automobile through and shut off the second. It was the worst sort of
luck that caused the special agent to arrive at the North side station
just as the gate was slammed and made it necessary for him to produce
credentials to get through. He was barely able to swing into the
vestibule of a sleeper as the train was getting under way. It was
particularly hazardous from the standpoint of accomplishing the end he
had in mind, for he did not even know if Alexander was aboard and faced
the danger of having ridden away on the fastest train to New York and
left his work behind him. Even if the man he was after was aboard there
was the chance that he had become aware of the chase and would take
precaution to out-wit him.
But now there was no hurry. His man was or was not on the train and the
porter told him there would be no stop for two hours. The special agent
was still a good deal of a youngster with an appreciation of the
dramatic and here was a situation that appealed to him. He wondered if
he were riding into the dusk on a wild goose chase, or if he had
cornered this fugitive master-crook, with a traveling bag containing
half a million dollars of other peoples' money. He pictured the man he
was after--the suave, confident, stealthy cashier, who had stolen his
hundreds of thousands and had, by the very force of him, compelled his
subordinates to hide his shortcomings. He wondered if this man of action
was expecting pursuit or if he was riding on in confidence of being able
to make his escape. He thought of the satchel that the cashier carried
and of his responsibility, as a Government agent, for safeguarding its
contents. It was something of an assignment for a youngster.
"And Mother used to say to me," grinned Billy to himself, "when she
sent me around the corner for a dozen eggs: 'Do be careful to bring back
the change, and for goodness' sake don't drop the bag.' I wish Mother
could see me now."
Whereupon William H. Gard of the United States Department of Justice
arose and went to the front of the train. From this point he worked
steadily back, making sure that he saw every passenger, looking each
over with sufficient scrutiny that a disguise would not have escaped
him, making sure that the man he sought was in the portion of the train
to the rear. It began to look as though he had actually boarded a train
which the fugitive had failed to catch.
Dark was just coming on. It was that hour when most of the passengers on
a train are to be found in the diner. It happened that this train was
running light and now the sleepers were practically deserted but for the
nodding porters. Through one after another of these the special agent
passed until there remained only the observation car at the end. It was
here that he would find his quarry or prove himself outwitted.
When he came into the observation car through the narrow hall that
leads to it, a lounging figure by the door drew itself taut.
Instinctively it put its hand to a traveling bag that rested on the next
chair. Then it remained still.
The special agent came direct down the car and went immediately to the
task in hand.
"You are Bayard Alexander," he said, "and my prisoner."
The cashier was, after all, surprised. He was not aware that he was
being followed. He sprang forward in his chair but met the glint of a
pistol in the hand of the special agent.
"And you? Oh, I see!" said the cashier, recovering himself. "The
bookkeeper was not a bookkeeper after all."
"I am an agent of the Department of Justice," said Gard. "You are under
arrest."
The tall figure of the cashier had risen from its chair. To the
traveling bag he clung instinctively. The situation seemed entirely in
the control of the special agent with gun drawn and the retreat cut off.
Yet, like a flash, the cashier turned the knob of the door that led out
upon the rear platform of the observation car. The gun of the special
agent spit forth a flame, but whether he had intended to bring down his
man or not he was afterward quite unable to recall.
But with a leap he was after and upon the fugitive. He suspected the
intent of the cashier to throw himself from the train, to end all in
suicide. He saw the traveling bag getting beyond his reach. It was the
last thing that would have appealed to him to stand idly by while such
incidents were taking place.
The two men grappled. A new purpose flashed into the mind of the
cashier. Here was he given an unexpected opportunity for freedom. Only
the special agent stood in his way. If he could but drop this youngster
over the rail, suicide would be unnecessary. A new purpose came into his
tall, lithe form. It was to be put to the task of fighting for its own
preservation.
And such a setting for a fight! The clamor of the train beat into the
blood of the contestants like the applause of an arena. The swish of the
platform as the express dashed through the darkness at seventy miles an
hour made the ordinary strategy of battle uncertain. Beyond the narrow
rail that skirted this platform upon which their fight was staged death
waited expectant on three sides. There were now no weapons and the
contestants went back to the primal in a tooth and fang grapple for
existence as might two frenzied bears at bay.
