The first thing that hit me in the eyes, was a big war map on the wall. Moreover, though not a duplicate of Mr. Gately’s map, it was similar, and it hung in a similar position. That is, as Rodman’s offices were directly under those of the bank president, two floors below, the rooms matched, and in the “third room” as we called it in Mr. Gately’s case, Rodman also had his map hung.
There was but one conclusion, and Hudson and I sprang to it at once.
Together, we pulled aside the map, and sure enough, there was a door exactly like the door in Mr. Gately’s room, a small, flush door, usually hidden by the map.
“To the secret elevator, of course,” I whispered to Hudson, for walls have ears, and these walls were in many ways peculiar.
“By golly, it is!” he returned; “let’s open her up!”
He forced the door open, and assured himself that it did indeed lead into the private elevator shaft, and there were the necessary buttons to cause it to stop, if properly used. But now, the car being down on the ground floor, where it had stayed ever since the day of the murder, of course, the buttons could not be manipulated.
“Now,” said Hudson, his brow furrowed, “to see where else this bloomin’ rogue trap lets ’em off! There’s somethin’ mighty queer goin’ on that we ain’t caught on to yet!”
He carefully closed the door, readjusted the map, and making sure we had left no traces of our visit, he motioned me out and we went away.
He asked me to return to my office, and promised to see me there later.
When he returned, he told me that he had visited every other office in the building through whose rooms the elevator shaft descended and in no other instance was there an opening into the shaft.