A few minutes after Ashton Welles left his office, stabbed to the soul
by the poisoned paragraphs of _Society Folk_ Jemingham sought Stewardson
and told him he had decided to send some more gold-dust to the Assay
Office. His own attendant, a young man, dark-haired and blue-eyed, who
properly answered to the name of Sheehan, accompanied him. Stewardson,
whose nerves had not recovered from the shock of Mr. Welles's behavior,
decided that he, also, would go to the vaults.
“I want ten boxes sent to the Assay Office,” said Jemingham.
“Certainly, sir,” said the superintendent of the vaults, very
obsequiously. To show how eager he was to please, he asked, “Any
particular boxes, Mr. Jemingham?”
Immediately a half-formulated suspicion fleeted across the mind of the
second vice-president of the VanTwiller Trust Company. How did they know
what those boxes contained? How did they know that all of them were full
of Yukon gold? How did they know anything about this man or about his
treasure--his alleged treasure?
Almost immediately afterward, however, he reproached himself. Why, the
man had deposited over a million--the proceeds of twenty of the boxes!
“Oh, take any ten,” said Jerningham--“the first ten. They are the
easiest to take out.”
“The last ten!” said Stewardson, hastily, obeying an impulse that came
upon him like a flash of lightning.
Jerningham turned and asked: “Why the last ten? They are away back,
and--”
“I have my reasons,” smiled Stewardson--the smile of a man who knows
something funny about you, but does not wish to tell it--not quite yet.
It is the most exasperating smile known.
Jerningham looked at him a moment. Then he said, coldly: “Why not pick
them out haphazard--one here and another there, as if you were sampling
a mine and wanted to make sure they hadn't salted it on you?” He turned
to the men and said, “Pick out ten at random, no two from the same
place; and be sure they are not full of stable litter!”
Stewardson flushed, and whispered apologetically to the superintendent,
“The more the boys work, the more grateful he will be.”
“Oh, he is very generous, anyhow,” said Sullivan, the superintendent,
watching his helper and Sheehan pick out the ten boxes at random.
Stewardson accompanied Jerningham up-stairs and then excused himself
long enough to say to a confidential clerk: “Follow Mr. Jerningham and
his ten boxes of gold-dust, and find out what he does, how much he gets,
and every detail of interest. Don't let him see you.”
The clerk found out and later reported to the vice-president that the
ten boxes all contained Alaskan gold-dust, and that their value was
$531,687, the boxes averaging a little better than fifty thousand
dollars each. Stewardson then had the remaining boxes counted. There
were one hundred and twenty-one left. They were worth over six million
dollars. Jerningham ought to have the gold-dust coined and then deposit
the proceeds in the trust company. The company would allow him two and
a half per cent.--or maybe three per cent.--on the six millions. That
would be one hundred and eighty thousand dollars a year. The company
could then loan the entire six millions, not having to bother with
keeping a reserve like the national banks, and, the way the money-market
was, the money could be loaned at five per cent. That would be three
hundred thousand dollars a year.
Men properly must end in dust; but dust, when gold, should end in
eagles. He would speak to Jerningham about it--one hundred and eighty
thousand dollars a year that Jerningham was not making--which was
silly! And one hundred and twenty thousand a year the company was not
making--which was a tragedy!
Ashton Welles sent word to the office on the following morning that he
would not be down until late, if at all. He did not send word that he
had decided to consult his lawyer about the _Society Folk_ article.
He had received eight marked copies, addressed to him at his house in
different handwritings, and he did not know that on his desk at the
office there were a dozen more. Friends always tell you about anonymous
attacks anonymously. They wait for them.
Jerningham seemed disappointed when he learned, at ten-thirty, that Mr.
Welles might not come to the office at all. Stewardson came upon
him looking disgruntled. That did not deter the vice-president from
broaching the subject nearest his heart. “I'd like to ask you one
question, Mr. Jerningham. Of course I know you must have a reason--a
very good reason, too--”
“If the reason is good I'll confess,” said Jerningham, pleasantly.
