we save them enough money in the way we take the samples?"
"How is that?" asked Gard.
"Look here, young fellow," said the gruff Hansen, "it seems to me that
you are a good little asker of questions. Why are you so curious? Maybe
you are a secret service man, eh?"
"Sure," said Gard. "I am Chief Wilkinson himself."
"Wilkinson, nothing," said Hansen. "His name is Wilkie."
"Wilkie, your eye," argued the special agent. "Don't you suppose I read
detective stories? His name is Wilkinson."
But the sampler was sure of his facts and the apparent error of the
other man disarmed him.
"Well," he said, "as you're so curious and as I have the tip that you
are to be a sampler next season, I might as well put you wise. We are
all taken care of by the refiners because we look after their interests
on the dock."
The big fellow looked carefully about, but there was nobody near except
the frowsy dramatist, who was absorbed in his manuscript. He threw off
another big drink of whisky and with it all discretion.
"You see," he said, "a sampler on Government wages would be in a pretty
fix if he were let out after seven months and had to stand a chance of
loafing for five. So the company passes the word that if the boys do the
right thing they will be given work during the off season. I happen to
know Gottrell himself and he takes me aside. That was eight years ago.
"'Hansen,' he says to me, 'pass the tip to the boys to sample right,' he
says, 'and there will be work for them between seasons.'
"'What do you mean, sample right?' I says.
"'Well,' he says, 'a wet sample may mean she grades 92 and a dry one
that she grades 94. A sampler can get a good many of them wet. I don't
have to tell you how.'
"So I passed the word," continued Hansen. "At the end of the season
half of the samplers were offered jobs with the company. It was easy, of
course, for them to find from the records who was getting wet sugar. Not
a dry sugar man got a job. You ask Tobin. He was one of the guys who
held out for honesty. But it was a hard season for Tobin, with his
health bad and three kids. So next season he lined up. So did most of
them. Inside of three years there was not a sampler on the dock who was
not taking them wet."
"But put me wise," said Gard. "If I am going to get a sampler's job next
year you better pass the word to me so I will know how to hold it."
"I guess you know enough about raw sugar," said the sampler, "to know
that it drinks up moisture like a sponge when it gets a chance. Well,
they are not careful in keeping out the damp air when it is aboard ship,
and it often comes handy, not altogether by accident, for a sack of
sugar to get a chance to lie on a wet board. The sugar on the outside
naturally gets a little damp, and if you will turn a sack over you may
find a wet side to it. The first lesson is to take your samples from
the wet side of the sack and from the part near the outside.
"But maybe the sugar has been kept pretty dry. Well it is up to the
sampler to get a little moisture into his tube. If it is a warm day a
few drops of sweat may be gathered by a scrape of the back of your hand.
Every drop is worth its weight in gold a hundred times to the refiners.
It would surprise you to learn how cleverly the sampler learns to spit a
bit of tobacco juice into his tube. You have worked on the docks for a
long time. You never saw it done, did you? But they were at it all the
time. I bet the Government has paid a million dollars for tobacco juice
in the last ten years. Cunningham, here, has grown fat eating tobacco."
"But does everybody on the dock take wet samples?" asked the detective.
"Surest thing you know," said Hansen. "Ask them."
"How about it, Cunningham?" queried Gard.
"I need the work," said the fat man.
"And you, Tobin?"
"I held out a year," said the little consumptive, "but couldn't afford
to lose my job."
All the others present pleaded guilty.
"Don't you fellows get anything for it but a little off-season work?"
asked Gard.
"Not a thing," acknowledged Hansen with a huge oath. "We certainly sell
out cheap and the company makes barrels of money out of the bargain. But
the old man has never given us a look in on any of it."
The dictagraph stenographer at the next table had caught every word. He
was in a position to substantiate the testimony of Gard who should be
able to make these samplers tell their stories in court. Soon the two
faded away without being missed, but they took with them a complete case
against the Government samplers of this port and against the Continental
Refining Company which had been profiting through their shortcomings.
