in strict confidence. After all, criminologists do not maintain that
every man who looks like a crook is one. They simply state and prove
that ninety-five per cent of the deliberate criminals, men who plan
their wrong well in advance, bear these marks. And the man who sat
across the table from me to-night has them, to an amazing degree."
"Across the table from you? Why that was Rockwell, cashier of the
Central Trust!"
"Precisely," stated Todd, "and the only reason that I am making this
admission is because I happen to know that both of you bank there."
"But," protested one of the other men, "Rockwell has been with them for
years. He's worked himself up from the very bottom and had hundreds of
chances to make away with money if he wanted to. He's as straight as a
die."
"Very possibly he is," Todd agreed. "That's the reason that I warn you
that what I said was in strict confidence. Neither one of you is to say
a word that would cast suspicion on Rockwell. It would be fatal to his
career. On the other hand, I wanted to give you the benefit of my
judgment, which, if you remember, you requested."
But it didn't take a character analyst to see that the Department of
Justice man had put his foot in it, so far as his friends were
concerned. They were convinced of the cashier's honesty and no theories
founded on purely physical attributes could swerve them. They kept the
conversation to themselves, but Todd left town feeling that he had lost
the confidence of two of his former friends.
It was about a month later that he ran into Weldon, the Federal Bank
Examiner for that section of the country, and managed to make a few
discreet inquiries about Rockwell and the Central Trust Company without,
however, obtaining even a nibble.
"Everything's flourishing," was the verdict. "Accounts straight as a
string and they appear to be doing an excellent business. Fairly heavy
on notes, it's true, but they're all well indorsed. Why'd you ask? Any
reason to suspect anyone?"
"Not the least," lied Todd. "It's my home town, you know, and I know a
lot of people who bank at the C. T. C. Just like to keep in touch with
how things are going. By the way, when do you plan to make your next
inspection?"
"Think I'll probably be in there next Wednesday. Want me to say 'Hello'
to anybody?"
"No, I'm not popular in certain quarters," Todd laughed. "They say I
have too many theories--go off half cocked and all that sort of thing."
Nevertheless the Department of Justice operative arranged matters so
that he reached his home city on Tuesday of the following week,
discovering, by judicious inquiries, that the visit of the examiner had
not been forecast. In fact, he wasn't expected for a month or more. But
that's the way it is best to work. If bank officials know when to look
out for an examiner, they can often fix things on their books which
would not bear immediate inspection.
Weldon arrived on schedule early the following morning, and commenced
his examination of the accounts of the First National, as was his habit.
As soon as Todd knew that he was in town he took up his position outside
the offices of the Central Trust, selecting a vantage point which would
give him a clear view of both entrances of the bank.
"Possibly," he argued to himself, "I am a damn fool. But just the same,
I have a mighty well-defined hunch that Mr. Rockwell isn't on the level,
and I ought to find out pretty soon."
Then events began to move even quicker than he had hoped.
The first thing he noted was that Jafferay, one of the bookkeepers of
the C. T. C., slipped out of a side door of the bank and dropped a
parcel into the mail box which stood beside the entrance. Then, a few
minutes later, a messenger came out and made his way up the street to
the State National, where--as Todd, who was on his heels--had little
trouble in discovering--he cashed a cashier's check for one hundred and
fifty thousand dollars, returning to the Central Trust Company with the
money in his valise.
"Of course," Todd reasoned, "Rockwell may be ignorant of the fact that
Weldon doesn't usually get around to the State National until he has
inspected all the other banks. Hence the check will have already gone to
the clearing house and will appear on the books merely as an item of one
hundred and fifty thousand dollars due, rather than as a check from the
Central Trust. Yes, he may be ignorant of the fact--but it does look
funny. Wonder what that bookkeeper mailed?"
Working along the last line of reasoning, the government operative
stopped at the post office long enough to introduce himself to the
postmaster, present his credentials, and inquire if the mail from the
box outside the Central Trust Company had yet been collected. Learning
that it had, he asked permission to inspect it.
"You can look it over if you wish," stated the postmaster, "but, of
course, I have no authority to allow you to open any of it. Even the
Postmaster-General himself couldn't do that."
