The Great Secret
An unexpected trip in the motor had delayed Atherton's departure for
town, and it was after nine o'clock when he ran quickly up the stairs
which led to Blagden's room, confidently expecting to find Bellingham
there before him. The morning had dawned, revealing no trace of the
secretary, and Atherton had taken advantage of an errand in the
village to telephone Blagden to be on the lookout for the fugitive in
the neighborhood of eight o'clock. But now, to his disappointment, he
entered the room to find Blagden and Mills alone, Blagden lying on the
couch, eyes half closed, pipe in mouth, Mills sprawling in the easy
chair, extracting minor chords of unspeakable melancholy from
Blagden's guitar. Both were clearly bored, and glad of a chance to
vent their indignation upon Atherton.
"You're an idiot of a fellow," observed Blagden. "Where's this friend
of yours? We've been here since seven o'clock."
"Yes," added Mills. "Hurried our dinner, too. Worst thing in the world
for a man. We thought from your telephoning that it must be
important."
Atherton, weary from loss of sleep, dropped into a chair. "Well, I
imagine it is important," he rejoined. "He'll be here, I'm sure.
Unless--" he added thoughtfully, "something may have happened to him.
I shouldn't be greatly surprised if that was the trouble. But you
fellows needn't make such a row about it. It hasn't done you any harm.
We were supposed to meet to-night anyway."
Mills laid aside the guitar. "That's right," he assented, "this was to
be the experience meeting. And as you are the originator of the whole
thing, Blagden, you'd better begin. How did you get along with the
lovely lady? Was it a real adventure?"
Blagden puffed thoughtfully at his pipe. "Yes," he at length replied,
"It surely was. The lovely lady is interested in stocks and she has
a--what is the technical word in such cases--friend, isn't it?
Gentleman friend? Yes, that's it. She has a gentleman friend who gives
her tips on the market and--" he paused dramatically--"whose tips are
always right. She never loses, and _always_ wins."
Both of his hearers laughed. "You mentioned the 'Arabian Nights' that
evening in the cafe," scoffed Mills. And Atherton added, "That's just
like a woman. Why did she pick out the one impossible story in the
world? Anything else I'd have believed, out of compliment to her good
looks. But a friend who beats the stock market. Never. That's
incredible."
"Yes," Blagden admitted, "on general principles, I'd agree with you.
And yet I must say that her story was most convincing. I saw the house
where she lives; saw the tickers, large as life, installed by her
friend; saw her very dainty little account book, with its record of
six months' trading in cotton, grain and stocks, and with every
transaction showing its profit--a clean slate."
There followed silence. Then Atherton asked, still unbelievingly, "But
why does she confide in you? If she's got such a good thing--the tips,
I mean, not the gentleman friend--why isn't she satisfied? Why does
she tell _you_ her troubles?"
Mills laughed. "It's his personal charm," he volunteered. "He always
scores with the ladies. They'll tell him anything."
"Oh, shut up, Tubby," Blagden retorted, "this is a serious matter." And
then to Atherton, "The answer is as old as the time of Bluebeard, as
old as Eve and the serpent. Curiosity, that is the trouble with my
charming friend. It seems that she's not satisfied merely to make
money; it's the secret of making it she's after. And her benefactor
won't tell it to her. He lets her play with the market as a child
would play with a toy, and that's all."
"But how does she know," queried Mills, "that there is any secret? It
may be nothing but luck."
"Yes, that's possible," admitted Blagden, "but according to our
experience, it's very unlikely. No man's luck would hold in all three
markets for six months without a break. Besides, she's intelligent
enough, and she's convinced that he plays on a regular system. Her
theory is that there's some kind of inside manipulation by which
stocks are put up at certain hours of the day and put down at others;
frequently, she says, he consults his watch before making a trade.
Rather an ingenious idea."
"Humph," ejaculated Mills, "I should say it was. Sounds pretty
reasonable to me. First time I ever heard of it."
"Well," demurred Blagden, "it's barely possible, but I doubt it. In
fact, I don't take the whole story very seriously. And yet--it's
curious. But in any event, I fear I didn't help her much. If there is
a secret, it's not an easy one to solve."