It was a month later and Billy Gard had completed his work. He had gone
to Henry Gottrell "cold turkey," and with authority from the department.
He had shown that rotund and genial captain of industry just the case
the Government had against him. With him he had gone over the record of
the business of the refiners since that period, eight years previous,
when the wet sample scheme had been inaugurated. He had worked out an
estimate of the probable duty that the Government had lost during that
time. The actual loss was not, of course, as great as the theoretical,
for many of the samples were of necessity honest. Yet it must have run
as high as $600,000 as a shortage on the part of Gottrell and his
associates.
Gard indicated the possibility of the success of a criminal prosecution,
the probability of recovering that large sum of money through the
courts. He confessed to the humiliation of the Government that so many
of its employees had been false to their trust. He even granted that the
Government might, under the circumstances, feel itself somewhat to blame
for the conditions that had existed. It is not recorded whether the
vision of a girl with frizzly, corn-colored hair came into the mind of
the special agent and had to do with his recommendations that the case
be settled out of court. But certain it is that the Government
authorized him to propose that, if the company should pay the Government
$600,000, an amount it would be just able to raise and escape
bankruptcy, the case would be dismissed, the samplers discharged, and a
new régime inaugurated in which the Government would take pains to
protect itself.
Upon this basis the case was settled. Billy Gard had earned his salary.
The next day he was packing up at his hotel in preparation for leaving
for Washington when there arrived by messenger a little, square,
delicately scented envelope which he tore open somewhat wonderingly.
Inside he found this note:
Father has told me all about it. For the third time let me say,
"Splendid!" And remember that you promised to come and tell me
about it when it was all over.
THELMA GOTTRELL.
Which would seem a perfectly good reason why Gard was a day late in
reaching Washington.
V
THE PSYCHOLOGICAL SLEUTH
Billy Gard was jogging comfortably from the station to the Commercial
hotel in the carryall which, in Royerton, still afforded the only link
between those two points, when pandemonium broke out in the slumbrous
streets. He met its forerunner head on not two blocks from the station.
This bolt that had launched itself from the clear skies took the form of
a normally dignified family carriage drawn by two lean bays. But the
sedate respectability which surrounded this equipage when it was driven
by its proper owner, President Sissons of the Royerton National bank,
had been lost in the madness of the present exploit.
For the lean bays were now extending themselves in what appeared to be
an attempt to break all speed records that the community had ever known.
The dignified carriage was careening from side to side in a way that
threatened its overthrow at any moment. Gard's first impression was of a
team that had broken loose from a hitching rack and dashed away
uncontrolled. But as it flashed past him there was an instant in which
the actual situation was photographed upon his brain.
For this team was not without a driver. He had seen the form of a slim
young man which leaned far out over the dashboard--pale, refined
features that fitted illy into a scene of such vigorous action. But what
was more surprising was that this driver, instead of attempting to
restrain his horses, was every moment lashing them into new exertions.
"Homer Kester, as I live!" ejaculated the driver of the carryall in
consternation.
"Who is Homer Kester?" asked Gard.
"The cashier of the bank," was the reply.
Whereupon the young special agent of the Department of Justice acquired
an even greater interest in the situation than he had experienced
before, for he had come to Royerton for the purpose of making inquiries
into the condition of its national bank, which was under suspicion.
Behind the fleeing carriage came the town constable, who had evidently
appropriated, for purposes of giving chase, the first horse he had found
by the side of the street. Others had joined in the pursuit and a rabble
of small boys and curious townsmen crowded the street. From these the
stranger was soon able to gather the story of what had happened in the
immediate past.
It had suddenly developed that the cashier was short in his accounts.
The directors had awakened of a sudden to a realization that the
institution over which they presided was but a financial shell. There
was no delay in the interest of expediency. An immediate call was sent
forth for the constable. The young cashier went into a panic. In
desperation he rushed from the back door of the bank, cut loose the team
of the institution's president which stood near, leaped in and fled from
the danger that faced him.
