I heard his chair move, and I hoped he was taking the hint. "That's just a clever woman's talk," he said loftily. "I don't pay any attention to it. A man's a man, and a woman's a woman! With all your cleverness you can't change that."
"I don't want to," she murmured.
"I'm never going to grovel before you again," he said. (This suggested that he was near grovelling then, poor wretch!) "It was a mistake. I say no more. When I have established myself I shall come and claim my due."
"You shall have it," she said promptly.
"Have what?" he asked, somewhat taken aback.
"Your due." In my mind's eye I could see the enigmatic smile that accompanied this.
He came out of her room looking very dubious. This quickly changed to a ferocious scowl as he became aware of my glance. The closing of the outer door was not exactly a slam, but he meant it to express his unconquerable will. I sniggered to myself. I haven't the art, but I do love to see another woman put a bumptious male where he belongs. The idea that this coarse-grained creature should presume to aspire to my peerless mistress seemed perfectly preposterous to me.
"Lord, Bella! how helpless men are!" she said to me when I went in to her. "So much emotion and so little sense! It's pathetic when a masterful man is denied his desire."
"The old problem of the irresistible force and the immovable object," I suggested.
"Yes, if there were such a thing. But there is not, remember. Something has to give."
III
The activities of the smoke bandit continued unchecked. From Philadelphia he jumped to Chicago, where, a week later, he visited the Inland Seas National, one of the premier banks of the West. It was the Inland Seas which, some years ago, built that famous elevated concrete fort in the middle of its banking-room. The walls were pierced with loopholes behind which armed guards were supposed to be stationed during bank hours. I suspect that the fort had been built for its moral effect, or for the purposes of publicity—or both; but if the armed guards were at their loop-holes, they were helpless, of course, against this bandit's novel weapon.
On this occasion he changed his tactics again. Avoiding the paying teller's window, he went to the receiving teller, where, just as messengers from the Union Station were about to hand in a great satchel of cash, he dropped his bomb, and annexed the satchel. He made a clean get-away; no one had so much as a glimpse of him. Being Monday, the satchel contained two days' receipts, or nearly fifty thousand dollars. This was the largest haul he had yet made. The affair stimulated the police and the banks of Chicago to unheard-of measures of protection. But as a matter of fact, the bandit took the first train out of town, and never returned there. He was like a butterfly which sipped honey where it listed.
The worst features of the situation was the frightful waste it entailed. Throughout the country the banks, I suppose, spent in futile measures of self-protection a hundred times the amount of what the bandit took from them.
Five days later he turned up in Milwaukee, where he relieved a customer of the Grain Exchange Trust of some eleven thousand dollars. This bank had installed an anti-smoke device, the invention of a local chemist. The idea was to neutralise the formula of the smoke bombs. Push-buttons in the tellers' cages were to release, in various parts of the banking premises, jets of this chemical substance, whatever it was, that would instantly clear the air. At least, that was the theory. They never had a chance to try it out, for the bandit did not pull off his stunt in the banking-house. Either he knew of the device (he had an uncanny foreknowledge of the measures that were prepared against him) or else he was simply intimidated by the array of guards outside and inside the bank. He followed the messengers of the Creagan Packing Company back to their own offices in the outskirts, and as they ascended a narrow stairway he tossed a bomb before them, and as they reeled back he got their money-bag. Plunging after him down the stairs, the messengers sprawled over a stick that he had placed for the purpose. The momentary delay was all that he required for his get-away.
This was January 22. On the twenty-sixth his return to New York was revealed by an extraordinary accident. At ten-forty in the morning the crowded platforms of the Brooklyn Bridge subway station were suddenly enveloped in dense clouds of smoke. An ugly panic resulted. Many were pushed off the platforms, and a hideous loss of life was averted only by the quickness of a towerman in stopping all trains. When the confusion subsided it was found that no one had been mortally injured—no one had been robbed either. The inference was that somebody had accidentally knocked against the smoke bandit, setting off one or more bombs in his pockets. The fumes, as I said before, while extremely unpleasant, were not poisonous.
Odd as it may seem, no additional description of the bandit was obtained on this occasion. Even those who were closest to the source of the smoke were unable to state from exactly whose pocket it had issued. But I have noticed myself that people in a subway crowd never look at each other.
The hour was significant: ten-forty. It was pointed out that all the robberies in New York had taken place almost precisely at eleven. Everybody speculated as to which bank he had been about to visit when his ammunition was set off. This dramatic signal of his return to New York set all the bank clerks trembling afresh. These poor fellows were sadly demoralised; the mere striking of a match in a bank was enough to cause the weaker brethren to swoon. In particular, half the paying tellers in town were on the verge of nervous prostration.
The leading banks purchased many columns of space in the newspapers to announce that they had taken advantage of the three weeks' immunity so to perfect their measures that it was impossible for the smoke bandit ever again to operate in New York City. In effect they dared him to try. But public confidence was far from being restored by the advertisements. Practically every firm in town was paying its employees by cheque. Employees in turn insisted on paying their little bills by cheque, and an acute shortage of currency resulted. The clearing house was snowed under, and a flood of bad cheques appeared. The small storekeepers were the principal sufferers. The situation was really serious.
