LARRY DEXTER
AND THE
BANK MYSTERY
OR
EXCITING DAYS IN WALL STREET
BY
RAYMOND SPERRY
AUTHOR OF “LARRY DEXTER AT THE BIG
FLOOD,” “LARRY DEXTER AND THE
MISSING MILLIONAIRE,” ETC.
[Illustration]
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
GARDEN CITY PUBLISHING CO., INC.
1926
THE FAMOUS
LARRY DEXTER SERIES
BY
RAYMOND SPERRY
(_See back of book for list of titles_)
COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY
GARDEN CITY PUBLISHING COMPANY, INC.
PREFACE
MY DEAR BOYS:
It is some time since I wrote for you the previous stories about Larry
Dexter, and how the young reporter made his successful search for the
millionaire. Now I have the privilege of once more relating to you some
of his doings.
You know that a reporter’s life is full of surprises. One day he may be
at a ball game, and the next he may be sent to “cover” a war in China,
or to get a story of the work on the Panama Canal.
It was this way with Larry Dexter. One morning he came to the office,
after having had some trouble in the subway with a young man, to
find his city editor waiting for him with an assignment to solve a
million-dollar bank robbery.
Needless to say, Larry at once “got busy.” He managed to get the story
of the big theft, and then he went on the trail of the man he thought
had the money. How he traced him, how he worked up the various clews,
his troubles, his disappointments, and the big surprise that awaited
him--all this you will find told of in this book.
I hope you will like the story as well as you have the other ones I
have written for you, and I trust that you will be glad to hear more of
Larry Dexter in another book to follow this one.
Yours very truly,
RAYMOND SPERRY.
LARRY DEXTER AND THE BANK MYSTERY
CHAPTER I
A BIG ROBBERY
“One side there! Get out the way! Do you want to block up the whole
entrance? I’m in a hurry!”
“I beg your pardon,” began Larry Dexter, “I didn’t mean to----”
He had no time to finish the sentence, for the man who had thus rudely
spoken brushed against Larry, almost hurling him from his feet, and now
fairly ran down the steps leading to the subway station.
“Say, if I’d have known he was going to act that way about it, I’d
never have started to ask his pardon,” murmured the young reporter,
as he rubbed his shoulder, which had hit against the side wall with
considerable force.
“He sure was in a hurry, Mr. Dexter,” observed the newsboy, who had a
small stand at the subway entrance. “Any one would think there was only
one train downtown this morning, and if he missed that he couldn’t get
another.”
“That’s right, Jim,” agreed Larry, as he tossed a coin to the boy of
whom, every morning, he purchased several papers, that he might look
them over on his trip downtown. For Larry was fast becoming known as
the “star” reporter on the New York _Leader_, an afternoon journal.
And, as he had to begin his duties in the morning, he always liked to
see what the news of the day was likely to be, by scanning some rival
sheets.
“Some folks want more than their share, anyhow,” went on the newsboy.
“I see lots of ’em here. Say, but that was a big fire last night, Mr.
Dexter. It ain’t out yet.”
“So I see,” remarked the young reporter, for he and Jim had grown
to be quite friendly during the year or more that Larry had been
buying papers at this stand. “I expect we’ll have to get a story on
it ourselves. There may be some new ends to cover. Well, I guess I’ve
given that fellow who was in a hurry plenty of time to get a train
ahead of me. I don’t want to meet him again,” and with that, nodding a
friendly good-bye to the newsboy, Larry started down the subway steps.
He was wondering what sort of an assignment might be given him to
“cover,” or work on, that day, as he bought his ticket and dropped it
into the chopper’s box. As he strolled out on the platform, built under
the sidewalk, and along which the subway express would soon rumble,
Larry looked up and down the long stretch of underground pavement.
“Guess I missed the express,” he mused. “It was that fellow’s fault,
too.”
He glanced over the headings of the several papers he had purchased,
and noted that a story he had written the day before for his own
publication, had been used in a number of the rival sheets. This is
always a gratification to a reporter.
“Guess they found I hadn’t missed much on that yarn,” said Larry to
himself. “I was up against some hard work, too. Pshaw, I wish I hadn’t
missed that express. I’ll be late if I wait for the next one, and if I
take a local, that stops at all the stations, I’ll be worse off than
ever. I’d like to see that fellow, and give him a bit of my mind. If he
hadn’t been in such a hurry to get past me, we could have both made the
express.”
Almost as Larry formed this thought he looked down the platform again,
and, to his surprise, he saw the same young man step from behind a big
iron pillar. He was eagerly looking over a paper, and did not seem to
notice our hero.