The cashier was the larger man and one who had always kept in condition
through gymnasium work. The special agent was lither and younger. The
larger man was determined that he would thrust the smaller over the rail
and fling him from the train. He fought his way to the edge of the
platform, forcing his antagonist farther and farther over it, hammering
him down by the sheer superiority of weight and strength.
But all the time the special agent was playing to his own advantage. He
was getting low beneath the guard of the cashier. His arms had found an
iron lock beneath his antagonist's coat and about his waist. He felt
that this hold could not be broken and that a time would come when the
strength of the larger man would wane. He could afford to wait.
It was but a swish of the train that gave him the slight advantage he
sought in taking the aggressive. It swayed the tall form of his enemy
as it towered above him a little backward. This put the spine in a
position where it could not immediately resist a strong pressure.
Already he had felt a give in the body muscles that meant the first
approach of weakness. Like a flash his head was in the tall man's chest,
all his strength was in his arms, and he was administering that
treatment known in his youth as the "Indian hug." Slowly he overcame his
antagonist, bent him back, and they came tumbling among the chairs of
the observation platform.
From the fall came a new grip to the advantage of the special agent. As
they went down he flung his legs around his antagonist, and was able to
get the wrestler's "scissors" about his waist, thus applying pressure
where there was already exhaustion and allowing his legs, which were
rested, to bear the brunt.
Thus were they locked when the brakeman came to the rear and found them.
But the battle was already near its end. For the flash of a moment the
cashier rallied and acted. In that moment his hands seized and flung
from the train the grip with its precious burden. Then he sank into
unconsciousness.
Billy Gard had ridden back to the section of the road where the
traveling bag had gone overboard, and had waited for the coming of
daylight to search for it. In the gray dawn he walked down the track and
met an Irish section man, who had already picked it up.
"I see you have found my satchel," said Gard, accosting him.
"Your satchel it may be," said the Irishman, "but you will have to be
after tellin' me what's in it by way of identification."
"Nothing much beside half a million dollars," said the special agent,
proffering the key.
The man who had found the traveling bag looked inside and, as far as
Billy Gard knows, never spoke again. He was still dumb with amazement
when the young man drove away in his automobile.
III
A FIASCO IN FIREARMS
It is here set down for the first time that Special Agent Billy Gard of
the United States Department of Justice trod the deck of the good German
ship _Esmiranga_ and smoked many Mexican cigarettes on that historic
morning in April, 1914, when she approached the port of Vera Cruz,
loaded to the gunwales with ammunition for the Huertistas, and
precipitated the landing of American marines.
Also it was here first told that it was the hand of Billy Gard that
lighted the match that ignited the powder that caused the explosion that
kept Yankee fighting men in Mexico for many months and the big American
sister republics on the verge of war. For the action of the head of the
government of a hundred million of people, the orders extended to the
military, the shuttling of battleships and transports, were based upon
mysteriously received messages from this young representative of the
United States, who through a combination of chance and design found
himself strangely placed in the center of a web of circumstance.
It had all started in a New York hotel six months before. It was not
entirely out of keeping with what was to follow that a huge and
bewhiskered Russian should have staged the prologue of what was later to
assume something of the nature of an international farce. But it was
such a man, registering himself as G. Egeloff, pronouncing some of his
indifferent English with the explosiveness of Russia and some of it with
the lilting softness of Latin America, who created a scene in a
Manhattan hotel and thus first introduced the whole matter. He had
arrived but a moment before, dusty, disheveled, empty handed. The room
clerk had suggested that it was the custom of the hotel that guests
without baggage should pay in advance. Then had come the explosion
accompanied by oaths in four languages.
The man with the whiskers called upon all to witness that this indignity
had been placed upon him, G. Egeloff, the representative of rulers of
nations, the bearer of credentials, the possessor of enough money in his
one vest pocket to buy the hotel in question and turn it into a barracks
for his peons.