It would have appeared that such a procedure would have been entirely
futile, that there would have been no question of the apprehension of
this criminal. Yet such was not the case, and Homer Kester was a thorn
in the flesh of the authorities and particularly of Special Agent Billy
Gard for many a day. For he ran his team two miles into the country,
abandoned it, but sent it still adrift, caught a cross-country trolley,
and with the exception of a single fleeting moment, was not again seen
by the authorities for a year and a half.
Gard, in the meantime, was faced with the immediate problem of
determining the nature of the crime and representing the United States,
that justice might be meted out. In the course of which work he
developed the detail of what had happened to the lone financial
institution of this country town and revealed a method by which a single
depositor had filched it of its funds in a way that almost amounted to
the knowledge and consent of the directors.
The trouble was all caused by a young man by the name of George D.
Caviness, who was born with a peculiar gift of inducing his associates
to perform for him such favors as were better not granted. It would seem
that he had taken for his model in life the monkey (if it was a monkey)
that had first induced the cat to pull those historical chestnuts out of
the fire. But so alluring were his blandishments, so attractive his
personality, so popular was he socially, that the town had become
accustomed to forgiving his transgressions and allowing him to have his
way.
The father of George D. had been a director of the Royerton National
bank and at one time a man of means. It was a great shock to the town
when, three years earlier, the elder Caviness had blown out his brains.
It was a surprise to his associates to find that his estate had so
dwindled that there was almost nothing left. The bank was directly
embarrassed, because of the fact that the younger Caviness had borrowed,
upon his father's endorsement, $3,000 from that institution. Knowing the
youngster as these directors did, they called him on the carpet and
asked him what he intended to do toward making good.
"I am going to pay these notes almost immediately," he said confidently.
"You know that I am now the local representative of a New York insurance
company. I am doing a great business. In fact, I can promise a payment
to-morrow."
"But," urged a director, "your personal account is also overdrawn."
"That will not be necessary any more," said Caviness. "I am now on a
firm financial basis. I am now in a position to throw new business to
the bank instead of being a burden to it."
With these assurances the directors parted with young Caviness on the
friendliest of terms. They wanted to believe in what he said, as this
would save the bank money and themselves embarrassment. Further than
this there seemed nothing that could be done, and the boundless optimism
of the young man created confidence.
The next day the insurance agent deposited for discount a sixty-day note
for $300, given him by a man for whom he had written a policy. He drew
$50 in cash, and allowed the balance to be placed to his credit. The
directors were encouraged. The insurance man continued such operations,
much of his paper being perfectly good. It would appear that he was on
the way toward clearing up his affairs, but Caviness spent much money,
some of it going toward the entertainment of sons and daughters of the
directors. If they stopped him at any time it would have meant the
absolute loss of the amount he already owed. As illogical as it might
seem, more and more credit was extended.
In addition to the liberties that Caviness thus took with the directors
of the bank, he had also established a sort of dominance over Homer
Kester, its young cashier. The dominant insurance man had been a leader
among their mutual associates from youth, was the social lion of the
town, and always patronized the cashier. That timid youth had allowed
his friend to overdraw his account when his father was a director, and
it therefore seemed safe. This fact made it easier afterward when it was
unsafe.
Finally the directors awoke to the fact that George Caviness owed the
bank $10,000. Homer Kester, the cashier, so reported. The directors were
appalled. This was the end.
Caviness was contrite. He made new notes for the whole amount. These
would at least appear in the assets of the bank when the examiner came
around. He promised he would in future deposit only cash and certified
checks. The hope of recovering some of the money led the directors to
keep the account open. There seemed no other way.
But Kester, the cashier, had not reported all the facts with relation
to the Caviness accounts. The checking account of the latter was at this
time overdrawn to the amount of $3,500. The cashier realized that he had
been personally at fault in allowing this. He had confessed his
embarrassment to Caviness. The latter had advised that the cashier
juggle the accounts in such a way that the shortage would not show, and
that he fail to report it to the directors.