“Humph!” mused Larry. “He didn’t get the express, after all. He had his
trouble for his pains. I’m glad of it. He’s a regular bully, I guess,”
and the young reporter looked closely at the individual who had caused
the trouble. True, Larry might have been a bit at fault himself, for he
had stood in the subway entrance as he was buying his papers, though,
as he thought of it afterward, he knew there was plenty of room for
the bully to have passed.
The fellow on whom Larry’s eyes were fixed was about the young
reporter’s own age. He was well dressed, but there was a nervous,
hurried manner in all his movements, and two or three times he looked
up from the paper he held, glancing about the platform, as though he
feared he might see some one whom he did not want to encounter.
All at once his eyes fell upon Larry, and he started visibly. Then he
stepped back behind the pillar, as though to hide.
“Guess he thought I might try to make trouble for him,” mused Larry.
“Well, he deserves it, but I’m not fond of rows, though he did give my
shoulder a hard bang. It’ll be black and blue, I guess.”
The platform was beginning to be thronged with persons now, for the
passengers who had accumulated just before Larry arrived had been
whirled on their way downtown, and now a second crowd was on hand. This
would be repeated several times, until the busy workers had all been
transported to their stores or offices.
“I wonder what his object could have been, to rush down here, in plenty
of time to have taken the express, and then wait?” thought Larry. “He’s
a queer one.”
“City Hall Express!” suddenly called one of the subway guards, as the
distant rumble of a train was heard. “Fourteenth street the first
stop! City Hall Express!”
Larry lived well uptown in New York, and it meant a big saving in time
to go on an express, that made few stops until City Hall was reached.
The office of the _Leader_, where Larry worked, was but a short
distance away from the municipal building.
The passengers crowded toward the edge of the platform, in readiness to
board the train, the lights of which could now be seen. Larry noticed
that the “pusher,” as he mentally called him, was standing not far away.
“If he runs into me again,” thought the young reporter, “I’ll be
tempted to punch him, and take what follows. He ought to be taught a
lesson.”
There was quite a throng about Larry, including a number of young
ladies, as the train pulled in, and stopped with a grinding and
screeching of brakes. The passengers crowded toward the open doors of
the cars.
There was a sudden rush, and Larry noted, with an anger that he could
hardly hold back, that the “pusher” was elbowing his way through the
press, without any regard for the rights of others. The fellow was just
ahead of Larry.
A moment later there was a cry of pain--a girl’s cry--and a voice
exclaimed:
“Oh! My ankle! You’ve stepped on it. Oh, dear!”
The young reporter saw a girl, just in front of him, stagger, and
almost fall. Larry put out his arm and caught her. At the same time he
saw that it was the chap who had previously collided with him who had
stepped on the girl’s foot, with cruel force.
“What’s the matter with you?” demanded Larry, with righteous anger
in his voice. “Can’t you get on a train without walking all over
everybody? Now you take your time!”
Supporting the girl with his left arm, Larry shot out his right
hand, caught the fellow by the shoulder, and whirled him about with
considerable force. There was sufficient room on the wide platform of
the car for Larry to pull the bully back, and, several passengers,
seeing what the young reporter was going to do, moved to one side to
give him space.
A moment later Larry had fairly shoved the fellow from the car to the
station platform.
“Now you can wait until the rest of us get on!” said the young
reporter. “And if this young lady wants to make a charge against you,
I’ll be a witness.”
“Say, what’s the matter with you, anyhow?” demanded the bully angrily.
“I’ll punch you good for this!”
“No, you won’t,” interposed the burly guard of the train. “You didn’t
get half you deserved. I saw you crowd on, shovin’ everybody to one
side, and I saw you elbow this young lady. You didn’t get more than was
comin’ to you.”
“That’s right!” exclaimed several men.
“Unmannerly boor!” said an elderly woman. “If he was down South he’d be
taught a lesson!”
“I think he has received the beginning of one now, madam,” said an old
gentleman, courteously bowing to her.
“All aboard!” sung out the guard, as a warning bell came to him from
the car behind, telling him that the doors were closed. “All aboard.”
“Can you walk?” asked Larry of the young lady, though, as he looked at
her pretty face, he made up his mind that helping her along would not
be unpleasant.
“Oh, yes, I’m all right now,” she answered with a blush, as she moved
on, and away from Larry’s supporting arm. “He kicked me in the ankle,
and for a moment I couldn’t stand. I’m all right now, thank you,” and
she went into the car with a slight limp.
“You deserve a medal of thanks, young man,” said an elderly gentleman
to Larry. “That sort of thing is getting all too common in the subway.