Whereupon he produced from the vest pocket in question a draft on the
Mexican treasury for the neat sum of three million dollars in gold,
signed by none other than Victoriano Huerta himself. At which signal the
entire hotel staff salaamed profoundly, the man who swore was escorted
to the best suite and the house detective telephoned to the special
agents of the Department of Justice.
Billy Gard was forthwith sent out to determine the legitimacy of the
mission of this strange representative of turbulent Mexico.
In three days he knew that Egeloff was in touch with those
representatives of the Huerta régime with whom the Department of Justice
was already acquainted and whose activities centered about a certain
Mexican boarding house just off Union square. He also knew that the
Russian had called up from his hotel room certain manufacturers of
munitions whose factories were in Hartford and that representatives of
those firms had visited him.
Gard had drawn the conclusion that the Russian was buying ammunition for
the Mexican government. Since the United States was denying clearance to
ships with such cargoes destined to either faction to the controversy to
the south, it was necessary that all the facts be ascertained.
But it developed that the strong current of the plans of the man from
Mexico ran through Valentines, that outfitter of revolutionists and
dealer in second-hand and out-of-date war material. Valentines based his
operations upon the principle that the discarded munitions of
progressive nations are plenty good enough for use in Latin-America and
that the purchase of all such, no matter how antiquated, offers a good
opportunity for profit. Hardly a warlike venture in the tumultuous lands
to the south has run its course within recent years without leaning
heavily upon Valentines.
Knowing this, Gard was particularly anxious to find out what was
transpiring within when, on a murky Saturday night, he followed the
Russian and three of his Mexican associates through the narrow lanes of
the lower East Side, beneath its clanging elevated, and to the side
door of Valentines, within which they disappeared.
He had previously reconnoitered the surroundings. He knew that
Valentines had taken great care in guarding the privacy of his
establishment. The dark back room in which his conferences were held had
but one entrance, which was from the main establishment. The area-way
upon which its single window looked faced the wall of a printing house,
broken by but three or four small windows, as is so often the case with
these blank surfaces. Gard had made note of the fact that one of these
windows was opposite and above that in the back room of Valentines. He
had gained admission to the printing house and had viewed the adjoining
premises from this high window.
A single possibility presented itself. This was that Valentines might
leave his curtain up and that Jane Gates might help with the case.
Jane Gates occupied a warm spot in the hearts of the special agents and
they were always particular that when they called upon her there was no
possibility of unpleasant experiences, and the way seemed clear here.
She was a deaf girl, known among them as the Lily Maid, born without the
sense of hearing but mistress of the inestimable difficulties of lip
reading and the possessor of the nimblest set of fingers in the world,
these latter earning her a place as copyist for the service. Her face
was of a cameo beauty, with a touch of pathos because of her isolation.
She was the warm spot in the heart of the office but, as its very spirit
was the untangling of riddles, she had found opportunity to help in a
novel way in several difficult cases through her ability at lip reading.
By prearrangement Jane Gates, on this Saturday night, was awaiting at
the office not half a dozen blocks away a possible call from Billy Gard.
Barrett had a taxi at the front door and the expected summons brought
him to the publishing house in five minutes. Beneath a light in the hall
Gard told the deaf girl of the situation, for lip reading needs light.
Soon they were in the gloom by the little window and the eager eyes of
the Lily Maid were looking into the office opposite where the conference
on munitions was going forward. Fortunately Valentines did not speak
Spanish and an interpreter was necessary. The face of this man was in
plain view not thirty feet away.
Soon Jane Gates was repeating in the peculiar, hollow voice of those who
do not hear but have learned to form words with the lips:
"Mauser ammunition--old Krupp rapid-fire guns--Seventy five--"
Gard stepped beyond the range of view from the opposite window. He
turned a pocket flashlight on his own lips.
"Try to find out how they are to be shipped," he instructed.
"Could supply a total amounting to $750,000 in value," the girl repeated
after the interpreter.
"Delivered in thirty days--Brooklyn--how can you get clearance papers?"
"We clear for Odessa," the interpreter's lips said. "The United States
must accept our claim of that destination. We know how to evade embargo
regulations."