He was silent. "Anything else?" asked Atherton, after a pause.
"No," Blagden answered, "that's the whole story. And now you fellows
can tell your troubles. How about you, Tubby? Any adventure?"
Mills chuckled at the remembrance. "Oh, rather," he replied. "I too
met a lady, only she wasn't quite in a class with yours. She was a
pretty little minx, though, at that, and after she had decoyed me to
her home with a most pathetic story, she and her running mate, a most
villainous looking individual named Stoat, tried to hold me up with
the old badger game."
"Good Lord!" cried Blagden, "That wasn't any joke, Tubby. It may be an
old game, but it's as dangerous as it ever was. Weren't you scared?"
"Sure was," admitted Mills. "Couldn't have been scareder, but Nature
having blessed me with a placid exterior, I managed to get by without
their knowing it. And finally we wound up by becoming great pals; I
never made such a hit in my life. In fact, good old Stoat, who appears
to be quite a noted criminal, offered me a partnership on the spot. As
near as I could make it out, he was drawn to me by my appearance of
respectability. It sounds conceited of me to repeat it, but he assured
me that with the proper training, I had all the qualifications for a
most successful criminal."
Atherton laughed. "Some compliment," he commented dryly, but Blagden
heard the news with perfect seriousness. "I believe he was right,
Tubby," he cried. "If he seemed to be a pretty smooth proposition, why
don't you go in with him? We might get hold of something big, and
without any risk to it, either."
"Oh, thanks," retorted Mills with unwonted asperity, "why don't you
try it yourself? I'll introduce you with pleasure. But none of the
Jesse James stuff for me, please. Jails and electric chairs never
appealed to me in the least."
Blagden grinned. "Oh, I haven't your peculiar beauty of face and
form," he rejoined. "I'm sure I wouldn't suit your friend. You're
missing a great chance, Tubby; you'd better reconsider."
"Not on your life," answered Mills with conviction, "but if you ever
require the services of a first-class robber, second-story man and I
dare say murderer, why he kindly gave me his name and address, and I
shall be delighted to bring two such congenial spirits together."
"All right; I'll remember it," said Blagden. Then, turning to
Atherton, he asked, "How about you? Anything doing?"
Atherton smiled. "Why," he responded apologetically, "after all this
spotlight melodrama of yours and Tubby's, I'm afraid my experience
will sound pretty tame. In fact, when you learn the truth, you may
expel me from the United Order of Gentlemen Adventurers. It's a
shameful confession, but I'm working for my living. I am--" he paused
a moment properly to emphasize the announcement--"a chauffeur."
Both his hearers shouted with laughter. "Oh, fine!" cried Blagden,
"that's the best yet. Go on. Give us the details. I'll bet it's a lady
you're working for. Some rich old spinster, I hope. She might adopt
you."
"No," Atherton answered, "no lady in this at all. But I'm working for
a man you may have heard of. His name is Marshall Hamilton."
His hearers suddenly sobered. "The deuce!" cried Mills, and Blagden
added, "Well, there's a chance to get some real tips on the market.
Perhaps you have some already."
"No, no such luck," responded Atherton, "but I have come across
something curious connected with the stock market. Mr. Hamilton has a
secretary named Bellingham, a very decent chap indeed--he's the one I
telephoned you about this morning. Now Bellingham, it appears, is a
chart fiend, or something of that sort; he has the tape sent to him
and works at it nights, puzzling out some sort of a system of his own.
But the singular thing is that he's been mortally afraid of being
detected; we got chummy the first night I met him, and he told me all
his fears, and asked me for some safe address where he might go if he
had to leave on the jump. And last night the very thing happened that
he'd been dreading; some one was spying on him; I got wind of it and
let him know, and advised him to come here to-night. So with the
dawning of the morning, friend Bellingham had disappeared, and that is
why I expect him here."
There was a moment's silence. Then Blagden cried, triumphantly,
"Didn't I tell you fellows the truth? Didn't I say that we were
stagnating over the tickers when there was plenty of adventure left in
the world if we only had enterprise enough to go out and look for it?