That fellow ought to ride in a cattle car.”
“Well, he isn’t going to ride in this one to-day, that’s sure,” spoke
another man, for at that moment, and just as the unmannerly fellow
started to get back on board, the guard let the door shut in his face,
and the train began to pull out of the station. “He’s left, and it
serves him right,” went on the man with a chuckle, as he glanced at
Larry.
“It’s the second express he’s missed this morning,” spoke the young
reporter. “He made me miss one, too,” and he told of the incident at
the head of the subway stairs. As the express rushed on through the
tunnel-like blackness, Larry and the men about him entered into an
informal conversation about crowds in the subway, and the actions of
certain men who seemed to have no regard for the rights of others.
Soon Fourteenth street was reached, and Larry, looking through the car,
saw the girl, whom he had assisted, getting ready to go out.
“Guess she works in some of the stores around here,” mused the young
reporter. “She’s pretty all right,” and as the girl passed him, on
her way to the door, she nodded and smiled brightly. Larry raised his
hat, and found himself wishing he knew who she was. He almost made up
his mind to take that same express the next morning, on the chance of
seeing her again.
“But I hope I don’t meet that pushing chap,” Larry went on, “for he and
I would surely get into a row.”
The train rushed on along again, and, a little later, Larry was in the
elevator, being lifted to the editorial rooms of the _Leader_, to begin
his day’s work. He was a little late and he did not like that, for he
was generally prompt.
“Hello Larry!” a number of reporters in the local, or city, room
greeted our hero as he entered.
“Hello!” he answered back, and, as he was passing on to his desk, one
of the copy boys said to him:
“Mr. Emberg wants to see you, Mr. Dexter. He’s been asking two or three
times if you’d come in yet.”
“That’s what comes of being late, I suppose,” mused our hero as he
started for the little room, off the main city one, where Mr. Emberg,
city editor of the _Leader_, had his desk and chair.
“Good-morning, Larry,” said Mr. Emberg briskly. “I’ve been waiting for
you.”
“I’m sorry I was late,” answered the reporter. “I started out in time,
but I had a couple of experiences with a ‘subway porker.’ A fellow
shoved himself all over. Stepped on a girl’s ankle, and there came near
being a row. It’s funny how selfish some chaps are. Maybe it would make
a good story to write something about our overcrowded conditions in the
subway.”
“Well, maybe,” admitted the city editor. “But some one else besides you
will have to do it. Never mind about subways, crowds, porkers, or girls
who get stepped on this morning, Larry. I’ve got another assignment for
you.”
“What is it?”
“Something big. In fact, it’s the biggest thing I’ve put you on since
your hunt for the missing millionaire. There’s nothing hanging over for
you to clean up; is there?”
“No, I’m all through with that church-meeting story.”
“Good! Then I want you to get right out after this. It’s the biggest
thing that’s been pulled off in New York in a long time. But it isn’t
going to be easy to get.”
“What is it, Mr. Emberg?”
“Shut the door, Larry, and come over here. I don’t want this to get
out, for we may pull off a ‘scoop’ on it.”
The young reporter closed the door of the private office, and came
closer to the city editor’s desk. He knew something unusual must be in
prospect when Mr. Emberg was so careful.
“Larry,” began the city editor, “there’s been a big robbery committed,
and the bank that lost the money is trying to keep it quiet for a
while, in the hope of tracing the thieves. But I have a private tip
about it, and now I want you to get right out on the story, and get it.”
“What bank was robbed, Mr. Emberg?”
“The Consolidated National. Some time in the past week one million
dollars in currency was stolen, and they can’t get a trace of it, or
the thief, or thieves, who got away with it. It’s the biggest bank
mystery that’s happened in years, and if you possibly can, Larry, I
want you to get a scoop out of it. I don’t believe any other papers
know about it yet, and if you go at it right you can make a big story.”
“A million dollars stolen!” gasped Larry. “I should say it was a big
robbery.”
“A corker!” exclaimed Mr. Emberg admiringly, not because of the
criminal action, however, so much as for the chance of a big story for
his paper. “A corker, Larry. Get right after it, and, if you can find
the money, or the thieves--well, that will make it all the better. Get
busy!”
“I will,” answered the reporter, as he hurried out of the room. And
Larry had started on an assignment that was to lead him to the solution
of one of the strangest mysteries ever known, and destined to further
add to his laurels as a “star” reporter.
“Go at it in your own way, Larry,” the city editor called after him.
“There’s no limit to your expense bills. Just get the story and beat
all the other papers.”
“I will!” answered Larry again.