"Certainly," agreed Todd. "I merely want to see the address on a certain
parcel and I'll make affidavit, if you wish, that I have reason to
suppose that the mails are being used for illegal purposes."
"That won't be necessary. We'll step down to the parcel room and soon
find out what you want."
Some five minutes later Todd learned that the parcel which he
recognized--a long roll covered with wrapping paper, so that it was
impossible to gain even an idea of what it contained--was addressed to
Jafferay, the bookkeeper, at his home address.
"Thanks! Now if you can give me some idea of when this'll be delivered I
won't bother you any more. About five o'clock this afternoon? Fine!" and
the man from Washington was out of the post office before anyone could
inquire further concerning his mission.
A telephone call disclosed the fact that Weldon was then making his
examination of the Central Trust Company books and could not be
disturbed, but Todd managed to get him later in the afternoon and made
an appointment for dinner, on the plea of official business which he
wished to discuss.
That afternoon he paid a visit to the house of a certain Mr. Jafferay
and spent an hour in a vain attempt to locate the bank examiner.
Promptly at six o'clock that official walked into Todd's room at the
hotel, to find the operative pacing restlessly up and down, visibly
excited and clutching what appeared to be a roll of paper.
"What's the matter?" asked Weldon. "I'm on time. Didn't keep you waiting
a minute?"
"No!" snapped Todd, "but where have you been for the last hour? Been
trying to reach you all over town."
"Great Scott! man, even a human adding machine has a right to take a
little rest now and then. If you must know, I've been getting a shave
and a haircut. Anything criminal in that?"
"Can't say that there is," and Todd relaxed enough to smile at his
vehemence. "But there is in this," unrolling the parcel that he still
held and presenting several large sheets of ruled paper for the
examiner's attention. "Recognise them?"
"They appear to be loose leaves from the ledgers at the Central Trust
Company."
"Precisely. Were they there when you went over the books this morning?"
"I don't recall them, but it's possible they may have been."
"No--they weren't. One of the bookkeepers mailed them to himself, at his
home address, while you were still at the First National. If I hadn't
visited his house this afternoon, in the guise of a book agent, and
taken a long chance by lifting this roll of paper, he'd have slipped
them back in place in the morning and nobody'd been any the wiser."
"Then you mean that the bookkeeper is responsible for falsifying the
accounts?"
"Only partially. Was the cash O. K. at the Central Trust?"
"Perfectly."
"Do you recall any record of a check for one hundred and fifty thousand
dollars upon the State National drawn and cashed this morning?"
"No, there was no such check."
"Yes, there was. I was present when the messenger cashed it and he took
the money back to the C. T. C. They knew you wouldn't get around to the
State before morning, and by that time the check would have gone to the
clearing house, giving them plenty of time to make the cash balance to a
penny."
"Whom do you suspect of manipulating the funds?"
"The man who signed the check--Rockwell, the cashier! That's why I was
trying to get hold of you. I haven't the authority to demand admittance
to the Central Trust vaults, but you have. Then, if matters are as I
figure them, I'll take charge of the case as an agent of the Department
of Justice."
"Come on!" was Weldon's response. "We'll get up there right away, No use
losing time over it!"
At the bank, however, they were told that the combination to the vault
was known to only three persons--the president of the bank, Rockwell,
and the assistant cashier. The president, it developed, was out of
town. Rockwell's house failed to answer the phone, and it was a good
half hour before the assistant cashier put in an appearance.
When, in compliance with Weldon's orders, he swung back the heavy doors
which guarded the vault where the currency was stored, he swung around,
amazed.
"It's empty!" he whispered. "Not a thing there save the bags of coin.
Why, I put some two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in paper money in
there myself this afternoon!"
"Who was here at the time?" demanded Todd.
"Only Mr. Rockwell. I remember distinctly that he said he would have to
work a little longer, but that there wouldn't be any necessity for my
staying. So I put the money in there, locked the door, and went on
home."
"Do you know where Rockwell is now?"
"At his house, I suppose. He lives at--"
"I know where he lives," snapped Todd. "I also know that he isn't there.