And just see what we've discovered in the first few days."
"Yes, that's true," agreed Atherton. "We'll give you credit for that.
But don't forget that there's something else you haven't proved to us.
You claimed that somehow or other we were going to be able to combine
our experiences to our mutual advantage, and I can't quite see how
we're going to do it. You have made the acquaintance of a lady who
knows how to beat the stock market; Mills knows an expert criminal;
and I am driving a car. But how is all this going to make us rich?
Explain that to us, Blagden."
"Oh, well," Blagden retorted, "what do you expect? That fortunes are
made over night? Of course not. Give us a chance. We'll accumulate
more knowledge as we go along, and presently we'll strike a winning
combination. Just consider what's happened to us already. Why, if we
can keep up this gait, we'll need a card catalogue to keep track of
our adventures. You're unreasonable, Atherton; we've made a start, and
that's the principal thing."
As he finished speaking, the bell, as if to punctuate his words, rang
sharply. Atherton leaped to his feet. "Bellingham," he cried, and
strode hastily to the tube. "Who is it?" he asked, and as he had
expected, the answer came back in low but hurried tones. "It's I;
Bellingham. Let me in, Atherton, quick!"
Atherton pressed the button, threw open the door, and an instant later
there came the sound of rapid footsteps on the stairs, and Bellingham
came into the room, pausing on the threshold to close and lock the
door behind him, as though fearing pursuit. The secretary's appearance
had changed greatly for the worse. His face was pale; dark circles
ringed his eyes, and acknowledging Atherton's introductions to the
others with a nod, he sank heavily into a chair with the air of a man
thoroughly exhausted and spent. Blagden eyed him keenly for a moment,
then rose, walked over to the sideboard, poured some brandy into a
glass, and handed it to him. Bellingham drained the glass, and almost
immediately the red began to creep back into his cheeks. "Thanks," he
said, "that's better," and turning to Atherton he added, "I've had an
awful day. I've been shadowed; I'm sure of it. But I managed to give
them the slip about an hour ago. I wanted to see you before I leave."
Atherton did not know how to interpret his words. "Before you leave?"
he echoed. "Have you made up your mind to that?"
"Yes," Bellingham answered, "it's the only thing I can do. I've taken
a risk. I've played for big stakes--and lost. If I stay here, I won't
live another twenty-four hours. I've booked passage for South America;
the steamer sails at seven o'clock to-morrow morning; and I shan't
feel easy until I've gone aboard to-night and locked my stateroom door
behind me. Then I believe I have a chance. But if I do get away
safely, I owe my life to you, and I wanted to see you and tell you
so."
"But you shouldn't have risked it," cried Atherton. "It wasn't worth
while. I don't deserve any thanks, anyway; I acted on the impulse of
the moment; that was all."
Bellingham gazed at him abstractedly, as if scarcely heeding his
words. "Time is short," he said, "and I've a good deal to say. We've
got to think quick." Then, with a glance at Mills and Blagden, he
added, "I understand that you three fellows have pooled your fortunes.
What I say to one, I can say to all."
"That's correct," Atherton assented, and the secretary continued,
"Then here's the story. By the merest accident, I've stumbled on a big
secret, the biggest secret in the world. Financially speaking, you
can't overestimate its importance. If a man can solve it, he can make
all the money he wants--nothing can stop him. But if it becomes known
that he has solved it, or if he is detected in the attempt, he might
as well have written his own death warrant. I want to do the right
thing by you fellows; if you care to have me do it, I'll tell you what
I know. Or if, on the other hand, you don't feel like tempting fate,
well and good; I dare say I'll only be doing you a bad turn by telling
you. Take your choice; I leave it to you to decide."
Blagden, whose eyes had never left the secretary's face, was the first
to speak. "We'll take a chance," he answered coolly. "Isn't that
right, boys?"
"Sure thing," assented Mills, but Atherton did not immediately
respond. Three days ago, he would not have hesitated, but his meeting
with Helen Hamilton had made all matters connected with money assume a
secondary place, and life itself, with so much to live for, now seemed
a possession too precious to be risked. Yet it was difficult to take
Bellingham's words seriously; he must be exaggerating. And finally
curiosity turned the scale, and he answered briefly, "All right; go
ahead."
