LARRY GETS THE SCOOP
The office of Mr. Hampton Potter, the millionaire, was not far from
the bank where Harry had tried unsuccessfully to get the story of the
robbery. The young reporter was soon in front of the big structure
where Mr. Potter had rooms, and he sent in his card.
“Show Mr. Dexter in at once,” commanded the wealthy man, when he had
read our hero’s name. “I wonder if he thinks I’m missing again,”
mused Mr. Potter with a laugh, as he awaited Larry’s arrival. “More
than likely, though, that he wants a story about the stock market,”
for, several times since Larry had helped Mr. Potter get the best of
his enemies, the two had met, and Larry often picked up a choice and
exclusive bit of news from his rich friend.
“Well, what is it going to be to-day, Larry?” asked Mr. Potter, as the
young reporter entered. “Do you want something about the bulls and the
bears playing havoc with the market?”
“It’s something more important than that, Mr. Potter.”
“More important?” Something in the reporter’s face made the millionaire
guess that the lad was on the trail of a big story. “What is it, Larry?”
Our hero came close to the desk of his rich friend, and, in a voice
that was almost a whisper, he said:
“Mr. Potter, the Consolidated National Bank has been robbed of a
million dollars. They are keeping the matter quiet, though a private
detective agency is working on the case. I went there and asked for the
story. I was turned down, and so I come to you. You’re a big depositor
there, aren’t you?”
“I am, Larry. But, Great Scott! A robbery of a million! You must be
mistaken. Such a thing could not happen. A million dollars!”
“That’s right,” said the lad. “I got it from my city editor, on good
authority. Now look here, Mr. Potter, I want that story. I want to get
it exclusively. The bank people know the facts, but they won’t talk. If
they’ve lost a million it’s the right of the public to know it. Maybe
the depositors unknowingly are keeping on putting money in a bank which
is on the verge of failure. It isn’t right! The story ought to come
out. You’re a big depositor. If you go to the president and demand the
facts he’ll have to tell them to you. Then you can tell me, and I’ll
have my scoop. See?”
“I do, Larry. But, Great Scott! A million gone! And they’re keeping it
quiet! Why, I made a big deposit there, only yesterday!”
He thought deeply for a moment, and Larry watched him closely. Would
the millionaire aid him to get the story?
“A million gone!” said Mr. Potter, half to himself. “I had a right to
know that, and, by Jove, I _will_ know it. I’ll call up Bentfield, and
demand to know why he’s keeping this quiet. I’ll get him on the wire!”
He reached for the telephone.
“Don’t do that!” cried Larry quickly.
“Why not?”
“Because there’ll be a leak in the central office, or some one will
overhear it, and then the story will be out. I don’t want it to get
loose until it comes out in the _Leader_. I want it all alone. There’s
another reporter after it--Peter Manton--with whom I had a lot of
trouble when I first came to New York, though we’re friendly enough
now. But, for all that, I want to beat him on this story, if I can. He
quit the newspaper game for a while and went into real estate. Now he’s
reporting again. I want to beat him.”
“Oh, I suppose so,” agreed Mr. Potter. “I see what you mean, Larry.
Well, I’ll not telephone. I’ll go see Bentfield personally. You stay
here, and as soon as I have the facts I’ll come back and tell you.
I haven’t forgotten what you did for me. How soon must you have the
story?”
“Oh, if I get it by twelve o’clock I can ’phone it, and catch the
first main edition. I’d like to hold it for the last, and then the
other papers couldn’t use it until late to-night, or to-morrow morning,
but I’m afraid it won’t keep. It’s too big.”
“I guess you’re right,” agreed Mr. Potter. “Well, I’ll get it for you
as soon as I can,” and, calling his secretary, he gave the man certain
instructions, also arranging to have Larry wait in the private office
until his return.
“I’ll be as quick as I can,” remarked the millionaire, with a smile, as
he started out. “I’m a sort of special reporter now; eh, Larry?”
“Something like that, Mr. Potter. Please don’t ‘fall down.’”
“Eh? What’s that? Is it slippery out?” and, somewhat surprised, he
looked from his window into the pleasant spring sunshine.
“No, I meant don’t ‘fall down’ on the assignment--don’t miss getting
it.”
“Oh, I see! Well, I’ll do my best,” and he laughed.
It seemed a long time for Larry to wait until the millionaire returned,
and the young reporter kept looking at his watch as if that would
hasten matters. Afterward Larry learned that Mr. Potter had even
engaged a taxicab in order to come and go more quickly, for he felt a
real liking for our hero, and wanted to help him.
