came into possession of these documents. But, as you will find when you
look into the matter, they are entirely authoritative and do not refer
to an isolated case. The _Murbar_ is the rule, not the exception. It's
now up to you people to find out how the fraud was worked."
"He's right, at that," was the comment from the acting Secretary, when
the former sugar official had departed. "The information is undoubtedly
the result of a personal desire to 'get even'--for our friend recently
lost his place with the company in question. However, that hasn't the
slightest bearing upon the truth of his charges. Carr, it's up to you to
find out what there is in 'em!"
"That's a man-sized order, Mr. Secretary," smiled Dick, "especially as
the work I did some time ago on the sampling frauds made me about as
popular as the plague with the sugar people. If I ever poked my nose on
the docks at night you'd be out the price of a big bunch of white roses
the next day!"
"Which means that you don't care to handle the case?"
"Not so that you could notice it!" snapped Carr. "I merely wanted you to
realize the handicaps under which I'll be working, so that there won't
be any demand for instant developments. This case is worth a million
dollars if it's worth a cent. And, because it is so big, it will take a
whole lot longer to round up the details than if we were working on a
matter that concerned only a single individual. If you remember, it took
Joe Gregory nearly six months to land Phyllis Dodge, and therefore--"
"Therefore it ought to take about sixty years to get to the bottom of
this case, eh?"
"Hardly that long. But I would like an assurance that I can dig into
this in my own way and that there won't be any 'Hurry up!' message sent
from this end every week or two."
"That's fair enough," agreed the Assistant Secretary. "You know the ins
and outs of the sugar game better than any man in the service. So hop to
it and take your time. We'll content ourselves with sitting back and
awaiting developments."
Armed with this assurance, Carr went back to New York and began
carefully and methodically to lay his plans for the biggest game ever
hunted by a government detective--a ring protected by millions of
dollars in capital and haunted by the fear that its operations might
some day be discovered.
In spite of the fact that it was necessary to work entirely in the dark,
Dick succeeded in securing the manifests and bills of lading of three
other sugar ships which had recently been unloaded, together with copies
of the receipts of their cargoes. Every one of these indicated the same
mysterious shrinkage en route, amounting to about six per cent of the
entire shipment, and, as Carr figured it, there were but two
explanations which could cover the matter.
Either a certain percentage of the sugar had been removed from the hold
and smuggled into the country before the ship reached New York, or there
was a conspiracy of some kind which involved a number of the weighers on
the docks.
"The first supposition," argued Carr, "is feasible but hardly within the
bounds of probability. If the shortage had occurred in a shipment of
gold or something else which combines high value with small volume,
that's where I'd look for the leak. But when it comes to hundreds of
thousands of pounds of sugar--that's something else. You can't carry
that around in your pockets or even unload it without causing comment
and employing so many assistants that the risk would be extremely great.
"No, the answer must lie right here on the docks--just as it did in the
sampling cases."
So it was on the docks that he concentrated his efforts, working through
the medium of a girl named Louise Wood, whom he planted as a file clerk
and general assistant in the offices of the company which owned the
_Murbar_ and a number of other sugar ships.
This, of course, wasn't accomplished in a day, nor yet in a month. As a
matter of fact, it was February when Carr was first assigned to the case
and it was late in August when the Wood girl went to work. But, as Dick
figured it, this single success was worth all the time and trouble spent
in preparing for it.
It would be hard, therefore, to give any adequate measure of his
disappointment when the girl informed him that everything in her office
appeared to be straight and aboveboard.
"You know, Dick," reported Louise, after she had been at work for a
couple of months, "I'm not the kind that can have the wool pulled over
my eyes. If there was anything crooked going on, I'd spot it before
they'd more than laid their first plans. But I've had the opportunity of
going over the files and the records and it's all on the level."
"Then how are you to account for the discrepancies between the bills of
lading and the final receipts?" queried Carr, almost stunned by the
girl's assurance.
"That's what I don't know," she admitted. "It certainly looks queer, but
of course it is possible that the men who ship the sugar deliberately
falsify the records in order to get more money and that the company pays
these statements as a sort of graft. That I can't say. It doesn't come
under my department, as you know. Neither is it criminal. What I do know
is that the people on the dock have nothing to do with faking the
figures."