Arranging the accounts was easy. As a matter of fact, these overdrafts
were already being hid by being carried on the books as cash. The
arrangement had become necessary upon the occasion of a recent visit of
a national bank examiner. As the examiner had been deceived, so might be
the directors. So it happened that Caviness was $3,500 deeper in debt
than the directors knew.
Billy Gard was fascinated in developing the psychology of the case--the
manner in which this prodigal played upon the cashier and the directors
to his advantage. But here the miscreant had come to the end of his
string with the directors. He was to be allowed only to pay in money.
But with the cashier the situation was different. Caviness now had
Kester in his control. That youngster had made a false report to the
examiner and the directors. He had violated the law. His position, even
his freedom, depended on helping Caviness to make good.
"If I had but a few hundred dollars," Caviness told Kester when they met
surreptitiously to talk the matter over, "I could clean up the whole
amount. I have a most unusual business opportunity in Philadelphia. You
must let me overdraw just once more."
"Not a cent," insisted Kester. "I have already let you ruin me and the
bank. I will go no further."
"If you don't," brutally stated the insurance man, "you are ruined by
what you have already done, I am ruined, the bank is ruined. This is the
one chance."
In the end he went to Philadelphia to grasp this one chance. Billy Gard
acknowledged that it was logical that the cashier should allow him to do
so. The draft that Caviness drew was for twice the amount he had named
but the harassed cashier could not bring himself to refuse to honor it.
Caviness had proved himself a psychologist again. Two days later a
smaller draft came but with no line of explanation. The chance to recoup
might depend upon this money, the cashier felt. He appreciated the
greater chances on the other side but, having honored the larger check,
he could not turn down the smaller one. It was not logic that he should
do so. As the days passed there came other drafts for always smaller
amounts. There was still no report from Caviness. Yet what excuse could
the cashier offer himself for refusing these small drafts when he had
honored the big ones? Finally the prodigal drew, in a single day, forty
small checks ranging from one to five dollars.
Despairingly the cashier cashed every one.
It was during the week that followed that the directors had precipitated
the flight of the cashier. Billy Gard found the whole case easy to clear
up with the exception of the apprehension of the two men who had been
the instruments in wrecking the bank.
The special agent had little doubt of his ability to catch Homer Kester,
the cashier. There was the almost infallible theory that such a fugitive
would write home. There was but the necessity to wait until he should
do so and the point of hiding would be indicated by the post mark. There
was no need of haste in the case of Kester, it seemed, but Caviness was
harder to figure out.
Yet just the reverse proved to be true. Gard's theory for catching a man
of the Caviness type held good, while on the fugitive cashier he
absolutely failed.
In Royerton it was easy to find many intimates of the insurance man.
From these it was learned that the spendthrift often visited
Philadelphia and that while there he kept fast company. Some of the
young men of the village knew of the places he frequented, the people
who were his friends.
"Such a man," soliloquized Billy Gard, "always hides with a woman."
Whereupon the special agent returned to Philadelphia and began
investigating, one after another, the resorts and the sporting friends
of the missing insurance agent. One thread after another was followed to
its end until, in tracing a certain woman to Germantown, the special
agent met with a result and a surprise that was beyond his expectation.
A drayman who had hauled the goods and chattels of the woman he was
tracing had given Gard the Germantown address. It was eleven o'clock on
a sunshiny morning when the special agent reached the address. It was a
narrow house in a closely built row and evidently was rented, each floor
as a flat. Gard had reconnoitered front and back, had gossiped with the
grocer at the corner, with some children in the street. He was looking
for an opportunity to approach the janitor of the house to question him
informally, wanted to talk to the postman. Then he met the policeman on
this beat. He had asked this guardian of the law about the occupants of
the flat in question and the two men were drifting idly past when
pandemonium broke loose.