Mr. Potter re-entered his office. There was a look on his face that
told Larry he had been successful, and had secured the story.
“Well?” asked the reporter anxiously.
“It’s true!” exclaimed the millionaire. “I would never have believed it
possible that a million dollars could have been stolen so easily. But
it’s gone! It’s a great mystery.”
“Did they hesitate about telling you?” asked Larry.
“They did, until I demanded to know, as my right, and I threatened to
inform the banking commissioner if they did not let me know all the
facts. They wanted to know where I got my information, but I didn’t
tell. The bank is solvent, however, though the loss is a heavy one. The
depositors will lose nothing. Now here are the facts, as far as they’re
known, and that isn’t much. It’s a queer mystery.”
“A mystery; how?” asked Larry.
“Why, the way the money disappeared. It was almost like magic. I’ll
tell you the main facts, and you can elaborate on them later.
“It happened three days ago, and they’ve been keeping it quiet
since--aside from the detectives knowing it--in the hopes that the
thieves could be traced. But so far nothing has come of it. Now here’s
the story.”
And as Mr. Potter told it, Larry rapidly made notes so he could write
the account for his paper.
It seemed that at eleven o’clock, one morning, four tellers of the
Consolidated National Bank counted out from the vault one million
dollars in thousand-dollar bills. The money was made up into ten
packages of one hundred thousand dollars each, carefully checked over
by the chief cashier, and then this immense sum was placed in a large
leather bag, to be taken to the vaults of the Metropolitan National
Bank. It was to be used in a government bond transaction the following
day.
The valise into which the money was placed was lined with steel wire,
for sometimes bold thieves attack bank messengers in New York’s
financial district, slit open, with keen knives, the bags they carry,
and get the bundles of bills. It was to prevent any such theft as this
that a steel-mesh-lined bag was used.
The Metropolitan Bank was to send a messenger to get the money from the
Consolidated Bank at noon, and, pending the arrival of this man, the
bag, containing the million dollars, was placed on the floor in the
Consolidated Bank, close to the chief cashier’s desk.
“Then this is what happened next,” said Mr. Potter, after telling the
story thus far.
“Luke Tucker, the messenger from the bank that was to receive the large
sum in bills, arrived promptly on time. To assist him in carrying
the bag William French, a messenger from the Consolidated Bank, was
assigned. To the keeping of these two men the bag was entrusted, and
the handle of it was handcuffed to the left wrist of French, so that
if a bold thief tried to grab it he would have to take the man along
too.
“Adam Force, a special officer from the Consolidated Bank, walked out
after the two messengers who, between them, carried the bag holding
a million dollars,” continued Mr. Potter, while Larry went on making
notes. “Force is a very trustworthy man. He used to work for me. In
his coat pocket, as he strolled along behind the messengers, he held a
loaded revolver, ready for instant use should a robbery be attempted.
“From the Consolidated Bank to the Metropolitan it is less than half a
mile, and absolutely nothing happened on the way. The messengers and
the detective arrived safely with the bag, and it was unlocked from
the handcuff on the wrist of French. A receipt was to be given for the
money, but, before this was done, as is always the case, four tellers
of the receiving bank proceeded to check over the bundles of bills.
“The bag was opened, Larry, in the presence of half a dozen men, but,
instead of seeing the neat bundles of bank bills, there were only some
bricks, wrapped in newspapers, in the valise.”
“Bricks!” cried Larry, all excitement.
“Bricks,” answered Mr. Potter grimly.
“But where had the money gone?” asked the reporter. “If no one attacked
them on the trip, if the money was in the valise when it left the first
bank--how could it have been taken?”
“That’s the mystery,” replied Mr. Potter. “No one seems to know how
the money got out. It was utterly impossible for it to have disappeared
after the bag was locked on French’s wrist. Every one agrees on that
point.”
“Then it was done before the valise left the Consolidated Bank,”
decided Larry promptly.
“That’s my opinion,” decided the millionaire. “But how was it done? The
four tellers stood by, and saw the million dollars put in. Then the
valise was double locked, and set down by the chief cashier’s desk.
He says he was there all the while, and yet, when the other bank’s
tellers open the satchel, they find bricks instead of money. That’s the
mystery. It’s like a conjurer’s trick. And that’s your story, Larry.”
“And a mighty big story it is, too!” cried the young reporter “I’m
ever so much obliged to you, Mr. Potter. I think I’ve got the biggest
scoop of years. I’m going to make a good story of it, and play up that
mystery for all it’s worth. May I use your telephone?”