"Sure you haven't slipped up anywhere and given them a suspicion as to
your real work?"
"Absolutely certain. I've done my work and done it well. That's what I
was employed for and that's what's given me access to the files. But, as
for suspicion--there hasn't been a trace of it!"
It was in vain that Carr questioned and cross-questioned the girl. She
was sure of herself and sure of her information, positive that no
crooked work was being handled by the men who received the sugar when it
was unloaded from the incoming ships.
Puzzled by the girl's insistence and stunned by the failure of the plan
upon which he had banked so much, Carr gave the matter up as a bad
job--telling Louise that she could stop her work whenever she wished,
but finally agreeing to her suggestion that she continue to hold her
place on the bare chance of uncovering a lead.
"Of course," concluded the girl, "you may be right, after all. They may
have covered their tracks so thoroughly that I haven't been able to pick
up the scent. I really don't believe that they have--but it's worth the
gamble to me if it is to you."
More than a month passed before the significance of this speech dawned
upon Dick, and then only when he chanced to be walking along Fifth
Avenue one Saturday afternoon and saw Louise coming out of Tiffany's
with a small cubical package in her hand.
"Tiffany's--" he muttered. "I wonder--"
Then, entering the store, he sought out the manager and stated that he
would like to find out what a lady, whom he described, had just
purchased. The flash of his badge which accompanied this request turned
the trick.
"Of course, it's entirely against our rules," explained the store
official, "but we are always glad to do anything in our power to assist
the government. Just a moment. I'll call the clerk who waited on her."
"The lady," he reported a few minutes later, "gave her name as Miss
Louise Wood and her address as--"
"I know where she lives," snapped Carr. "What did she buy?"
"A diamond and platinum ring."
"The price?"
"Eight hundred and fifty dollars."
"Thanks," said the operative and was out of the office before the
manager could frame any additional inquiries.
When the Wood girl answered a rather imperative ring at the door of her
apartment she was distinctly surprised at the identity of her caller,
for she and Carr had agreed that it would not be wise for them to meet
except by appointment in some out-of-the-way place.
"Dick!" she exclaimed. "What brings you here? Do you think it's safe?"
"Safe or not," replied the operative, entering and closing the door
behind him. "I'm here and here I'm going to stay until I find out
something. Where did you get the money to pay for that ring you bought
at Tiffany's to-day?"
"Money? Ring?" echoed the girl. "What are you talking about?"
"You know well enough! Now don't stall. Come through! Where'd you get
it?"
"An--an aunt died and left it to me," but the girl's pale face and
halting speech belied her words.
"Try another one," sneered Carr. "Where did you get that eight hundred
and fifty dollars?"
"What business is it of yours? Can't I spend my own money in my own way
without being trailed and hounded all over the city?"
"You can spend your own money--the money you earn by working and the
money I pay you for keeping your eyes open on the dock as you please.
But--" and here Carr reached forward and grasped the girl's wrist,
drawing her slowly toward him, so that her eyes looked straight into
his, "when it comes to spending other money--money that you got for
keeping your mouth shut and putting it over on me--that's another
story."
"I didn't, Dick; I didn't!"
"Can you look me straight in the eyes and say that they haven't paid you
for being blind? That they didn't suspect what you came to the dock
for, and declared you in on the split? No! I didn't think you could!"
With that he flung her on a couch and moved toward the door. Just as his
hand touched the knob he heard a voice behind him, half sob and half
plea, cry, "Dick!"
Reluctantly he turned.
"Dick, as there's a God in heaven I didn't mean to double cross you. But
they were on to me from the first. They planted some stamps in my pocket
during the first week I was there and then gave me my choice of bein'
pulled for thieving or staying there at double pay. I didn't want to do
it, but they had the goods on me and I had to. They said all I had to do
was to tell you that nothing crooked was goin' on--and they'll pay me
well for it."
"While you were also drawing money from me, eh?"
"Sure I was, Dick. I couldn't ask you to stop my pay. You'd have
suspected. Besides, as soon as you were done with me, they were, too."
