of GOMIIGIOO eS (CO