Bellingham leaned forward in his chair, his eyes bright, the liquor
loosening his tongue. "Then here is the story," he cried. "For years,
every one has claimed that the stock market is an unbeatable game. Man
after man tries it; goes into it sanguine, confident; and emerges
broken in purse and spirit. Isn't that so?"
There was a murmur of assent. "And why it is so," went on Bellingham,
"is a mystery. You can't say that all men are fools. They're not.
Men play the stock market who have succeeded brilliantly in other
lines--men who have never made a failure in their lives--but the stock
market beats them as it beats any novice. I think you'll bear me out
in that."
Again his hearers signified assent, and Bellingham, lowering his
voice, continued, "Then what is the answer? All my life I've lived in
the atmosphere of the Exchange; all my life I've heard the legends and
the rumors that surround it; but never, until three days ago, have I
even suspected the truth. There's no need for me to tell you how I
came by this knowledge; it's enough for me to say that a paper,
accidentally discovered, has so filled the gaps in what I knew before
that now I can make something more than a guess at the real mystery of
the Stock Exchange. And this is what I know. Forty years ago, four
men--the wealthiest, ablest and shrewdest men of their day--met
together and founded the most wonderful secret order in the world.
This was their plan--to form and perfect an organization so powerful
that by means of it they could govern the course of the stock
market--could actually raise or lower prices as they chose."
Blagden, who had been listening with constantly increasing attention,
now broke in, more to himself than to the others, "Just what I said.
Combination; cooperation; it's the only way."
Bellingham turned to him. "Exactly!" he cried. "And what was the first
requisite for their plan? Money, of course; money unlimited; not money
as we understand it, in hundreds and thousands, but money in millions,
in tens of millions, in billions. And that is what these four men,
with their resources and connections, were able to achieve. They
labored until they had ready at their command what was practically an
inexhaustible reservoir of gold. That was the first step. The next was
to perfect the army of men who were to carry on this financial war. At
its head were seven commanders-in-chief, the four I have mentioned,
and besides them one in England and two on the Continent. These were
the true insiders, the sole possessors of the secret, sworn by the
most solemn of oaths to guard it from all the world excepting
themselves and their successors in office. They were the leaders, but
under them were colonels and captains and privates in the ranks, each
man of proved ability, and each with his special duty to perform. And
thus, fully equipped with men and munitions, they were ready to take
the field."
Mills had been gazing at him, wide-eyed, absorbed in the secretary's
story. Now he could contain himself no longer. "I don't care much," he
cried, "for your comparison. You keep talking about a war. I should
call it a slaughter. With most of the money in the world behind you,
how can you help but lick the other fellow. War! Do you talk about a
war between a boa-constrictor and a rabbit?"
"You're right," assented the secretary. "Quite right. And I'll drop
figures of speech altogether. When these men had everything in
readiness, then began the cold-blooded, systematic despoiling of the
people. For one thing, they had--and have--the finest publicity
department in the world. The heads of it know all the weaknesses of
human nature, know every detail of the psychology of the so-called
average man. They know how to arouse his interest in the market, how
to whet his appetite for speculation, how to get him to invest his
money, and most important of all, once he has taken sides as a bear or
a bull, they know how to publish the forecasts and the information
that will make him stick to his position until they have extracted the
last cent of the last dollar that he can afford to lose. That is what
the publicity department can do, and aiding and abetting them at all
times are the sleek and smiling brokers--financial courtezans--genial,
jovial men, bidding you welcome to the warmth and light and luxury of
their offices; joking with you, advising you, humoring your wild ideas
and your crazy theories of speculation, gathering their commissions as
their pay and knowing, in the bottom of what they call their hearts,
that once you are in their clutches, you won't escape while you have a
penny to your name. That is your average broker--a licensed thief, a
man of ill-fame, a speculative prostitute."
There followed momentary silence. Then Atherton remarked, "I don't
doubt the truth of what you say. But admitting that it's so, still you
haven't shown us why a man can't sometimes win."