I've had the place watched since five o'clock this afternoon--but
Rockwell hasn't shown up. Like the money--I think we can say 'with the
money'--he's gone, disappeared, vanished."
"Then," said Weldon, "it is up to you to find him. My part of the job
ceased the moment the shortage was disclosed."
"I know that and if you'll attend to making a report on the matter,
order the arrest of Jafferay, and spread the report of Rockwell's
embezzlement through police circles, I'll get busy on my own hook.
Good-by." And an instant later Todd was hailing a taxi and ordering the
chauffeur to break all the speed laws in reaching the house where
Rockwell boarded.
Examination of the cashier's room and an extended talk with the
landlady failed, however, to disclose anything which might be termed a
clue. The missing official had visited the house shortly after noon, but
had not come back since the bank closed. He had not taken a valise or
suit case with him, declared the mistress of the house, but he had seemed
"just a leetle bit upset."
Quickly, but efficiently, Todd examined the room--even inspecting the
bits of paper in the wastebasket and pawing over the books which lined
the mantel. Three of the former he slipped into his pocket and then,
turning, inquired:
"Was Mr. Rockwell fond of cold weather?"
"No, indeed," was the reply. "He hated winter. Said he never was
comfortable from November until May. He always--"
But the "queer gentleman," as the landlady afterward referred to him,
was out of the house before she could detail her pet story of the
cashier's fondness for heat, no matter at what cost.
No one at the station had seen Rockwell board a train, but inquiry at
the taxicab offices revealed the fact that a man, with his overcoat
collar turned up until it almost met his hat brim, had taken a cab for a
near-by town, where it would be easy for him to make connections either
north or south.
Stopping only to wire Washington the bare outline of the case, with the
suggestion that the Canadian border be watched, "though it is almost
certain that Rockwell is headed south," Todd picked up the trail at the
railroad ticket office, some ten miles distant, and found that a man
answering to the description of his prey had bought passage as far as
St. Louis. But, despite telegraphic instructions, the Saint Louis police
were unable to apprehend anyone who looked like Rockwell and the
government operative kept right on down the river, stopping at Memphis
to file a message to the authorities in New Orleans.
It was precisely a week after the looting of the Central Trust Company
that Todd stood on the docks in New Orleans, watching the arrival of the
passengers and baggage destined to go aboard the boat for Honduras.
Singly and in groups they arrived until, when the "all ashore" signal
sounded, the operative began to wonder if he were really on the right
trail. Then, at the last minute, a cab drove up and a woman, apparently
suffering from rheumatism, made her way toward the boat. Scenting a tip,
two stewards sprang to assist her, but Todd beat them to it.
"Pardon me, madam," he said, "may I not--Drat that fly!" and with that
he made a pass at something in front of his face and accidentally
brushed aside the veil which hid the woman's face.
He had barely time to realize that, as he had suspected, it was
Rockwell, disguised, before the "woman" had slipped out of the light
wrap which she had been wearing and was giving him what he later
admitted was the "scrap of his life." In fact, for several moments he
not only had to fight Rockwell, but several bystanders as well--for they
had only witnessed what they supposed was a totally uncalled for attack
upon a woman. In the mixup that followed Rockwell managed to slip away
and, before Todd had a chance to recover, was halfway across the street,
headed for the entrance to a collection of shanties which provided an
excellent hiding place.
Tearing himself loose, Todd whipped out his revolver and fired at the
figure just visible in the gathering dusk, scoring a clean shot just
above the ankle--a flesh wound, that ripped the leg muscles without
breaking a bone. With a groan of despair Rockwell toppled over, clawing
wildly in an attempt to reach his revolver. But Todd was on top of him
before the cashier could swing the gun into action, and a pair of
handcuffs finished the career of the man who had planned to loot the C.
T. C. of a quarter million in cold cash.
"The next time you try a trick like that," Todd advised him, on the
train that night, "be careful what you leave behind in your room. The
two torn letterheads of the Canadian Pacific nearly misled me, but the
other one referring to the Honduran line, plus the book on Honduras and
the fact that your landlady stated that you hated cold weather, gave you
dead away. Of course, even without that, it was a toss-up between Canada
and Central America. Those are the only two places where an embezzler is
comparatively safe these days. I hope, for the sake of your comfort,
they give you plenty of blankets in Joliet."
