UNDER THE SURFACE.
It was not a sudden inspirational suspicion, no inexplicable intuitive
conviction, that had caused Nick Carter to snatch a disguise from the
face of Jack Conroy, so called, and unmask the treacherous scoundrel
chiefly responsible for the abduction of Amy Madden.
Nick Carter had dug out this possibility from under the superficial
facts and circumstances before leaving his business office that
afternoon. He had asked himself numerous pertinent questions leading up
to it.
Why had Kate Crandall, surely one of the abductors, lately left her
position with Madden, Mellen & Mack? What reason could she have had for
giving up a remunerative situation?
Why did it really happen that, instead of dealing directly with the
father of the stolen child, the abductors had selected to negotiate with
his junior partner, David Mack? What was the true reason for that? Were
there secret relations existing between these two, Kate Crandall and
David Mack?
If so, and Nick recalled the downfall of Cyrus Darling, had Mack also
lost his head for this handsome, fascinating, yet thoroughly
unscrupulous woman? If so, again, might not he and her very intimate
friend, Jack Conroy, be one and the same?
Going a step farther, might not David Mack have still other motives for
the crime? Consider the size of the ransom demanded. Who so likely to
demand half a million for the restoration of a six-year-old child, as a
banker accustomed to handling millions?
This was the process of reasoning, or part of it, that had started Nick
in search of Patsy Garvan, to see what more he had learned and to give
him additional instructions.
This was the new idea, moreover, that he had imparted to Chick Carter
before leaving his office, as already stated, together with instructions
to his chief assistant.
Resulting from all this, Chick Carter was doing some lively flying
around while Nick was engaged as described.
Chick’s first moves on the criminal chessboard were hurried visits to
several banking and brokerage houses, where he finally obtained the
information he was seeking--that a man named Jack Conroy dealt
extensively with certain stock-market brokers, with whom he carried
heavy margin accounts, and whose names the detective finally obtained.
Chick then visited these brokers one after another, and he learned that
the said Jack Conroy was carrying margin accounts aggregating more than
half a million dollars, so distributed that neither broker had felt any
misgivings, though comparatively little was known about the man.
It was after four o’clock when Chick had gathered all of these facts,
and he then made a bee line for the offices of Madden, Mellen & Mack. He
found Madden and Mellen in the room in which Nick had conferred with
them that morning, and Chick at once came down to business.
“Is Mr. Mack absent?” he inquired, after evasively informing Mr. Madden
that no definite clews had been discovered, much to the banker’s
disappointment.
“Yes, he has gone for the day,” said Mr. Mellen, replying.
“He is to meet that infernal scoundrel, Redlaw, this evening,” Mr.
Madden bitterly added. “Nick has told you, of course, about the rascal’s
telephone communication to Mack?”
“I know all about that,” Chick replied. “How long has Mr. Mack been
gone?”
“Since two o’clock. The assistant cashier is handling his work.”
“Mack is cashier for this firm, then, I take it.”
“Yes.”
“Is he a wealthy man, Mr. Madden?”
“No, not very,” said Madden, while both bankers appeared to wonder at
the question.
“Is he worth a million?” asked Chick carelessly.
“Nothing like it.”
“Half a million?”
“No, nor half of that,” said Mr. Mellen. “He has only a small interest
in this firm. His wife, who died a year ago, was a terrible spendthrift.
I doubt that Mack could raise a hundred thousand dollars, to say nothing
of half a million. His place up in Westchester County may be worth
twenty thousand.”
“Does he live there?”
“Not since his wife died. He employs a man to care for the place,
however, and goes out there occasionally. He lives in a suite in town.”
“I see,” said Chick, with eyes shining. “I suppose Mack acts as your
treasurer, as well as cashier, doesn’t he?”
“He has charge of all of our securities, of course, if that is what you
mean,” said Mr. Madden. “But what of all this? What are you driving at,
Mr. Carter?”
“I will tell you presently,” Chick replied. “Are your clerks still at
work in the outer office?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“How often is your balance sheet made up and your securities examined
and checked off?”
“Once a month,” said Mellen, gazing.
“Does Mack attend to all that?”
“Yes, always.”
“Where are the securities kept?”
“In a compartment in our vault,” said Mellen. “Mack has one of the two
keys. I carry the other.”
“Call in one of your clerks, Mr. Madden,” said Chick. “Let’s have a look
at your last balance sheet, and compare it with the securities now in
your vault.”
“Good heavens!” cried Mr. Madden, aghast. “You don’t suspect David Mack
of embezzlement, do you?”
“Well, to be perfectly frank, that is precisely what I suspect,” Chick
declared, more forcibly.
“But----”
“Let’s lose no time in speculating upon it, however, for time is
valuable. We can quickly learn the truth. Have the balance sheet brought
in, Mr. Madden, while you, Mr. Mellen, bring the securities from the
vault. We can conduct these investigations quietly and without informing
your clerks. That must be avoided for the present.”
Chick Carter’s instructions now were hurriedly followed. The result of
the examination, moreover, fully confirmed his suspicions.