Valentines had been walking nervously about the room. At this moment he
approached the window and pulled down the curtain that looked into the
courtyard. The work of the lip reader was at an end.
[Illustration: "GARD TURNED A POCKET FLASHLIGHT ON HIS OWN LIPS: 'TRY TO
FIND OUT HOW THEY ARE TO BE SHIPPED'"--_Page 54_]
It was a month later when Gard had traced a consignment of ammunition
from the factory at Hartford to its place on a Brooklyn pier where it
lay ready for shipment. It seemed the last of the American goods that
were needed to complete the cargo of the Italian bark, _City of Naples_,
that was ready to sail. It appeared that papers had already been taken
out, that the manifests acknowledged the presence of great quantities of
war munitions, but that the claim was made that the cargo was bought for
South Russian dealers and bound for Odessa.
Gard hurriedly ascertained that the United States would not refuse
permission for the ship to sail. It was, however, anxious to keep in
touch with its movements. Could the special agent find a way to
accompany her? Gard would try.
Half an hour later a young Italian strolled down the pier just as the
last of the cargo was being taken aboard the _City of Naples_. He was
dressed in a well-worn, light-checked, somewhat flashy suit, a scarlet
vest, a flowing tie. His dark locks breathed forth odors of the lotions
of cheap barber shops. He walked nonchalantly aboard the Italian bark
and went below.
The vessel was just breaking loose from her moorings when the stowaway
was discovered. There had been great haste in her sailing and she was
making for the seas two hours ahead of her appointed time. The stowaway
surmised that there was every reason why her officers would fear delay
and that, if he could remain below decks until she was under way, the
vessel would not be stopped to put him ashore.
It was from this situation that an unequal fight developed in which
three sailormen sought to drag an unwilling youngster in a plaid suit
from the hold to the deck that he might be put off the ship. But the
first of the attacking force proved himself unfamiliar with the strategy
of a lead with the left to make an opening for a swing with the right,
and so this latter blow caught him on the chin and he went down and out.
The second sailor was a squarehead and rushed his antagonist. The
stowaway ducked and the force of the Swede increased the severity of a
mighty jab with the right in the pit of the stomach, which happened at
the time to be unusually full, and the attacker crumbled with an agony
in his inwards. The stowaway grappled with the third man and showed an
additional knowledge of the science of the rough and tumble. He twisted
one of that individual's hands behind him and pushed it up, using the
favorite jiu jitsu trick that American policemen have borrowed from the
Japanese. In this way he had his man at his mercy.
"Mother of Jesus," came a roar from the doorway in most indifferent
Spanish. "Where did you learn it all?"
The stowaway looked up and saw the huge form of the bearded Russian who
represented the government of Mexico standing there.
"In the United States," he answered in Spanish. "Ah, they are wonderful,
those Americans!"
It should be remembered that Billy Gard, for it was he, had lived abroad
when a boy with his father who was in the consular service. He had
learned the languages of the Mediterranean almost before he spoke
English and was therefore much at home among its people. And because of
this he had been able to become an Italian stowaway in half an hour at a
second-hand store in Brooklyn.
"But why all this fighting?" asked the Russian.
"I would go back to Italy, bon Italy," said the stowaway. "These pigs of
sailormen know not how homesick I am. They would put me ashore. I not
go. You see the result."
"Well, you will not be put ashore now," said the Russian. "I happen to
be interested in this cargo, and I want no delay. You may come on deck
with me."
It happened in this way that Billy Gard went to sea with a large cargo
of Mexican ammunition, little believing that it would ever cross to
Europe. Since he was aboard and might not be otherwise disposed of, the
Italian captain set him to work as a clerk, and got much good service
out of him on the ship's books before land was again sighted. It
happened in this way, also, that he was given an opportunity to study
and cultivate G. Egeloff, but little came of it because of the
all-sufficiency of that gentleman within himself.