* * * * *
Quinn paused a moment to repack his pipe, and then, "So far as I know,
he's still handling the prison finances," he added. "Yes--they found at
the trial that he had had a clean record up to the moment he slipped,
but the criminal tendencies were there and he wasn't able to resist
temptation. He had speculated with the bank funds, covered his shortages
by removing the pages from the ledger and kiting checks through the
State National, and then determined to risk everything in one grand
clean-up.
"He might have gotten away with it, too, if Todd hadn't spotted the
peculiarities which indicated moral weakness. However, you can't always
tell. No one who knew Mrs. Armitage would have dreamed that she
was--what she was."
"Well," I inquired, "what was she?"
"That's what puzzled Washington and the State Department for several
months," replied Quinn. "It's too long a story to spin to-night. That's
her picture up there, if you care to study her features."
And I went home wondering what were the crimes of which such a beautiful
woman could have been guilty.
XXIII
THE CASE OF MRS. ARMITAGE
To look at him no one would have thought that Bill Quinn had a trace of
sentiment in his make-up. Apparently he was just the grizzled old
veteran of a hundred battles with crime, the last of which--a raid on a
counterfeiter's den in Long Island--had laid him up with a game leg and
a soft berth in the Treasury Department, where, for years he had been an
integral part of the United States Secret Service.
But in the place of honor in Quinn's library-den there hung the
photograph of a stunningly handsome woman, her sable coat thrown back
just enough to afford a glimpse of a throat of which Juno might have
been proud, while in her eyes there sparkled a light which seemed to
hint at much but reveal little. It was very evident that she belonged to
a world entirely apart from that of Quinn, yet the very fact that her
photograph adorned the walls of his den proved that she had been
implicated in some case which had necessitated Secret Service
investigation--for the den was the shrine of relics relating to cases in
which Quinn's friends had figured.
Finally, one evening I gathered courage to inquire about her.
"Armitage was her name," Quinn replied. "Lelia Armitage. At least that
was the name she was known by in Washington, and even the investigations
which followed Melville Taylor's exposure of her foreign connections
failed to reveal that she had been known by any other, save her maiden
name of Lawrence."
"Where is she now?" I asked.
"You'll have to ask me something easier," and Quinn smiled, a trifle
wistfully, I thought. "Possibly in London, perhaps in Paris, maybe in
Rio or the Far East. But wherever she is, the center of attention is not
very far away from her big violet-black eyes. Also the police of the
country where she is residing probably wish that they had never been
burdened with her."
"You mean--"
"That she was a crook? Not as the word is usually understood. But more
than one string of valuable pearls or diamonds has disappeared when
milady Armitage was in the neighborhood--though they were never able to
prove that she had lifted a thing. No, her principal escapade in this
country brought her into contact with the Secret Service, rather than
the police officials--which is probably the reason she was nailed with
the goods. You remember the incident of the 'leak' in the peace note,
when certain Wall Street interests cleaned up millions of dollars?"
"Perfectly. Was she to blame for that?"
"They never settled who was to blame for it, but Mrs. Armitage was
dealing through a young and decidedly attractive Washington broker at
the time and her account mysteriously multiplied itself half a dozen
times.
"Then there was the affair of the Carruthers Code, the one which
ultimately led to her exposure at the hands of Taylor and Madelaine
James."
* * * * *
The Carruthers Code [Quinn went on] was admittedly the cleverest and yet
the simplest system of cipher communication ever devised on this side
of the Atlantic, with the possible exception of the one mentioned in
Jules Verne's "Giant Raft"--the one that Dr. Heinrich Albert used with
such success. Come to think of it, Verne wasn't an American, was he? He
ought to have been, though. He invented like one.
In some ways the Carruthers system was even more efficient than the
Verne cipher. You could use it with less difficulty, for one thing, and
the key was susceptible of an almost infinite number of variations. Its
only weakness lay in the fact that the secret had to be written
down--and it was in connection with the slip of paper which contained
this that Mrs. Armitage came into prominence.