"That's where the eight hundred and fifty dollars came from?"
"Yes, and a lot more. Oh, they pay well, all right!"
For fully a minute there was silence in the little apartment, broken
only by the sobs of the girl on the couch. Finally Carr broke the
strain.
"There's only one way for you to square yourself," he announced. "Tell
me everything you know--the truth and every word of it!"
"That's just it, Dick. I don't know anything--for sure. There's
something goin' on. No doubt of that. But what it is I don't know. They
keep it under cover in the scale house."
"In the scale house?"
"Yes; they don't allow anyone in there without a permit. Somebody
uptown tips 'em off whenever a special agent is coming down, so they can
fix things. But none of the staff knows, though nearly all of them are
drawin' extra money for keeping their mouths shut."
"Who are the men who appear to be implicated?"
"Mahoney, the checker for the company, and Derwent, the government
weigher."
"Derwent!"
"Yes, he's in on it, too. I tell you, Dick, the thing's bigger than you
ever dreamed. It's like an octopus, with tentacles that are fastened on
everyone connected with the place."
"But no clue as to the location of the body of the beast?"
"Can't you guess? You know the number of their office uptown. But
there's no use hoping to nab them. They're too well protected. I doubt
if you can even get at the bottom of the affair on the dock."
"I don't doubt it!" Carr's chin had settled itself determinedly and his
mouth was a thin red line. "I'm going to give you a chance to redeem
yourself. Go back to work as usual on Monday. Don't let on, by word or
gesture, that anything has changed. Just await developments. If you'll
do that, I'll see that you're not implicated. More than that, I'll
acknowledge you at the proper time as my agent--planted there to double
cross the fraud gang. You'll have your money and your glory and your
satisfaction of having done the right thing, even though you didn't
intend to do it. Are you on?"
"I am, Dick. I won't say a word. I promise!"
"Good! You'll probably see me before long. But don't recognize me.
You'll be just one of the girls and it'll probably be necessary to
include you in the round-up. I'll fix that later. Good-by," and with
that he was off.
Not expecting that Carr would be able to complete his plans for at least
a week, Louise was startled when the operative arrived at the dock on
the following Monday morning. He had spent the previous day in
Washington, arranging details, and his appearance at the company's
office--while apparently casual--was part of the program mapped out in
advance. What was more, Carr had come to the dock from the station, so
as to prevent the "inside man" from flashing a warning of his arrival.
Straight through the office he strode, his right hand swinging at his
side, his left thrust nonchalantly in the pocket of his topcoat.
Before he had crossed halfway to the door of the scale room he was
interrupted by a burly individual, who demanded his business.
"I want to see Mr. Derwent or Mr. Mahoney," replied Carr.
"They're both engaged at present," was the answer. "Wait here, and I'll
tell them."
"Get out of my road!" growled the operative, pulling back the lapel of
his coat sufficiently to afford a glimpse of his badge. "I'll see them
where they are," and before the guardian of the scale house door had
recovered from his astonishment Carr was well across the portals.
The first thing that caught his eye was the figure of a man bending over
the weight beam of one of the big scales, while another man was making
some adjustments on the other side of the apparatus.
Derwent, who was facing the door, was the first to see Carr, but before
he could warn his companion, the special agent was on top of them.
"Who are you? What business have you in here?" demanded the government
weigher.
"Carr is my name," replied Dick. "Possibly you've heard of me. If so,
you know my business. Catching sugar crooks!"
Derwent's face went white for a moment and then flushed a deep red.
Mahoney, however, failed to alter his position. He remained bending over
the weight beam, his finger nails scratching at something underneath.
"Straighten up there!" ordered Carr. "You--Mahoney--I mean! Straighten
up!"
"I'll see you in hell first!" snapped the other.
"You'll be there soon enough if you don't get up!" was Carr's reply, as
his left hand emerged from his coat pocket, bringing to light the
blue-steel barrel of a forty-five. "Get--"
Just at that moment, from a point somewhere near the door of the scale
room, came a shrill, high-pitched cry--a woman's voice:
"Dick!" it called. "Lookout! Jump!"
Instantly, involuntarily, the operative leaped sidewise, and as he did
so a huge bag of raw sugar crashed to the floor, striking directly on
the spot where he had stood.