The Industrial Trust Company, always one of the most enterprising banks in town, had notified its customers privately that it was prepared to deliver whatever currency they required at its own risk. On the strength of it they had obtained hundreds of new accounts. Their plan (which came out later) had the merit of simplicity. They hired the back premises of one of their customers, a sporting-goods dealer on Nassau Street, and installed several trusted clerks there. Currency was delivered at the sporting-goods store in wooden boxes marked ammunition. The customers fetched or mailed their cheques to the bank, which telephoned the amounts required to the sporting-goods store. The money was tied up in plain manila packages tied with string, and carried around in one of the sporting-goods dealer's delivery cars. Three men accompanied it: one to drive, one to carry in the packages, one always concealed within the body of the car.
The plan worked so well, the Industrial Trust was preparing to establish other sub rosa branches about town, when the smoke bandit suddenly called their bluff. This was on February 4, another Friday! The bank messenger, disguised in a faded uniform as a delivery man, was passing through the corridor of the Manhattan Surety Building with two of the manila packages that were to be delivered there. A bomb was dropped, and the usual weird scene followed. This messenger was a plucky youngster who hung on to his packages, and let out a roar for assistance before the smoke choked him. A blow on the head from some blunt instrument stretched him, and the bandit made off with the packages. Their contents totalled about twenty thousand.
A very painful impression was created by this affair. The secret had been so well guarded it was felt that one of the clerks of the Industrial Trust must be in league with the bandit. It was even suggested that he had his agents in every big bank in town. A fresh panic swept over the community, and business was still further disorganised. It was whispered about that the big cash stores were in serious difficulties as a result o
f the shortage of currency. Heavens! what would happen if the department stores closed their doors, everybody asked. The thousands of buyers from out of town put off their usual visits; the attendance at the theatres fell away; nobody had any money in his pockets. The worst thing of all was averted only because the people were afraid to go to the banks to draw their money. There were no runs.
IV
Three days after the Industrial Trust affair, Mme. Storey received a mysterious call on the telephone. A gentleman with an agreeable voice, who declined to give his name, asked my mistress if she would do him the honour of lunching with him at the Arts Club that day in order to discuss a professional matter. As evidence of his good faith he suggested she bring her attorney or any other person in whom she had confidence. Now the Arts Club is next door but one to our office. Mme. Storey is a member, and she frequently lunches there. In her large style she told the unknown caller that she was lunching at the Arts Club anyway; that she would bring her secretary; that he might address her; and that, if she liked his looks she would accept his invitation.
"Not that I feel in need of protection in the Arts Club," she added to me with a delightful grin, "but if there is any free lunch going, you may as well be in on it, Bella."
In the main hall of the club an extremely elegant young fellow accosted us. Mme. Storey responded somewhat dryly, for his was not the voice which had spoken over the telephone; moreover he was dearly not an important person, but merely ornamental.
He explained that he was private secretary to Mr. Silas B. Fulton, President of the Manhattan National Bank; also President of the New York Banking Association. Mr. Fulton had with him Mr. Henry Balstock, one of the vice-presidents of the Industrial Trust and secretary of the Association. They wished to talk with Mme. Storey upon a matter the nature of which she could no doubt guess. They regarded secrecy as highly essential. Both gentlemen were so well known, Madame Storey also, that for them to be seen publicly lunching together would certainly start a story. They had therefore ventured to engage a private room for lunch; and if Madame Storey would so far oblige them, etc., etc.
My mistress smiled a little at the elaborate explanation, and the suggestion that she might be afraid to venture into a private room—at the ultra-respectable Arts Club! She graciously signified her acceptance, and the young man led us upstairs.
We found two middle-aged gentlemen waiting for us in a small room. Mr. Fulton was a stout, rosy, benevolent gentleman—that is to say, he would have looked benevolent twenty years ago, when such was the fashion for prosperous bankers; now he was trying to hide it. Mr. Balstock was a tiny man, immaculately turned out. He had a powerful glance that made up for his lack of inches, and a crisp style of utterance. Although not nearly so well known in the world of affairs, he was clearly the leading spirit and he did most of the talking.
Unlike other prominent bankers of whom I have heard, these two seemed not to be accustomed to entertaining a pretty woman at lunch. Or it may be that it was the presence of the other that made each one uneasy. At any rate both cleared their throats a good deal and stalled. It was up to Mme. Storey and the secretary to keep the conversational ball rolling. The five of us sat down to a delicious and expensive luncheon. That helped a good deal.
Mr. Balstock finally said: "Madame Storey, there is no need to enter into the details of the dangerous situation in which we find ourselves. You read the newspapers. We wish to obtain your help in running down this fiend who is ruining us all."
"It is hardly my line," objected Mme. Storey. "I am a psychologist. This is no problem of that sort to be solved. This thief reveals his psychology in his operations. It is simply a case of find your man. Work for a detective."
"Well, aren't you...?" Mr. Fulton began.
The astute Mr. Balstock silenced him with a glance. "I don't see the force of your argument," he went on smoothly. "We already have the best detective talent obtainable. We wish to bring skilled psychology to their aid."