For some two years Lelia Armitage had maintained a large and expensive
establishment on Massachusetts Avenue, not far from Sheridan Circle.
Those who claimed to know stated that there had been a Mr. Armitage, but
that he had died, leaving his widow enough to make her luxuriously
comfortable for the remainder of her life. In spite of the incidents of
the jeweled necklaces, no one took the trouble to inquire into Mrs.
Armitage's past until the leak in connection with the peace note and the
subsequent investigation of Paul Connor's brokerage house led to the
discovery that her name was among those who had benefited most largely
by the advance information.
It was at that time that Melville Taylor was detailed to dig back into
her history and see what he could discover. As was only natural, he went
at once to Madelaine James, who had been of assistance to the Service in
more than one Washington case which demanded feminine finesse, plus an
intimate knowledge of social life in the national capital.
"Madelaine," he inquired, "what do you know of a certain Mrs. Lelia
Armitage?"
"Nothing particularly--except that one sees her everywhere. Apparently
has plenty of money. Supposed to have gotten it from her husband, who
has been dead for some time. Dresses daringly but expensively,
and--while there are at least a score of men, ranging all the way from
lieutenants in the army to captains of industry, who would like to marry
her--she has successfully evaded scandal and almost gotten away from
gossip."
"Where'd she come from?"
"London, I believe, by way of New York. Maiden name was Lawrence and the
late but not very lamented Mr. Armitage was reputed to have made his
money in South Africa."
"All of which," commented Taylor, "is rather vague--particularly for
purposes of a detailed report."
"Report? In what connection?"
"Her name appears on the list of Connor's clients as one of the ones who
cleaned up on the 'leak.' Sold short and made a barrel of money when
stocks came down. The question is, Where did she get the tip?"
"Possibly from Paul Connor himself."
"Possibly--but I wish you'd cultivate her acquaintance and see if you
can pick up anything that would put us on the right track."
But some six weeks later when Taylor was called upon to make a report of
his investigations he had to admit that the sheet was a blank.
"Chief," he said, "either the Armitage woman is perfectly innocent or
else she's infernally clever. I've pumped everyone dry about her, and a
certain friend of mine, whom you know, has made a point of getting next
to the lady herself. She's dined there a couple of times and has talked
to her at a dozen teas and receptions. But without success. Mrs.
Armitage has been very frank and open about what she calls her 'good
fortune' on the stock market. Says she followed her intuition and sold
short when everyone else was buying. What's more, she says it with such
a look of frank honesty that, according to Madelaine, you almost have to
believe her."
"Has Miss James been able to discover anything of the lady's past
history?"
"Nothing more than we already know--born in England--husband made a
fortune in South Africa--died and left it to her. Have you tried tracing
her from the other side?"
"Yes, but they merely disclaim all knowledge of her. Don't even
recognize the description. That may mean anything. Well," and chief
sighed rather disconsolately, for the leak puzzle had been a knotty one
from the start, "I guess we'd better drop her. Too many other things
going on to worry about a woman whose only offense seems to be an
intuitive knowledge of the way Wall Street's going to jump."
It was at that moment that Mahoney, assistant to the chief, came in with
the information that the Secretary of State desired the presence of the
head of the Secret Service in his office immediately.
In answer to a snapped, "Come along--this may be something that you can
take care of right away!" Taylor followed the chief to the State
Department, where they were soon closeted with one of the under
secretaries.
"You are familiar with the Carruthers Code?" inquired the Assistant
Secretary.
"I know the principle on which it operates," the chief replied, "but I
can't say that I've ever come into contact with it."
"So far as we know," went on the State Department official, "it is the
most efficient cipher system in the world--simple, easy to operate,
almost impossible to decode without the key, and susceptible of being
changed every day, or every hour if necessary, without impairing its
value. However, in common with every other code, it has this
weakness--once the key is located the entire system is practically
valueless.
"When did you discover the disappearance of the code secret?" asked
Taylor, examining his cigarette with an exaggerated display of interest.
"How did you know it was lost?" demanded the Under Secretary.