“Well, I'd like to know what your reason is for not sending all your
gold to the Assay Office?”
“My reason is that I want to make a lot of money later by not sending
the gold to the Assay Office now. Remember my very words!”
“But how are you going to do it?” Stewardson could not help asking,
because he was so puzzled that his sense of humor was paralyzed.
“By having the gold--that's how.”
“That's all right! But why don't you change it into coin? That way you
can have it at a moment's notice.”
“My dear chap, do you know how many hours it will take the Assay Office,
after I take my dust in there, to give me a check for the proceeds? I
get ninety per cent, of the value at once. If I cash this gold now I'll
spend it. I know it! I never could resist the temptation to spend--it
is my one weakness. And if I spent it what would I have to show for the
hardships of thirty years?”
“But why don't you deposit it with us? We'll allow you two and a half
per cent. Or if you make it a time deposit we can do better than that by
you. You know you can always get gold for it if you ask us for it.”
“I can, can I?” laughed Jerningham, with a sort of good-natured mockery.
“How about 1907 and your old clearing-house certificates--eh?
What?” Stewardson was nettled. So he permitted himself the supreme,
all-conquering argument of business: “But you are losing one hundred
and eighty thousand dollars a year by leaving your gold uncoined and
undeposited.”
“I won't lose a year's interest, because it isn't going to take a year
for the big panic to come.” Stewardson laughed--a kindly laugh. “For
pity's sake, don't wait for that! Panics have a habit of not coming
if expected. Just now everybody is bluer than indigo. You'd think the
United States was on its last legs. Invest at once, and don't wait for
the bargains at the funeral that may never come.”
“How sound is this institution?” Jerningham looked Stewardson full in
the face.
The vice-president answered, smilingly, “Oh, I guess we'll weather the
storm.”
“Then I'll buy more stock. Mr. Welles advised me to buy all I could get
hold of. A wonderful man--”
“Yes, indeed,” acquiesced Stewardson, solemnly. “Wonderful! Great
judgment!” pursued Jeming-ham, with a sort of boyish enthusiasm that
made Stewardson think his superior had designs on the Klondike gold in
the vaults. “He is so clear-cut--and never, never loses his head! To
tell you the truth,” and Jerningham lowered his voice, “I used to think
he was an icicle--the sort of man nothing can disturb; but, for all his
calmness and imperturbability, he has a great warm heart and a great big
brain!”
Stewardson had never before heard anybody accuse the president of the
VanTwiller Trust Company of having any heart at all. Why had Welles
taken the pains to pose before the Klondike miner as a philanthropist?
And why had the imperturbable Ashton Welles been so perturbed the day
before?
“Ablest man in this country!” said Stewardson, his mind wrapped in the
folds of his unformulated mysteries and his own half-asked questions.
“So I'll get a little more of the stock,” said Jerningham.
“Go ahead! You can't go wrong,” Stewardson assured him; “in fact, you
ought to send some of your gold to the Assay Office and--”
“What will you lend me on my gold--on the six millions I've got
down-stairs?” asked Jerningham, with a frown. He looked intently at the
vice-president with his cold, gray eyes, and Stewardson somehow fancied
he saw a challenge in them; but he was an old bird at the game. He
laughed and said, jovially:
“Not a penny!”
“I know it. It shows you how incompetent all these financial
institutions are. You think you are doing your duty by being
suspicious--what? Well, you don't unless you are intelligently
suspicious. Never mind; you are only the vice-president. I'll buy the
stock just the same.” And Jerningham laughed, exaggeratedly forgiving,
and went away.
Later in the day, when Stewardson thought he might sell his own holdings
of VanTwiller Trust stock to Jerningham and trust to luck to pick it up
again here and there at a lower figure, he called up a firm of brokers
who made a specialty of dealing in bank and trust-company stocks. He was
surprised to learn that V.T. stock was scarce and thirty points higher.
The vice-president called up specialists and heard the same story--the
floating supply had been quietly bought.
“By whom?” he asked Earhart.
