LARRY AT THE BANK
There was quite a different scene being enacted in the Consolidated
National Bank when Larry arrived there, about three o’clock on the
afternoon of the day his story of the robbery came out, and proved such
a sensational “beat,” than there was on his first visit. As the young
reporter entered the institution, he saw an excited crowd of men, and
some women, in line at the paying teller’s window. Inside the brass
gratings clerks, cashiers and other employees were very busy.
“It looks like a run,” remarked Larry, half to himself, as he stood in
the corridor, and watched the crowd of evidently frightened depositors.
“It _is_ a run, young man!” exclaimed a nervous tradesman, who had a
check in one hand, and a copy of Larry’s paper in the other. “I didn’t
know about the loss, though, until I read this,” and he tapped the
folded journal nervously.
“A run! I should say so!” exclaimed another man, who also clutched
a _Leader_. “A million-dollar robbery! This bank can never stand
that loss. It’ll fail, and I’m going to get my money out before that
happens.”
“The same here,” added several, who were crowding up to get in line at
the paying teller’s window.
“A run on the bank,” mused Larry. “This will make more news! I must
’phone it in. I’m sorry if my story started this, but I can’t help it.
The president might have given me the story when I first asked for it,
and then he would have had a chance to explain that the bank could
stand the loss. This would have given the depositors confidence. But he
wouldn’t do it.”
If there was any doubt in Larry’s mind that the story which he had
written had caused the run-scare it was soon over, for every person who
crowded into the bank carried a copy of the _Leader_, with our hero’s
big scoop on the front page.
“And there isn’t another New York paper to be seen,” chuckled Larry.
“I’ve beaten ’em all! Well, now to send word in about the run. They can
add that to the general yarn.”
He was about to hurry from the bank, his thoughts busy with many
things, but chiefly how he might set about his task of discovering the
thief, and the missing million, when he saw President Bentfield come
hurriedly from his private office.
“I might as well wait and see what’s up,” thought the young reporter.
“I may get another scoop.”
There was little chance of this, however, for, on looking about, he saw
reporters of several other papers present. Among them was Peter Manton.
“Hello, Pete!” greeted Larry. “Are you after this?”
“Yes, but it’s a hot time to get after it,” grumbled Peter. “After your
paper scooped us! Was it your yarn?”
“It was,” said Larry, with justifiable pride.
“I might have known it,” went on the _Scorcher’s_ reporter. “You have
us all skinned. How’d you do it?”
“That’s telling,” replied Larry, with a smile.
“I came here to get the story, after some sort of a tip had come in the
office,” went on Peter, “but there was nothing doing. Bentfield turned
me down.”
“Yes, I saw you,” admitted Larry. “But what’s up now?”
Indeed, it was evident that something unusual was in the wind, for
President Bentfield was talking excitedly to the clerks and cashiers
back of the brass grill, and the anxious depositors, who wanted to
withdraw their money, were looking on curiously.
“Gentlemen, your attention for one moment!” suddenly called the bank
president, mounting on a box in order to see and be seen. “I wish to
make an announcement. After it is over you are all at liberty to
withdraw every dollar of your deposits. The bank will remain open for
that purpose all night if necessary. But I wish to state that, in spite
of the heavy loss we have sustained, we can meet every cent of our
obligations. Every depositor can be paid in full, and we will still be
doing business. There is no need of a run. Take your time.”
“That’s easy to say!” exclaimed a nervous woman.
“And easy to prove!” retorted the president quickly. “If you will
appoint a delegation I will have the members of it admitted to our
vaults. We have cash enough on hand to pay every depositor in full, and
I’ll show it to you!”
There, was a murmur of gratified surprise at this, and several who had
been crowding into line to get their money became more composed. Still,
there were doubtful ones.
Several depositors announced themselves as anxious to look into the
vaults. They were escorted there and, on coming back, stated that
they had seen several millions in currency, or Government bonds. It
developed later that, in anticipation of a possible run, when the
million-dollar robbery should become known, the bank had, a few days
previous, and directly after the theft, stored a large amount of cash
in its vaults.