“Yes--but, for the same reason that you cautioned me, I wouldn’t ’phone
the story in if I were you. It might get out.”
“Oh, I’m not going to tell the story over the wire,” spoke Larry. “I
just want to let Mr. Emberg know I’ve got it.”
And, in a few seconds, he was talking to his city editor.
“That’s it, Larry! That’s fine! Great!” fairly shouted Mr. Emberg. “Get
right in with the yarn! We’ll hold the whole first page for you if you
need it. Rush!”
Larry hung up the telephone receiver, glanced over his notes to see if
there were any details on which he wanted to ask questions, and then
started from the millionaire’s office.
“There’s a taxicab outside,” said Mr. Potter. “I told the man to wait,
thinking you’d like to use it to get back to your office in a hurry.”
“Thanks,” spoke Larry. “I’ll take it.”
“And come up and see us soon,” requested the millionaire. “Grace was
asking for you the other day. Don’t wait to solve this bank mystery,
but come any time.”
“I will,” promised the young reporter, and then, fairly jumping into
the elevator, he shot downward and hurled himself into the waiting taxi.
“The _Leader_ office as fast as you can make it!” cried Larry, and the
auto swung up Wall street, toward Broadway, at a fast rate of speed.
As Larry passed the robbed bank he looked out. He saw his rival, Peter
Manton, coming down the steps, and there was a look on his face that
seemed to show defeat.
“I don’t believe he got the yarn,” chuckled our hero. “I think I can
scoop him!”
Larry fairly rushed into the office of his paper and flew to the city
room.
“Got it all?” asked Mr. Emberg, coming out of his room.
“All about the robbery. The mystery is yet to be solved,” answered
Larry breathlessly.
“Good! We can string it along for a week, maybe!” said the editor
gleefully. “Pound it out for all you’re worth. Here, boy, go down to
the ‘morgue’ and get me out pictures of the Consolidated Bank and all
the officials. We’ll spread on this!”
Larry was soon at his typewriter, clicking off the big story--the
biggest story of the day. In order to catch the first extra edition,
Mr. Emberg handled Larry’s copy himself, taking it page by page as it
came from the machine.
It was rushed up to the composing room through the pneumatic tubes,
and there it was cut into small sections, or “takes,” so that several
printers could work on it at once.
Rapidly the type-setting machines were putting into solid form Larry’s
big, million-dollar robbery story. Mr. Emberg wrote a “scare” head for
it, and the printers began setting that up. Down in the art department
a “layout” of several pictures was being gotten ready, showing the
looted bank, and portraits of its officers.
Soon enough of Larry’s story for one edition was finished, and he
could take his time on the more unimportant details. Meanwhile other
reporters had been sent out to get interviews as to the possible effect
on the financial market by the loss of a million dollars from one bank.
Some reporters looked up the big robberies of past years, to compare
them with the present million-dollar one.
Then the paper came out. The immense presses down in the basement
thundered away, fairly showering out the folded copies of the _Leader_,
ready for the boys to sell on the street.
“Extra! Extra!” the lads cried, as they sped through the streets.
“Extra! Full account of de great bank myst’ry! Million dollars stole!
Extra! Extra!”
Larry sat back in his chair for a moment’s rest. He was tired from his
morning’s task, and the pounding of the typewriter keys. But he was
happy.
“If only the other papers haven’t got the story!” he said to himself.
“If I have a scoop! If I have beaten Peter Manton!”
And he had. When the _Leader’s_ rivals’ sheets came out not one of them
had the story of the million-dollar bank robbery, and only a few had a
hint that anything was wrong, financially, with the institution. Only
hints were given.
“That’s the best Peter could do,” said Larry joyfully, as he looked
over the other papers. “He didn’t get the story.”
“No, you scored a clean beat, Larry,” said Mr. Emberg proudly. “It was
great work! But it can’t stop there.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you’ve got to keep right on with this story. Larry, I’m
going to give you the biggest assignment you ever had. I want you to
find out where that million dollars went, and who took it. Find the
thief, Larry, and get the story of the mystery. It’s up to you. From
now on you’re to do nothing but keep on this bank case. Live in Wall
street if you have to. Stay there night and day, but get the story.
It’s up to you!”
“All right,” spoke the young reporter rather solemnly. “I’ll do my
best.”
“Go down to the bank now,” suggested Mr. Emberg, “and show them our
story. Maybe they’ll be willing to talk after they see what we have
printed.”