“You know very well!” retorted the last broker, in an aggrieved tone of
voice.
“I do not!” Stewardson assured him.
“Well, it all goes into your office.”
“Mine?”
“Yes--yours! And it's paid by your checks. The name signed is Alfred
Jerningham. Are you going to cut a melon? Just whisper!”
“Oh!” and Stewardson laughed. “What a suspicious man you are, Dave!”
In the alarmingly inexplicable frame of mind in which Ashton Welles was
Stewardson did not feel like speaking to his superior about Jemingham's
investment. There was no reason why the Klondiker should not buy all
the VanTwiller Trust Company stock he could pay for; but a day or
two afterward the vice-president learned that Jerningham had secured
control, by purchase outright or by option, at prices ranging from three
hundred and ninety-five to five hundred dollars a share, of twenty-two
thousand shares. That was important for two reasons: In the first
place it was more than Jerningham could pay for even if he sold all his
gold-dust; and, secondly, such a block in unfriendly hands might work
injury to the controlling clique. He decided to see the president; but
he was told that Mr. Ashton Welles was engaged at that moment.
Jerningham was talking to him. They had exchanged greetings with much
cordiality.
“Have you heard from Mrs. Welles?” asked the Alaskan.
“She hasn't arrived yet--”
“I know it. But I received a wireless from young Wolfe--”
“What did he say?” asked Ashton Welles before he knew it.
Jerningham looked mildly surprised. He answered:
“It was a funny message. He asked me to go to his room and get his
trunks, and send all his belongings to London, as he had decided to stay
there indefinitely.”
“Yes?” It was all Welles could say.
“So I wired back, 'Are you crazy?'”
“Did he answer that?”
“Yes.” Jerningham paused. Then he laughed.
“What did he answer?” queried Welles.
“Oh, he is crazy, all right. He answered, 'Yes--with joy! Please send
trunks to Thornton's Hotel--'”
“What?” Ashton Welles rose to his feet, his face livid. It was the
London hotel where Mrs. Deering lived, the hotel to which Mrs. Welles
was going!
“What's the matter?” asked Jerningham, in amazement.
“N-nothing!” said Ashton Welles, huskily. He gulped twice. Then, having
spent thirty-five years in Wall Street making money, he explained, “I've
got a terrible toothache!” And he put his hand to his left cheek.
“I'm sorry!” said Jemingham so sympathetically that Welles, for all
his distress--and nothing is so inherently selfish as suffering--felt
a kindly feeling toward the man from Alaska. “Could I ask your advice
about a business matter?”
“Certainly!”
Ashton Welles tried to smile. It was ghastly, but Jemingham did not
remark it. He said, placidly:
“I've bought quite a little bunch of VanTwiller stock because you are
its president, Mr. Welles. On my honor, that is my only reason. I've
paid good prices, too; but you are worth it--to me!” And Jemingham
beamed adoringly on the efficient president of the VanTwiller Trust
Company.
Ashton Welles said, “Thank you!” and even tried to feel grateful to
this queer character from the frozen North who was so naïve in his
admiration--and envied him for not having a young wife who had sailed on
the same steamer with an exceedingly attractive young man.
“I guess I'm all right in my purchase--what?”
“Oh yes!” said Welles. He was thinking of the _Ruritania_. It did not
even occur to him that this Monte Cristo might be worth while to pluck.
“Thank you. I hope I didn't bother you. Good morning, Mr. Welles.”
“Good morning, Mr. Jemingham. Er--come in any time you think I can be of
service to you.”
As Jemingham was leaving the president's office he almost bumped into
the vice-president.
“You've bought quite a lot of our stock,” said
Stewardson, full of his errand. His voice had an accusing ring.
“Yes. I was just speaking to Mr. Welles about it.”
“And what did he say?”
“Ask him!” teased Jerningham, with a smile, and went away.
Stewardson felt it his duty to do exactly as Jerningham had mockingly
suggested. It was an abnormal situation. That being the case, there was
no regular provision--no indicated chapter and verse--for meeting it.