"Thanks, Lou," called Carr, without turning his head. "You saved me that
time all right! Now, gentlemen, before any more bags drop, suppose we
adjourn uptown. We're less likely to be interrupted there," and he
sounded a police whistle, which brought a dozen assistants on the run.
"Search Mahoney," he directed. "I don't think Derwent has anything on
him. What's that Mahoney has in his hand?"
"Nothin' but a quarter, sir, an' what looks like an old wad o' chewin'
gum."
Puzzled, Carr examined the coin. Then the explanation of the whole
affair flashed upon him as he investigated the weight-beam and found
fragments of gum adhering to the lower part, near the free end.
"So that was the trick, eh?" he inquired. "Quite a delicate bit of
mechanism, this scale--in spite of the fact that it was designed to
weigh tons of material. Even a quarter, gummed on to the end of the
beam, would throw the whole thing out enough to make it well worth
while. I think this coin and the wad of gum will make very interesting
evidence--Exhibits A and B--at the trial, after we've rounded up the
rest of you."
* * * * *
"And that," concluded Quinn, "is the story which lies behind that
twenty-five-cent piece--probably the most valuable bit of money, judged
from the standpoint of what it has accomplished, in the world."
"Derwent and Mahoney?" I asked. "What happened to them? And did Carr
succeed in landing the men higher up?"
"Unfortunately," and Quinn smiled rather ruefully, "there is such a
thing as the power of money. The government brought suit against the
sugar companies implicated in the fraud and commenced criminal
proceedings against the men directly responsible for the manipulation of
the scales. (It developed that they had another equally lucrative method
of using a piece of thin corset steel to alter the weights.) But the
case was quashed upon the receipt of a check for more than two million
dollars, covering back duties uncollected, so the personal indictments
were allowed to lapse. It remains, however, the only investigation I
ever heard of in which success was so signal and the amount involved so
large.
"Todd, of the Department of Justice, handled a big affair not long
afterward, but, while some of the details were even more unusual and
exciting, the theft was only a paltry two hundred and fifty thousand
dollars."
"Which case was that?"
"The looting of the Central Trust Company," replied the former
operative, rising and stretching himself. "Get along with you. It's time
for me to lock up."
XXII
"THE LOOTING OF THE C. T. C."
There was a wintry quality in the night itself that made a comfortable
chair and an open fire distinctly worth the payment of a luxury tax. Add
to this the fact that the chairs in the library den of William J.
Quinn--formerly "Bill Quinn, United States Secret Service"--were roomy
and inviting, while the fire fairly crackled with good cheer, and you'll
know why the conversation, after a particularly good dinner on the
evening in question, was punctuated by pauses and liberally interlarded
with silences.
Finally, feeling that it was really necessary that I say something, I
remarked upon the fierceness of the wind and the biting, stinging sleet
which accompanied a typical January storm.
"Makes one long for Florida," I added.
"Yes," agreed Quinn, "or even some point farther south. On a night like
this you can hardly blame a man for heading for Honduras, even if he did
carry away a quarter of a million of the bank's deposits with him."
"Huh? Who's been looting the local treasury?" I asked, thinking that I
was on the point of getting some advance information.
"No one that I know of," came from the depths of Quinn's big armchair.
"I was just thinking of Florida and warm weather, and that naturally led
to Honduras, which, in turn, recalled Rockwell to my mind. Ever hear of
Rockwell?"
"Don't think I ever did. What was the connection between him and the
quarter-million you mentioned?"
"Quite a bit. Rather intimate, as you might say. But not quite as much
as he had planned. However, if it hadn't been for Todd--"
"Todd?"
"Yes--Ernest E. Todd, of the Department of Justice. 'Extra Ernest,' they
used to call him, because he'd never give up a job until he brought it
in, neatly wrapped and ready for filing. More than one man has had cause
to believe that Todd's parents chose the right name for him. He may not
have been much to look at--but he sure was earnest."