“Are you satisfied?” demanded the president.
“Yes! Yes!” exclaimed the crowd, and it began to melt away. The run was
practically over, and the alarm, that had been caused be reading the
story in the _Leader_, was at an end.
President Bentfield looked relieved, and started for his private
office. The hard-worked clerks and tellers breathed easier.
“This will make good copy,” remarked Peter to Larry. “I’m going to
’phone it in.”
“So am I,” replied our hero, and the two started out on the run, for
it was getting late, and every second counts when a paper is going to
press.
As Larry passed a door that led from the main corridor into the
president’s room, the uniformed messenger by whom, earlier in the day,
he had sent in his card, came out.
“The president wants to see you, Mr. Dexter,” he said.
“I can’t see him now,” replied Larry, and there was grim satisfaction
in his ability to thus repay, in his own coin, the president’s
treatment of himself. “I’m in a hurry to telephone.”
“He said I was to tell you it was very important for him to see you,”
went on the messenger. “He saw you when he went out to make the
announcement about there being plenty of cash. Mr. Bentfield says it’s
to your interest to see him.”
“But I’ve got to telephone some news in to my paper,” answered Larry,
chaffing at the delay. “It’s to the bank’s interest to have it known
that there is no danger of a run. Otherwise you’ll have a mob of
out-of-town depositors around your doors in the morning. I’ve got to
telephone, and I’ll see Mr. Bentfield later.”
“There’s a telephone in his private office,” said the messenger. “I was
to tell you that you could use that if you wanted to.”
Larry’s eyes sparkled. He knew the advantage of getting to a telephone
quickly when it was close to last edition time, and down in Wall
street, in the congested financial district, at this hour of the day,
the wires were overburdened with messages. Larry realized that to go
out, and hunt up a public pay station, would take time, and he never
hoped for such good luck as the chance to use the president’s private
wire to send in his news.
“Very well,” he said, “I’ll see Mr. Bentfield.”
He was shown into the bank president’s room. He found a number of men
there, among them Mr. Potter, who looked at him and smiled.
“That reporter!” fairly growled the black-moustached director as he saw
Larry. “What does he want now?”
“I have sent for him,” replied Mr. Bentfield. “And I may say that I
have changed my opinion of newspaper men in the last few hours. Mr.
Dexter, I have something to say to you.”
“Would you mind if I telephoned this news in to my paper first?”
asked Larry respectfully. “It is very important to me, as this is my
profession.”
“Go right ahead!” said the president, in more genial tones than he had
used when Larry saw him before. “Here is my telephone. I’d be glad to
have you make as emphatic as possible the announcement I just made.
And, after you have ’phoned that in, I’ll add some other news that may
give you another ‘scoop,’ as I believe they are called.”
Larry’s eyes sparkled at hearing this. News was coming his way fast
this day--exclusive news, too.
It did not take long to send over the wire the story of the run, and
how quickly and dramatically it had been checked, by the prompt action
of the president.
“Hold the wire a minute,” said Larry, to the reporter in the office who
was taking the story from his dictation. “The president has something
else to add.”
“It is this,” spoke Mr. Bentfield, as Larry turned questioningly
toward him. All the directors and other gentlemen in the room had been
listening curiously to the manner in which Larry told the story over
the wire. “We have decided to offer a reward of twenty thousand dollars
for the arrest of the person or persons who got our million dollars,”
said the president. “You may add that to your story. It may be of
interest to the public.”
“I should say it would!” exclaimed Larry, and then in quick, crisp
words he sent that additional information over the wire.
“They’re going to put a scare-head on that,” the young reporter stated
to the president a moment later, still remaining at the telephone.
“Good! It may attract enough attention so that the general public will
be interested in earning the reward,” remarked Mr. Bentfield. “It may
help to arrest the thief.”
“I suppose you mean the reward will be paid if the thief is arrested,
and the money recovered,” suggested Larry.