The principal function of a chief in business is to supply answers to
puzzled subordinates.
Ashton Welles was sitting back in his swivel chair. He was staring
fixedly at a hook on the picture-molding that had been left there after
the picture was taken away. He was thinking that if he employed private
detectives in London he would have to hire them by cable. There are
suspicions a man cannot help having and yet cannot set down in plain
black and white. He cannot hint when he writes, for written instructions
must always be explicit and categorical. That is why no love-letter
of which the real meaning is to be read “between the lines” is ever
satisfactory to the recipient.
Ashton Welles turned his head and, still frowning, asked Stewardson,
sharply:
“Well, what is it?”
“It's about Jerningham. You know he has been buying our stock. But I
thought you ought to know--”
He wished to tell the president what a big block the Alaskan had already
secured. But the president, from force of habit, perhaps, or possibly
by reason of the irritation of his nerves, assumed the usual financial
attitude of omniscience:
“I know all about it,” he said. “Anything else you wish to say to me?”
“No, sir!” answered Stewardson, who felt rebuffed and now would not have
turned in an alarm of fire if he had seen the place beginning to burn.
He was, after all, human.
You cannot, in your lust for absolute power, make your subordinates
into sublimated office-boys or decorative figureheads without paying the
price some time. Stewardson was justified in assuming that Mr. Welles
was worried about business--it was perfectly obvious; and it was a
natural suspicion, also, that said deal must threaten destruction to the
company since Ashton Welles was so eager to have poor Jerningham buy so
much VanTwiller stock. Therefore Stewardson and his intimate friends,
in order to be on the safe side, very promptly sold out their own
holdings--to poor misguided Jerningham's brokers.
Of course other people who did not wish Welles well heard about it, and
the whisper ran about the Street, getting blacker and blacker as it
ran, until everybody knew something had happened--everybody except the
directors of the VanTwiller Trust Company. And when the transfer-books
closed for the annual meeting of the stockholders it was found that
Mr. Alfred Jerningham owned, by purchase or option, and had irrevocable
proxies on, a little more than twenty-eight thousand shares of the
stock. This, together with the twelve thousand shares owned jointly by
Patrick T. Behan and Oliver Judson, the street-railroad magnates, and
the blocks controlled by the Garvin brothers, Tammany contractors, and
Mayer & Shanberg, F. R. Chisolm, John Matson & Company, and others of
the Behan-Judson clique, which once tried to secure control of the
company and were foiled by Ashton Welles, made a combination that was
bound to win at the annual election.
Jerningham ceased going to the VanTwiller Trust Company because Ashton
Welles had sailed for London on the receipt of a cablegram that read:
_Leaving for Continent. Mother and I cannot return before three months.
Will write soon._
_Anne_.
Instead of calling on his friend Stewardson, Jerningham preferred to
spend hours and hours conversing with Patrick T. Behan, “the most
dangerous man in Wall Street!”--and the slickest. But on the day before
the election Jerningham did call on Stewardson and offered to sell his
holdings of VanTwiller stock at six hundred dollars a share.
“Why, I thought you--” began the vice-president.
“I know you did. I wanted you to. But six hundred dollars is only
twenty-five dollars a share more than Behan, and Judson, and Garvin,
and the rest of those pirates have offered me. I've decided not to be a
stockholder of the trust company; so just get your friends together and
tell them if they want to retain the control they can give you a check
for me--six hundred dollars a share on twenty-eight thousand, one
hundred and twenty-three shares. Put it down--twenty-eight thousand, one
hundred and twenty-three shares. Good day!”
“Wait! I want to say--”
“Don't say it! Write it! I'm still at the Brabant,” said Jerningham,
coldly. “I advise you to get at Mr. Welles on the steamer by wireless.
Good day!”
“But, I--” shouted Stewardson.
Jerningham paid no attention to him and walked away.
