Like one inspired by a great purpose, Britz moved with the human current
down Broadway. It pleased him to think that he had converted Miss
Burden's confiding love into an instrument of justice; that by its means
he would establish ere another hour had sped, the innocence or the guilt
of Beard. What her own feelings in the matter might be, did not concern
him. He might deplore the necessity of causing an innocent woman to
suffer; but if it were necessary for the accomplishment of his
end--well, law and order are exacting taskmasters and cannot pause to
consider the injured feelings of individuals!
Britz turned into Wall street, possessed by a sense of elation, like a
man about to reach out for a long-coveted prize. Through the knowledge
gleaned that morning in the Tombs, he would render Lester Ward pliant to
his will; would extract from his unsuspecting lips the truth concerning
Whitmore's death.
In front of a huge office building the detective halted, permitting his
eyes to linger a moment on a brass door-plate that bore the simple
device--Ward & Co.
Britz was aware that the firm was one of the oldest in the district,
having been established by Ward's grandfather. It did a brokerage and
private banking business, and while not one of the largest houses of its
kind, it bore an enviable reputation for conservatism and fairness
toward its customers.
The front door of the firm's office led into the corridor of the
building, its street frontage consisting of a huge plate-glass window,
above the half-drawn shade of which, one obtained an indistinct glimpse
of wooden partitions and frosted panes. Outwardly the office presented
the same conservative appearance as its reputed business management, and
even the clerks, most of them gray-haired and bent, worked with slow,
labored movement, as if each scratch of the pen, each twist of the
wrist, involved a separate thought of its own.
As Britz plunged through the door of the building, however, he became
instantly aware of the changed aspect of Ward & Company's office. The
corridor was packed with an excited crowd of men and women, fear, anger,
resentment written in their faces. Massed before the door of the office,
a score of men were reaching over one another's shoulders in an effort
to break down the closed portal. On the outskirts of the crowd, an
excited citizen was haranguing those about him:
"Prison for him--prison for the rich thieves!" his thin, piping voice
rose above the dull murmur of the crowd. "My confidence was betrayed,
your confidence was betrayed--the thief! Why, my father's money was
entrusted to his grandfather and his father. It was an honorable house
until he took hold of it. I thought my money was as safe as with the
Bank of England. It's always been a conservative house until he took
hold of it. Damn Lester Ward--he's left me without a dollar in the
world!"
The crowd murmured approval, encouraging the speaker to continue.
"I tell you this speculating with other people's money must be stopped,"
he pursued, gesticulating wildly. "What right had he to use my money in
his enterprises? We've been deceived. We thought he would follow in the
footsteps of his father and his grandfather. But the fever of
speculation got into his blood--and we, and our wives and families are
the sufferers!"
Those who were not listening to the speaker were pressing desperately
against the door, a murderous fury in their eyes.
Cries of "Open the door!" "Break it down!" "I want my money!" echoed
down the corridor and floated into the street. As a consequence, the
crowd of depositors and investors was augmented by the idle and the
curious, who flocked into the lobby from the street and from the floors
above.
Those within the office evidently feared that the door could not much
longer withstand the pressure from without, for it opened suddenly and a
man's form appeared on the threshold.
"It is useless to clamor for admittance," the man shouted, thrusting
back the foremost of the crowd. "It is impossible to give out a
statement until we have examined the books."
"Where's Ward?" several voices demanded. "Where's Lester Ward?"
At the same time a forward movement of the crowd threatened to sweep the
interposing figure off the threshold. Britz, who had elbowed his way to
the door, pinned his shield to his lapel, and, facing the excited men
and women, exclaimed:
"I am a police officer."
"Then why in hell don't you arrest Lester Ward?" cried someone near the
opposite wall.
"If the facts warrant it, he will be arrested," answered Britz. "Your
interests will be protected and you are only wasting your time remaining
here."
As abruptly as he had faced them, Britz now swung around and entered the
office, locking the door behind him.
"What's the trouble?" he inquired.
"I have been appointed receiver by the United States District Court,"
answered the man who had addressed the crowd from the half-open door.
"An involuntary petition in bankruptcy has been filed against Ward & Co.
It looks to me like an awful failure."
Britz's eyes traveled about the office in search of Ward. But the head
of the firm was not to be seen. Instead, the detective saw a score of
clerks, bookkeepers and tellers seated gloomily at their desks, gazing
at one another in appalled silence.
The tragedy of the failure was written in their faces. These men, grown
old in the employ of this seemingly solid establishment, suddenly found
themselves confronted anew with the problem of earning a livelihood.
Nearly all of them had passed into that enfeebled state that comes with
years of unvarying routine. Each seemed to realize the almost utter
hopelessness of obtaining new employment, and several of them were
weeping silently.
Even Britz was moved by this pitiful picture of despairing old age. The
mute suffering of these men was a hundredfold more distressing than the
wild, helpless clamoring of the horde of enraged creditors. A person
born and bred to poverty soon grows insensible to deprivation; for when
one is accustomed to little, a little less doesn't matter. But these men
had occupied comfortable homes all their lives. From their sons and
daughters the colleges and universities recruit the majority of their
students. In a small way they have learned to enjoy the good things in
life. To be cut off suddenly, to learn that the rod on which they have
been leaning for so many years is but a broken reed--it is such men who
feel most acutely the bitter poverty of old age.
Britz contemplated the scene about him with a feeling of growing
depression. Then, suddenly recalling the high hopes which he had based
on his expected meeting with Ward, he asked:
"Has Ward been here to-day?"
"No," replied the receiver. "He seems to have abandoned the office. I've
been unable to reach him at his home."
"Well, fortunately I've had one of my men trailing him since the day of
the Whitmore murder, so it is unlikely he will get away," said Britz.
"Have you any idea at all as to the condition of the business?"
"Nothing except what I have gathered from questioning the manager of the
office. I didn't learn much from him but his attitude indicated to me
that the business is a complete wreck. South American enterprises seem
to have swallowed up all the resources."
"Has the failure any criminal aspect?" asked Britz.
"Of course, I can't tell as yet," answered the receiver. "But these
cases seldom result in criminal prosecutions. A man like Ward
undoubtedly was advised by shrewd lawyers and the chances are that we'll
find he's kept just within the law."
Just then the unceasing murmur in the hall swelled into a chorus of
profanity in which cries of "What's your hurry?" "You can't get in!"
intermingled. Next, a violent pounding on the door announced the
presence of someone more determined than the others to gain admittance.
Britz opened the door and a tall, stockily built individual forced an
entrance with an authoritative shove of his elbow.
"Where's Mr. Ward?" demanded the visitor. "Has he--" The man paused as,
for the first time, he recognized Britz. "Why, lieutenant, I didn't
expect to find you here," he said.
"Peck!" exclaimed Britz. "What brought you here?"
"The chief sent me. He just got word from Delmore Park that Ward has
skipped."
"What!" An angry frown overspread Britz's features.
"Ward must have known that he was being trailed," pursued the visitor.
"This morning, Grady was hidden in the bushes opposite the house waiting
for Ward to come out. Two men set on him, bound and gagged him and left
him lying on the grass. A passer-by found him half an hour ago and
untied him. Grady telephoned immediately that Ward had made a get-away."
"And the chief sent you down here?" asked Britz.
"Yes. We had got word of the failure and the chief thought I'd better
come down here to look things over."
Here was a new disappointment for Britz. The one man whom he wished to
see above all others, had slipped out of his grasp.
"We've got to act quickly," said Britz, consulting his watch. "You stay
right here. I'll go down to Headquarters."