"But I have!" cried Bellingham, "or if I haven't, it's because I
haven't made myself clear. Don't you understand? It's nothing more nor
less than highway robbery. The insiders play against the public; the
insiders with their eyes open, the public blindfolded. Or, to vary the
figure, the insiders hold their cards in their hands, while the public
lay theirs face up on the table. There's only one result. It's open
and shut--cut and dried. Why, at any moment of the day these men have
access to the books of any bank or any broker's office in America;
they can tell, at a second's notice, just what proportion of the
public is long of stocks and just what proportion is short. They know
the name and trade and record of every speculator in the market; they
know his resources, his commitments; and if they wish to 'get' a man,
it is just like some millionaire strolling down with a net to his
private fishpond, and picking out some particularly plump fish for his
dinner. As a matter of fact, mighty few individuals are successful
enough so that it is worth while to go after them, but if the insiders
decide to do it, why--snap--and it's all over; not even a ripple comes
to the surface. And if it's a pool they decide to swallow--some
combination of foolish millionaires who have grown suddenly
rich--then it becomes a very pretty game, like shooting or fishing
or bull-fighting or any other so-called sport where the odds are all
one way. It takes a little longer--the death struggle is more drawn
out--sometimes a bubble or two does come to the surface--but the
result is always the same. You must see it now; I'm sure you do. It is
the absolute quintessence of simplicity."
Atherton sat silent for a moment; then, as the true significance of
the secretary's story dawned upon him, he murmured to himself, slowly
and with infinite meaning, "Well, by _Heck!_"
Bellingham glanced at his watch; then drew from his pocket a packet of
papers and a sealed envelope, and handed them to Atherton. "I can't
stay much longer," he said, "but here is the proof of my story; the
papers are the results of my experiments; the envelope contains the
holy of holies, the key to the whole mystery. I can give you the gist
of the matter now. The greatest achievement in their whole wonderful
system is their method of communicating their plans. You can see how
necessary it must be; they are dealing with a hysterical public, who
in time of panic follow each other like sheep. Therefore, when some
unexpected event occurs--the Northern Pacific corner, war, disaster of
any kind--if these men cannot consult together almost instantly, they
may face ruin, even for individuals as powerful as themselves. How
then will they communicate? By cable? Telegraph? Telephone? Too
cumbersome. Too many people to handle the messages. Simpler far a
code, a cipher, so that what appears to be an ordinary transaction
recorded on the tape becomes in reality a piece of information that
shapes the destiny of the market, and of the thousands who vainly seek
to fathom the secret of its ups and downs. To issue these is the
special duty of one man. I know that all this is true, and I fear that
they suspect that I possess this knowledge. In any event, the game is
too big for me; I would rather be a live dog than a dead lion."
He paused for a moment, but though the three faces bent on his were
tense and rigid with excitement, no one spoke, and presently he
continued, "But besides being their greatest strength, you can see how
this wonderful system might be their greatest weakness as well. And
when I say this, I refer to the possibility of the system's being
discovered. Now the originators of this plan were men of intelligence
and ability; they must have seen this danger, and the necessity of
safeguarding their secret in every possible way. And they did so. But
Fate is stronger than man, and through a trick of Fate they have been
found out."
As he finished speaking, he rose from his seat. "I dare not stay
longer," he said, "and for the sake of all three of you, I prefer not
to go from this house directly into the street. Isn't there some way,
Blagden, by which I could go along the roofs and down by some other
exit?"
"Yes," Blagden agreed, "we can do that." And with a handshake the
secretary took his leave of Mills and Atherton, and followed Blagden
up the ladder, along the chimney tops, until an open skylight at the
end of the block furnished them their opportunity, and at the foot of
the stairs Bellingham, after carefully reconnoitering, made ready to
depart.
"If it's necessary to see you again," whispered Blagden, "what is your
boat, and when does she sail?"
"The _Pernambuco_," Bellingham answered. "She leaves at seven o'clock
to-morrow morning. Good-by and good luck." And the next instant he had
slipped out into the street, and had disappeared from sight.