Gard was greatly surprised when the _City of Naples_ maintained her
course straight across the Atlantic. Even more surprised was he when she
passed in at Gibraltar, ignored the ports of Spain, sailed past the
towns of her nativity in Italy and on to the east. Not until the
Dardanelles and the Bosphorus were passed was he convinced that she was
bound for the port for which she had cleared. But after six weeks at sea
she reached Odessa, on the Black Sea, and there put into port.
But at Odessa the unexpected happened. The authorities, being by
temperament suspicious and ever-vigilant of anarchistic plots, refused
to let the ship unload her cargo of ammunition. Egeloff stormed and
swore and bribed, but all to no avail. The ammunition might not be
landed.
Billy Gard managed to get ashore and find his way to the American
consulate. From there he was able to make his report to the home office
and receive instructions that he was to remain with the ammunition
cargo.
The special agent found his task comparatively easy here, and merely had
to wait for events to take their normal course. His chief interest was
G. Egeloff, who had remained a mystery to him despite a semi-friendship
that had slowly grown up between them. He had attempted in vain to lead
the Russian into a discussion of his future plans in Mexico, and had
grown to suspect that the gentleman had no such plans. At Odessa the big
man seemed impatient of delay, and, Gard thought, rather reckless of the
disposition of his charge.
The representative of the United States had been contemplating the value
of the guns bought at Valentines and the figure of $750,000 which the
Lily Maid had caught from the lips of the interpreter. He knew that the
purchases at Hartford had not exceeded $100,000. He drew the conclusion
that this strange representative of the Indian head of a Latin-American
nation would probably give less than value for the $3,000,000 that had
been placed in his hands for the purchase of American munitions of war.
The special agent was still attached to the _City of Naples_ as clerk
when, after ten days of futile attempts at landing her cargo, she again
turned her nose to the sea. She was two days out when he became assured
of a fact which he had suspected. The Russian was not aboard. The ship
picked her course through the Mediterranean, out again past Gibraltar,
but, instead of striking out toward Mexico as Gard had suspected she
would, she steered to the north and eventually came to anchor in the
port of Hamburg on a windy morning in March.
At Hamburg there was assurance of ability to discharge cargo. No sooner
had the ship tied up than its long-restrained personnel of officers and
crew availed themselves of the freedom of shore leave. As the afternoon
wore on, the vessel was deserted with the exception of the Italian
second mate and a few members of the crew. Gard stuck to his desk in the
purser's cabin. It was from this point of vantage that he became aware
of an altercation on deck. An American voice was saying in English:
"Mr. Egeloff; I want to see Mr. Egeloff."
The second mate protested his inability to speak English, whereupon a
second voice repeated the request in Spanish, with no better result.
Then of a sudden a great light seemed to break on the second mate.
"Ah! Si, señor. If you will be so good as to step this way."
Whereupon he led the strangers to the cabin, where he knew Gard to be
at work, and, remembering that the supposed clerk spoke many languages,
he turned the visitors over to him.
"Mr. Egeloff?" asked the American, evidently misinterpreting the action
of the mate.
The special agent was taken entirely by surprise. The possibilities of
such a situation had never presented themselves to him.
"What if I am?" he asked cautiously.
"I am McKay," said the American.
"You have credentials, I suppose," said Gard.
"Yes," answered that individual. "I am authorized to provide for the
reshipment of the cargo."
Whereupon he presented letters from the Mexican government showing him
to be its agent in London. His companion he introduced as Mr. Sanchez,
Mexican consul at Hamburg, whereupon the three dropped into Spanish and
continued the conversation. Gard presented letters he had found in the
ship's office and addressed to these gentlemen. He took it that these
letters were from the Mexican consul at Odessa. They evidently asked the
men to whom they were addressed to do what they could toward expediting
the transshipment of the cargo.
"We have all arrangements made," McKay volunteered. "The _Esmiranga_
will take our stuff aboard immediately and is sailing for Vera Cruz in
six days."
"I have had the very devil of a time," said the special agent,
introducing the rasp of an occasional Russian consonant into his Spanish
as he had heard it done for two months by the man whose rôle was being
thrust upon him. "I want to run over to Warsaw for a few days. Do you
not think, gentlemen, that I have earned this brief vacation?"