“No! The reward will be paid for the apprehension of the thief, whether
he has a dollar of the money or not!” cried the president. “We want to
make an example of him! It is a heavy loss for the bank, but, unless we
find out how the robbery was committed, and get the thief, other banks
may suffer likewise. The reward is for the thief, not the money!”
Larry added this bit of news, and then, at the suggestion of Mr.
Bentfield, he dictated a statement to the effect that the bank
officials had not the slightest clue to the thief, and did not suspect
any one.
“Our employees feel the stigma keenly enough as it is,” the president
said, “and this may help to relieve it.”
Larry finished telephoning, and sat back with a sigh of relief. He
had done good work that day, and it developed later that he had made
a second scoop--that about the big reward being offered. He was well
satisfied with his assignment.
“And now,” began Mr. Bentfield, at the conclusion of the telephoning,
“I would like to ask you a question, Mr. Dexter. Where did you get your
information about the robbery?”
“I can’t tell you,” said Larry promptly. “It would be a violation of
confidence, of which no newspaper man can ever be guilty.”
“Very well,” spoke Mr. Bentfield, and he was not at all unpleasant
about it. “I will respect your scruples, though I would like very
much to know how you reporters get your news. But, since you have it,
perhaps it is all for the best. It would have had to come out sooner
or later, and perhaps we should have made a statement sooner. Our
directors were divided on the subject.”
“I’ll tell you how Larry Dexter got the story,” quickly exclaimed Mr.
Potter. “I gave it to him. I felt that the public had a right to know
of this big theft.”
The statement created surprise, and some of the directors were rather
angry at Mr. Potter. But he was a big depositor, and one whom the bank
wished to please, so little was said about it.
“Perhaps, after all, it is for the best,” agreed the president. “I’m
sure I congratulate you, Mr. Dexter, on the clever story you wrote, and
the way in which you handled this mystery. For a mystery it is, and I’m
afraid we can never solve it.”
“Haven’t the detectives been able to get any clews?” asked the young
reporter.
“Not a one,” replied Mr. Bentfield. “We shall now notify the regular
police, and let them work on the case as well as the private agency
which we engaged.”
“I can tell you who will do a good deal better work on this case than
the regular detectives, or the private ones, either,” said Mr. Potter,
during a pause in the talk.
“Who?” demanded several directors at once.
“Larry Dexter!” exclaimed the millionaire. “He found me, when none of
the other reporters, or police, could, and I thought I was pretty well
hidden. Maybe he could find this thief.”
“And the million dollars!” added the black-moustached man eagerly.
“That’s too big a sum to lose.”
“It certainly is,” agreed the president. “I have many times heard it
said,” he went on, “that reporters are often better at solving crimes
than the average detective. Perhaps it would be a good plan to have Mr.
Dexter take up this case. Will you do it?” he asked. “I think we really
need you. Will you act as a detective for us and try to earn that
reward?”
“I’m a newspaper man,” said Larry simply, “and, though it is true that
we often have to do detective work, I must act for my paper first.”
“But you could do that and help the bank, too,” suggested Mr. Potter.
“Larry, I think this is just the chance for you. If you find the thief,
and the million, you will have a big ‘beat’ for your paper. Why don’t
you do it?”
“I will!” cried Larry. “In fact, my city editor has assigned me to this
case, and I’m to do nothing else. But, of course, with the aid of the
bank officials I can work to better advantage.”
“Then you shall have it!” exclaimed President Bentfield. “Gentlemen,
Larry Dexter is to be given every aid in our power to endeavor to solve
this bank mystery! And it’s my opinion that, if it isn’t solved, the
Consolidated National will be the laughing stock of Wall street. Think
of having a million taken right from under our noses, and not even a
clew as to how it disappeared! Mr. Dexter, get busy, please!” and he
smiled at our hero. There had come quite a change over Mr. Bentfield
in a few hours, and Larry was the cause of it. The president and his
associates looked keenly at the young reporter.