CHANCE PLAYS INTO GORDON’S HANDS.
The newspaper proprietor nodded gloomily in response to Gordon’s
question.
“Yes,” he answered, “Simpson disappeared four days ago.”
“Has he a family?”
“A wife.”
“And she knows nothing about him, or professes to know nothing?”
“I feel sure she’s as much in the dark as we are.”
“Perhaps—perhaps not,” murmured the bogus detective, joining the tips
of his fingers as he had seen Nick do. “Please tell me now how the
fellow managed to get hold of the money, to get it out of the bank or
banks in which it had been deposited to the credit of the fund. Surely,
his wasn’t the only signature required, was it? The checks drawn
against the fund must have been countersigned by some one else?”
“They were—by Mr. Driggs, the vice president of our organization.”
“Then how——”
“In a very ingenious way. I wouldn’t have thought John Simpson capable
of so much adroitness. I was away at the time, but he prevailed upon
Mr. Driggs to withdraw the fund from the two New York banks in which
it had been deposited—the Broadway Exchange Bank, and the Hudson
National—and to transfer everything to the Cotton and Wool National at
Hattontown.”
“Thus making it possible to deal with only one bank, and that a smaller
one whose officials presumably were not so wary,” Green Eye commented
judicially. “What excuse did he give?”
“A most plausible one. He pointed out that the Hattontown sufferers and
the citizens generally would feel more comfortable, more sure of the
reality of the fund if they knew that it had been transferred to one
of their local banks. ‘We aren’t ready to pay the money all over to
them,’ he told Driggs. ‘Most of them would like to have it all at once,
of course, and they’re somewhat dissatisfied, even though the more
sensible among them realize that mere temporary relief isn’t a solution
to their problems. If we transfer the fund to Hattontown, however, that
will encourage them. They will feel it is almost in their hands.’
“Well, it looked like sound sense, and Driggs agreed, with the result
that every cent was withdrawn from the two New York banks. As you
say, that made it much easier for the thief. Still, the task that
remained would have seemed big enough to most men. In fact, they
would have passed it up as impossible. Not so our old, reliable John
Simpson, though—confound him! After plodding along as methodically
as any spiritless work horse for fifteen or eighteen years, he had
suddenly developed a streak of lawlessness, and, along with it, in
some unaccountable fashion, had come something approaching brilliancy
of mind. The Hattontown bank was now the custodian of the entire
fund, less what had been paid out to the victims for their immediate
necessities. As the disbursements amounted to a little less than
twenty thousand, there was a balance of about eighty thousand when the
transfer took place. Naturally, Simpson then turned his attention to
Hattontown.
“The Cotton and Wool Bank there, so far as I’ve been able to ascertain,
is a fair sample of hundreds of good, average, conservatively conducted
institutions of the kind of our smaller cities. Apparently there was
no rottenness of which Simpson could take advantage, and evidently he
didn’t waste time over that possibility. He seems to have felt himself
quite capable of getting that money out by his own unaided efforts, and
subsequent events prove that his confidence was far from misplaced.”
“What did he do?” Gordon urged eagerly.
He was greatly interested; not from the standpoint of law and order,
but from that of one criminal studying the work of another. He had been
inclined at first to think that the fugitive would be easy to catch,
and easy to swindle out of the proceeds of the theft, but he was not so
sure of that now.
“You would never guess in a hundred years, gentlemen,” Griswold assured
his two hearers. “This is new to Cray, too,” he added in explanation,
addressing Gordon. “I didn’t cover this point when I explained matters
to him.
“This is the way he worked it: After getting the money where he
wanted it, he went to Driggs with another adroit idea—a suggestion
for the publicity stunt this time. One of the smaller papers under
my ownership, as you probably know, is published in Hattontown—the
Hattontown _Observer_. Well, Simpson went to Driggs and proposed that
that eighty thousand dollars be temporarily withdrawn from the bank in
gold, and exhibited under strong guard in the windows of the _Observer_
office. See the point? He argued very convincingly that the sight of so
much money would create the greatest possible local sensation, and give
the people in Hattontown an exalted idea of the importance and power of
the _Observer_. Driggs offered certain objections, but Simpson argued
them away without much trouble. As a matter of fact, I have no doubt
but that I would have fallen for it as readily as Driggs did.”
The millionaire paused and smiled in a rather grim fashion.
“To tell the truth, I’ve actually adopted the suggestion,” he informed
them. “Eighty thousand dollars in gold is actually on exhibition at the
present time in the windows of the Hattontown _Observer_—under the eyes
of armed guards day and night.”
“But——” Gordon had started to speak, but a gesture of Griswold’s
stopped him.
“Let me explain,” the great newspaper owner hastened to say. “The
original fund has been stolen, but, of course, that fact is known
only to very few, including the officials of the Cotton and Wool Bank
in Hattontown. We cannot afford to let the truth get out, if we can
possibly help it, for it would be a serious blow to the prestige of
our organization; therefore I have duplicated the fund, drawing on
my private account for the purpose, and, as Simpson suggested, the
money has been placed on exhibition. It’s attracting an immense amount
of favorable attention, and will doubtless mean a great increase in
circulation for the Hattontown _Observer_. We have that much to thank
Simpson for, at any rate.”
“Very extraordinary!” murmured the supposed detective aloud. “Better
and better!” he commented inwardly. “I haven’t any scruples to speak
of, but it goes without saying that I’d rather relieve this hog of a
millionaire of eighty thousand than take it from a few hundreds of poor
devils who have been cleaned out of everything. That money seems to be
fatherless, and waiting to be adopted. It was contributed to the fund,
but the fund is now complete without it. It doesn’t belong to Simpson,
and Griswold doesn’t need it. Obviously, it’s mine, and I’m going to
have it.”
“But you haven’t told us yet,” he added, addressing his visitors, “how
the missing treasurer actually got his hands on the money. The bank in
Hattontown naturally wouldn’t have turned any such amount over to a
stranger.”