David Mack was found to be short in his accounts precisely--half a
million dollars.
Numerous packages of securities, or supposed to contain them, tied up
and sealed and labeled with Mack’s own handwriting, contained only
worthless papers and useless old documents.
David Mack was short precisely the amount of the demanded ransom.
“My Lord!” Mr. Madden groaned, when the full truth was learned. “My
Lord, who could have believed it? Are disasters never to end? What on
earth does this mean, Mr. Carter?”
Chick waved both dismayed bankers to their seats.
“What it means, gentlemen, may be very briefly stated,” he now said
gravely. “David Mack has been speculating heavily in an assumed
character and under the name of Jack Conroy. He has margin accounts with
half a score of brokers, and is involved more than half a million
dollars, with absolutely no prospect of recovery in the present
declining market.”
“Recovery! Good heavens, I should say not!” cried Mellen, throwing up
his hands.
“Mack has been secretly using your securities, gentlemen, to carry these
numerous accounts,” Chick continued. “He evidently realized lately that
his situation was a hopeless one. To pull himself out of the hole and
square himself here, therefore, he has resorted to another crime.”
“You mean----”
“I mean, gentlemen, that David Mack conspired with your stenographer and
other confederates to abduct the Madden child--knowing very well that
you, Mr. Madden, would pay even half a million dollars for her safe
return.”
“Good heavens!”
John Madden sank back in his chair as if completely nonplused.
“That is the story in a nutshell, gentlemen, and that is why David Mack
was appointed to conduct negotiations with a fictitious Redlaw. Observe,
Mr. Madden, how easy that would make it for him to take your money and
restore your missing child.”
Mellen banged the table with both fists, crying angrily:
“By Heaven, that scoundrel shall pay for this. I will have his life. I
will----”
“On the contrary, Mr. Mellen, you will be wise and let the law inflict
the penalty,” Chick Carter interrupted. “Nick already is at work along
these lines. We shall, I think, have Mack and all of his confederates in
custody before midnight--and the stolen child safe in her own home.”
“Heaven grant it!” cried Madden fervently.
“If the time should be longer, however, you must be patient,” Chick
quickly added. “If Mack should return before we have succeeded in
rounding him up, you must have him arrested immediately, and allow him
no communication with persons outside. I do not think that will occur,
however, if my suspicions are correct. Now, Mr. Madden, give me precise
directions for reaching Mack’s house in Westchester.”
“Is there where you expect to find my child?”
“I certainly do.”
“By Heaven, then, I will go with you.”
“And I, also,” cried Mellen. “I want one crack at that miscreant.”
Chick checked them with a gesture.
“On the contrary, gentlemen, you must do absolutely nothing in this
matter,” he firmly insisted.
“Nothing?”
“It is out of your line, gentlemen. It is one for men of my vocation to
handle. An indiscreet step on your part might ruin all that we have
accomplished. Be patient, I repeat, until we have finished our work.”
Both bankers now saw the wisdom of his advice, and they readily yielded
to it. Five minutes later, having obtained the directions he required,
Chick left their office and hastened home.
Nick Carter had not returned.
No word had been received from Patsy Garvan.
It then was nearly six o’clock.
Chick rang for Danny Maloney and the touring car, then telephoned to
police headquarters.
More than an hour later, just as the dusk of evening was deepening to
darkness, Chick alighted from the car with two plain-clothes men in a
rural road amid the wooded hills of Westchester County, and cautiously
approached a fine old wooden residence half hidden among trees in the
near distance.
The three detectives still were outside of the private grounds, when,
emerging from some shrubbery flanking one side of the extensive estate,
a quick, athletic figure hurried toward them.
“Great Scott!” Chick quietly exclaimed. “Is it you, Patsy?”
“You bet, Chick, and I’m mighty glad you have showed up,” said Patsy
expressively.
“Something doing, eh?”
“Surest thing you know.”
“Where is Nick?”
“Well, I have a hunch, now, that he is in that house,” said Patsy,
pointing.
“David Mack’s house.”
“That is?”
“Surely. He is the man we want, the chief crook of the bunch.”
Patsy looked puzzled. He did not then know what Nick Carter had dug from
under the surface.
“Gee! that beats me,” he muttered. Then, more hurriedly: “I followed
Duffy’s wife and boy out here, and have been watching ever since and
waiting for darkness. Less than half an hour ago a big touring car came
out, containing a veiled woman and three men. They now are in the house.
One of them is Jack Conroy, I reckon, for he answers the description and
wears a figured vest.”
“Jack Conroy and David Mack are one and the same.”
“The devil you say!”
“Devil is right, I guess,” chuckled Chick. “What more? Why do you think
Nick is in the house?”
“Because they stopped the car at the side door, that one under the
porte-cochère, and the three men lugged in a big burden wrapped in the
robes. It looked like the figure of a man, but I couldn’t be sure of it.
If----”
“There will be no ifs, Patsy, in about five minutes,” Chick interrupted.
“The darkness now will cover our approach. Come on, all hands! We’ll
find out why the milk is in the coconut--even if we have to break a nut
or two.”