* * * * *
Take the Rockwell case, for example [Quinn went on, after a preliminary
puff or two to see that his pipe was drawing well]. No one had the
slightest idea that the Central Trust Company wasn't in the best of
shape. Its books always balanced to a penny. There was never anything to
cause the examiner to hesitate, and its officials were models of
propriety. Particularly Rockwell, the cashier. Not only was he a pillar
of the church, but he appeared to put his religious principles into
practice on the other six days of the week as well. He wasn't married,
but that only boosted his stock in the eyes of the community, many of
which had daughters of an age when wedding bells sound very tuneful and
orange blossoms are the sweetest flowers that grow.
When they came to look into the matter later on, nobody seemed to know
much about Mr. Rockwell's antecedents. He'd landed a minor position in
the bank some fifteen years before and had gradually lifted himself to
the cashiership. Seemed to have an absolute genius for detail and the
handling of financial matters.
So it was that when Todd went back home on a vacation and happened to
launch some of his ideas on criminology--ideas founded on an intensive
study of Lombroso and other experts--he quickly got himself into deep
water.
During the course of a dinner at one of the hotels, "E. E." commenced to
expound certain theories relating to crime and the physical appearance
of the criminal.
"Do you know," he inquired, "that it's the simplest thing in the world
to tell whether a man--or even a boy, for that matter--has criminal
tendencies? There are certain unmistakable physical details that point
unerringly to what the world might call 'laxity of conscience,' but
which is nothing less than a predisposition to evil, a tendency to
crime. The lobes of the ears, the height and shape of the forehead, the
length of the little finger, the contour of the hand--all these are of
immense value in determining whether a man will go straight or crooked.
Employers are using them more and more every day. The old-fashioned
phrenologist, with his half-formed theories and wild guesses, has been
displaced by the modern student of character, who relies upon certain
rules which vary so little as to be practically immutable."
"Do you mean to say," asked one of the men at the table, "that you can
tell that a man is a criminal simply by looking at him?"
"If that's the case," cut in another, "why don't you lock 'em all up?"
"But it isn't the case," was Todd's reply. "The physical characteristics
to which I refer only mean that a man is likely to develop along the
wrong lines. They are like the stars which, as Shakespeare remarked,
'incline, but do not compel.' If you remember, he added, 'The fault,
dear Brutus, lies in ourselves.' Therefore, if a detective of the modern
school is working on a case and he comes across a man who bears one or
more of these very certain brands of Cain, he watches that man very
carefully--at least until he is convinced that he is innocent. You can't
arrest a man simply because he looks like a crook, but it is amazing how
often the guideposts point in the right direction."
"Anyone present that you suspect of forgery or beating his wife?" came
in a bantering voice from the other end of the table.
"If you're in earnest," answered the government agent, "lay your hands
on the table."
And everyone present, including Rockwell, cashier of the Central Trust
Company, placed his hands, palm upward, on the cloth--though there was a
distinct hesitation in several quarters.
Slowly, deliberately, Todd looked around the circle of hands before him.
Then, with quite as much precision, he scanned the faces and
particularly the ears of his associates. Only once did his gaze hesitate
longer than usual, and then not for a sufficient length of time to make
it apparent.
"No," he finally said. "I'd give every one of you a clean bill of
health. Apparently you're all right. But," and he laughed, "remember, I
said 'apparently.' So don't blame me if there's a murder committed
before morning and one or more of you is arrested for it!"
That was all there was to the matter until Todd, accompanied by two of
his older friends, left the grill and started to walk home.
"That was an interesting theory of yours," commented one of the men,
"but wasn't it only a theory? Is there any real foundation of fact?"
"You mean my statement that you can tell by the shape of a man's head
and hands whether he has a predisposition to crime?"
"Yes."
"It's far from a theory, inasmuch as it has the support of hundreds of
cases which are on record. Besides, I had a purpose in springing it when
I did. In fact, it partook of the nature of an experiment."
"You mean you suspected some one present--"
"Not suspected, but merely wondered if he would submit to the test. I
knew that one of the men at the table would call for it. Some one in a
crowd always does--and I had already noted a startling peculiarity about
the forehead, nose, and ears of a certain dinner companion. I merely
wanted to find out if he had the nerve to withstand my inspection of his
hands. I must say that he did, without flinching."
"But who was the man?"