Later in the day negotiations were resumed. In the end Jerningham
accepted a little less; but the deal yielded him a net profit of about
two million dollars. He insisted upon being paid in gold coin. This
convinced Stewardson and the other victims that Jerningham was out of
his mind; but there is no law that enables officers of a trust company
to imprison a gold maniac or to take away his gold, particularly when
his lawyers stand very high in the profession.
Five minutes after getting the gold coin in his possession--and drawing
every cent of it--Jerningham told Stewardson he would leave the dust in
the VanTwiller vaults. That reassured Stewardson, who otherwise might
have suspected Jerningham of various crimes. He then sent two cablegrams
to London. One was to
_Kathryn Keogh,_
_Thornton's Hotel, London._
_Your services are no longer needed. Go ahead and have a nice time!
Thanks awfully!_ _Jerningham_.
The other was to Francis Wolfe--same address. It read:
_You ought to marry Kathryn Keogh. Never mind anything else. I am
disappearing for good. God bless you both, my children! Letter follows._
_Jerningham._
Francis Wolfe showed his cablegram to Miss Keogh and Miss Keogh did not
show hers to Francis Wolfe.
A week later Frank asked Miss Keogh to read a letter he had received
from Jerningham, and to tell him what to do.
This was the letter.
Dear Boy,--We needed a million or two out of Ashton Welles, and the only
way we could see of getting it was by selling to him what he already
had--to wit, the control of the VanTwiller Trust Company. From previous
operations the syndicate I have the honor to represent had accumulated
enough cash to render this operation feasible; but Welles watched the
trades in VanTwiller stock so closely that we could not have bought
a thousand shares without blocking our own game. So we planned our
operations very carefully, as we always do. And because I like you I
will tell you how we went about it--that you may profit by our example.
First, I had to become instantly and sensationally known as the
possessor of vast wealth. The mere deposit of a million or two in a
bank would not do it. We must have the cash and a stupendous cash-making
property--hence the mines in the Klondike. Purely mythical mines, dear
lad! We sent to Alaska, bought $1,686,000 of gold-dust, put it in boxes,
and put a lot of lead in other boxes--now in the VanT. vaults!--thereby
increasing our less than two million into more than eight--and nobody
hurt thereby! Then the shipment to Seattle, so that every step could be
verified--and the special bullion train to New York; and the eccentric
miner--myself--with his gold--no myth about the gold--what? in a New
York hotel; and of course the reporters were only too willing to help
and to magnify our gold-dust.
The _Planet's_ articles were our letters of introduction to the trust
company and to Wall Street. Could not have done better--could we? But
how to catch Welles off his guard? By breaking it down, of course. Best
way? By rousing jealousy. That's where you come in. Mrs. Welles must go
to England with you on the same steamer. How? By winning your friendship
and rousing your romantic interest in an unhappy love-affair--that
would, moreover, explain my interest in Mrs. Welles. Of course there
never was any Naida Deering for me to be interested in!
But you had to meet Welles's wife. How? By means of your sisters. How
did I make friends of them? By reforming you and making you my heir.
How did I make Mrs. Welles take the same steamer that you did? By having
her mother cable for her. How did I do that? Ask Miss Keogh.
I admit that much of what we were compelled to do was not gentlemanly;
but, after all, our only crime is the crime of having been business
men--buying something at four dollars and selling it at five or six
dollars.
Take my advice, dear boy, and stay on the water-wagon! If you marry Miss
Keogh I think you can show this letter to A. Welles and ask him to give
you a nice position in the trust company.
I am sorry I cannot see you again; but believe me, dear boy, that we
are very grateful for your efficient assistance. We would send you a
check--only we need it in our business. Tell Jimmy Parkhurst to tell you
and Amos F. Kidder all about it.
Yours truly,
The Plunder Recovery Syndicate, Per Alfred Jerningham.
But it was a long time before Frank Wolfe returned to New York--without
Miss Keogh, who flatly refused to marry him. Jerningham had disappeared,
leaving absolutely no trail. Parkhurst introduced Frank Wolfe to Fiske,
but all that came of it was that Fiske added a few fresh notes to his
collection.