"I assume that you refer to Mr. Barron," said Mme. Storey rather bluntly. "I should not care to supplant him."
"Oh, there's no question of that, no question of that," said Mr. Balstock hurriedly. "Our confidence in Mr. Barron remains unshaken. He is doing all that mortal man can do. But the responsibility is ours. We must leave no stone unturned. It has occurred to us that a woman's point of view might start something new. There's probably a woman concerned in it somewhere. We'd like you to undertake a parallel and independent investigation according to your own ideas."
Mme. Storey still shook her head.
"I need hardly say," Mr. Balstock insinuated, "that in a matter of such importance you could name your own figure."
Mme. Storey wagged her hand humorously. "It doesn't appeal to me," she said, sipping her ice with evident enjoyment.
"But should we not put aside our personal preferences in a situation of such urgency?" Mr. Balstock persisted. "A matter of national urgency, I may say. Perhaps you do not fully comprehend the seriousness of the situation. I will make it clear to you. This country lives by business. The banks are the foundation of all business. When confidence in the banks is disturbed, the whole vast structure of credit trembles. A little more of this, and it may well come tumbling down about our ears. In other words, a financial panic. Picture to yourself what that means, my dear madam: a falling market, tight money, passed dividends, and all the evils that follow in their train. I tell you this fiend is aiming a blow at the very heart of your country. I am offering you an opportunity to be its saviour!"
Mme. Storey smiled slightly at the little man's board-room eloquence. She said, in her drawling way: "Somehow it's difficult to get one's feelings harrowed up over a threatened assault on the money-bags."
Mr. Balstock stared at her in a shocked way.
"But the poor, madam," put in the handsome young secretary; "think of what hard times mean to them."
"I am afraid you are not giving us the real reasons for your reluctance," said Mr. Balstock a little severely.
"Perhaps not," said Mme. Storey carelessly. "Mr. Barron is an old friend and I do not wish to put myself in a position where I would seem to be competing with him."
"Oh, if that's it," cried Mr. Balstock, much relieved, "let me hasten to put your mind at ease. Mr. Barron would have no objection whatever to your coming into the case. He told me so himself."
"Indeed!" said Mme. Storey, not a little surprised. "And might I tell him if I was engaged?"
"By all means, my dear lady! And give him any help that you are able. Or accept his help."
"And would I be supposed to put myself under his direction?" asked Mme. Storey dryly.
"Not at all! I said an independent investigation. My idea was that there would be a greater chance of results from two entirely separate lines of approach."
Mme. Storey deliberated with herself, turning a cigarette between her fingers. The three men hung anxiously on her decision. Finally she said: "Very well, I accept."
"Good!" cried Mr. Balstock. All three gentlemen were jubilant. The elder two insisted on shaking her by the hand; the young one gazed at her adoringly with his fine eyes.
"What a pity we can't have champagne here!" said Mr. Fulton.
The conversation became general, and quite merry.
"By the way," Mr. Balstock said later, "would it best serve your plans to announce that you have entered the case, or to keep the fact secret?"
"For the present, let it be kept a secret," said Mme. Storey.
"I thoroughly agree," said Mr. Balstock. "Now, how can we be of assistance to you?"
"I must get my thoughts in order first," said Mme. Storey. "At the moment only one question occurs to me. In the case of the stolen notes of high denominations, I assume that the numbers of these notes have been advertised through the usual channels."
"Assuredly, madam."
"And have none of them ever turned up in circulation?"
"Not one, madam."
When we got up to go, the
young man arrogated to himself the privilege of holding Mme. Storey's coat for her. His eyes were still speaking volumes. There was a moment when the two other men were consulting about the cheque. Mme. Storey smiled encouragingly at the youth and murmured:
"Do come to see me some time."
"When may I?" he whispered eagerly.
"Let me see...I shall be dropping in to tea at the Plaza tomorrow at five. You might join me."
"How good of you!"
V
Upon getting back to the office, Mme. Storey's first move was to telephone Barron to drop in when he could. He came on wings. I was present at their interview. He had himself under firm control, but he was not cured of his passion, as one could see from his intent and sombre glances upon my mistress's face. He literally could not drag his eyes away from her. He expressed neither surprise nor anxiety upon learning that she was in the case, but it was impossible to tell really how he was taking it.
"I stipulated that I was to tell you," said Mme. Storey.
"That was square of you," he said.
"We must come to some sort of an understanding," she said. "Are you willing to have me work with you?"
"By all means," he said quickly.
"How far?" she asked, a little dryly.
His face was perfectly unsmiling. "I'll lay before you what general information I have turned up," he said. "No need your wasting the time to go after it all over again. Beyond that, it's only fair to tell you that I have my own theory and certain evidence that tends to support it. That I'll keep to myself."
"Certainly!" said Mme. Storey good-naturedly. "Go ahead with what you can."
"To begin with, we have been furnished with four alleged descriptions of the bandit," Barron began, consulting a note-book. "First, Dave Anderson, a detective employed by the Manhattan National, calls him a man of medium size, well-built, but with his face hollowed and greyed..."
"That's been published," Mme. Storey interrupted. "Proceed."
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