Shriek after shriek tore its way through the drawn curtains of the
ground-floor flat. There was the crash of broken furniture, the whack of
heavy blows, the thud of falling bodies. The policeman and the special
agent ran to the door of the house to which the former put his shoulder
with good effect. They were thus let into a narrow hall. Off of this
were the doors to the flat through which the noise of a vast
disturbance continued to come. It required the strength of the two men
to break through the barrier, and some delay was occasioned. But when
the door was finally forced it was a wild scene that was revealed.
They had broken into the sitting room. Sprawled across its floor was the
form of a disheveled woman, frowsily blonde, shapely, clad in a dressing
sacque and evidently unconscious. Chairs were upset, tables overturned.
The intruders gave but a hurried glance to this apartment, however, for
the action of the play was still going forward and might be seen through
the torn portières that led into the adjoining dining-room. As they
looked the form of a strong young man fell heavily across the
dining-room table, felled by a blow from the stout stick of a slim
antagonist. The wielder of the stick shifted his position and Billy Gard
got a view of his face, lividly white, delicately chiseled and refined
in appearance. It seemed illy to fit into this chaotic scene. Yet the
special agent knew he had seen it before and instantly the photographic
flash of such a face bending over the dashboard of a madly plunging
carriage returned to his consciousness. It was the face of Homer Kester.
Billy Gard had often had occasion to be vastly surprised by the
unexpected vigor and prowess of mild and law-abiding men when plunged by
circumstances into the realms of the lawless. He had therefore not been
greatly surprised when the young cashier had made his wild ride to
freedom. But as the aggressive wielder of a heavy stick that had beaten
his antagonist into unconsciousness--this was indeed a militant rôle to
be played by the inoffensive former cashier. That young man evidently
had qualities that had not been attributed to him.
Gard knew instantly that the man stretched across the dining-room table
was Caviness, the bank wrecker. The policeman, true to his training,
rushed into the affray that it might be stopped and the participants
placed under arrest. The wielder of the heavy stick turned toward the
door, took in the situation in a glance and fled toward the back of the
house. As in his escape from Royerton, all the luck broke with him. As
he dashed into the kitchen he slammed the door behind him. It was
probably all chance that the latch was so set that the door locked, and
the officer was delayed in breaking it down. From the back steps of this
ground-floor flat to an alley was but twenty feet. When the officer
gained those steps he but looked into a blank board fence in which there
appeared another closed door. He rushed to this, flung it open, looked
out. There was not a soul in sight. The police of Philadelphia lost
track of Homer Kester when he slammed the flat door in the face of this
member of its Germantown staff. The prowess of the Federal agents,
represented by William H. Gard, one of its best men, was also
ineffective in tracing the fugitive farther than to a railway station
where he took a west-bound train.
It was more than a year after this and George D. Caviness was serving
time in the Federal penitentiary at Atlanta. Billy Gard had been working
hard on many other cases that had intervened and the tracing of Homer
Kester had been allowed to rest. It is the motto of the Federal
detectives, however, that a case is never abandoned, and now Gard was
back upon the old task of catching the fugitive cashier. His decks were
otherwise clear and his instructions were to get his man.
Gard locked himself up with the Kester case for three days. He read the
records of it, reviewed his personal knowledge, got together every scrap
of information that had any bearing upon the character of the fugitive.
He wanted to know exactly what sort of youngster Kester was, he wanted
to place himself in that youngster's place and attempt to determine what
he would have done under the circumstances. It is a method that has been
used by a few detectives with very great success. But it is only the
occasional man who is so human that he may discard his own personality
and appreciate the course that would be taken by another, who may thus
get results.
In Kester he had a youth of twenty-four who had been born and reared in
Royerton, had rarely been away from that town, had no interests out of
it. He was a young man of good character, had demonstrated certain
strokes of boldness and action. He had a mother and father and two
sisters living in Royerton.