Cherry Ames Boxed Set 13-16

by Helen Wells

  Cherry almost blurted out, “How do you know this big deal is anything more than talk? You could lose every cent you have!” But she did not want to upset her patient, who was already feverish with excitement.

  “I suppose you think,” Peggy said defensively, “just because there’s been a delay in this week’s check, I ought to lose all confidence and—”

  Cherry only half listened. She supposed it was human to hope, but—If only she could convince Peggy that, as her father had told her, legitimate investment counselors did not put pressure on their clients, nor rush a decision! Nor bombard him with sensational letters! All this rush and excitement could be a technique—a smoke screen—to prevent the client from investigating the businesses in which he was urged to sink his money.

  “What would you think,” Cherry asked, gently and cautiously, “of getting more information about Pell before you entrust him with any more of your money?”

  Peggy Wilmot stopped chattering and stared at her. Cherry said patiently: “I don’t say Pell is good or bad, or right or wrong. All I say is, let’s find out a little more.”

  “How would we find out more?” Peggy demanded. Then she asserted, “But that would delay things. No, it won’t do.”

  “We could find out over the weekend when investment business isn’t transacted full time, anyway,” Cherry said. A plan was forming in her mind. Today was Friday—she’d he off duty tomorrow, free by late afternoon today—

  “How would we find out?” Peggy insisted.

  “Well, I was planning to go to Chicago and shop this weekend,” Cherry fibbed. “While I’m there, I can look up Mr. Pell, or anyone on his staff who’s there.”

  A look of amazement spread over Peggy’s face. She lay back, reflecting. “Would you really do that for me, Cherry?”

  “If you want me to. I certainly wouldn’t do it otherwise, or without your permission.”

  “Oh, I do want you to!” Peggy said. She smoothed the sheet with her still-stiff hands. “I mean, maybe I am in too much of a hurry to invest more. It never hurts to get some information, does it?” So she did have a glimmer of sense! “Oh! One more thing—how are you going to find Mr. Pell’s office? All we have for him is that post-office box number.”

  “I’ll manage,” said Cherry. She did not tell Peggy Wilmot that through the salesman’s carelessness, she had learned that Cleveland Pell was at the Hotel Carlton. Peggy might telephone or telegraph Foye, reveal this information, and Foye then could tipoff Pell. Cherry intended to surprise Pell.

  Leaving her patient, Cherry asked the head nurse what she thought of the plan. Miss Greer considered it a wise precaution, but wanted Dr. Watson’s approval. Cherry went to the senior doctor’s office and briefly outlined the plan. Dr. Dan Blake was there, too. He did not approve of Cherry’s plan to go to Chicago, but changed his mind when Dr. Watson said:

  “Why, it’s the sensible thing to do! Don’t get yourself in trouble, though, young lady! Some of these quick-money fellows are tricky.”

  “You be mighty careful,” said Dr. Dan to Cherry.

  Cherry smiled, and wondered what her parents would say. When Cherry told her mother late that afternoon, Mrs. Ames said, without encouragement, “It’s your decision. I won’t hold you back.”

  Cherry telephoned her father at his office. He agreed the plan made sense and was necessary, and he had confidence in Cherry’s ability to take care of herself.

  “Dad, do you think I’ll have any difficulty in locating this Mr. Pell?” Cherry asked. “Since he appears to be evasive—”

  “You say this man is at the Hotel Carlton?” her father answered. “He probably lives and works in the same room or suite; he’s probably operating on a shoestring. Most of these speculators can’t afford an office. My guess is that you’ll find him there all right.”

  “Then I’d better fly up this evening, so I can get started bright and early tomorrow morning with my inquiries. He may be away for the weekend, but I’ll just have to take my chances on that.”

  “Right. Good luck,” her father said. “Be careful.”

  CHAPTER VII

  The Wizard

  THE HOTEL CARLTON WAS NOT AS GRAND AS ITS NAME. Cherry looked around its worn, dingy lobby on Saturday morning, and decided that Cleveland Pell was, as her father had guessed, operating on a shoestring. The desk clerk looked at her inquiringly, but Cherry avoided his glance and went directly to the elevator. She did not wish to be announced. She did not relish walking in on a stranger at his hotel, but she did not want Pell to duck out of sight, either. Why was he secretive about his address?

  “Suite 321,” Cherry said to the elevator operator.

  “Third floor, miss. To your right.”

  “Do you know whether Mr. Pell is in?”

  “He’s in, miss. So is his secretary.”

  “Thank you.” At the third floor Cherry stepped out of the elevator.

  Cherry rang the doorbell of Suite 321 and waited. The door opened part way, and a cheaply stylish young woman looked Cherry up and down. Cherry had made it a point to be very well dressed for this visit.

  “Yes?” the young woman demanded.

  “Good morning,” Cherry said, pleasantly and confidently. “I believe Mr. Pell is expecting me, or half expecting me. I’m Miss Ames, from Hilton, a client of Mr. Foye’s. I’m here to see Mr. Pell about the investment I’m about to make.”

  “Mr. Pell is too busy to see any clients today,” the secretary said. “Sorry. You can leave your check with me. I’ll give you a receipt. Uh—I’m his secretary, Miss Black.”

  “We-ell—” Cherry pretended to accept this arrangement in order to gain entry.

  She followed the officious secretary into a small anteroom or waiting room, sketchily furnished except for industrial photographs tacked on the walls. The secretary’s desk was overflowing with incoming mail, which apparently she had just been opening. A big untidy pile of checks, made out to Cleveland Pell, caught Cherry’s attention. A lot of people were sending him their money to invest. The door into the next room was closed.

  “You want to give me your check, Miss—er—?” the secretary said. “Do you want an application form, or did Mr. Foye already give you one? If he didn’t, sign this.”

  “Miss Black, I haven’t fully decided,” Cherry said, forcing a smile. The secretary was in such an obvious hurry to get Cherry’s check and get her out of the office. “I do need to see Mr. Pell because—”

  “He isn’t in.”

  “—because I have quite a lot of cash with me, and I’m only going to be in Chicago for a few hours. I don’t like to carry all this cash around—”

  “Oh! Well, wait here and I’ll see what I can do for you.” The secretary went into the next room and closed the door behind her.

  They must be whispering, Cherry thought, and craned her neck for a look at the incoming mail. She’d never do such a thing as a rule, but Pell and his salesmen were not particularly scrupulous, and she was here to gain information, by any method she could. She saw that the flood of mail came from all over Illinois.

  Drawers slammed in the other room. The door opened and the secretary said grudgingly, “Mr. Pell will see you.”

  After her crude reception from Miss Black, she was agreeably surprised on facing Cleveland Pell. He had risen when she entered and came around from his desk, hand outstretched, to receive her.

  “How do you do, Miss Ames? It’s good of you to stop in to see me. I’m sorry my secretary rather misunderstood.”

  Pell was an imposing man, handsome in a heavyset way, extremely well dressed and well groomed. His voice and manner were those of a cultured, educated individual. He had all the assurance and ease of a highly successful man, the controlled power of a big businessman accustomed to handling substantial projects. Quite a personality, Cherry thought, as he held a chair for her, then sat down facing her at his large, littered desk with its two telephones. He smiled at her, and she felt his magnetism.

  “Am
I intruding, Mr. Pell?” Cherry asked. She suspected that this man demanded deference, and would respond to an admiring young lady. “I’m sure you’re a very busy man,” Cherry said, “from Mr. Foye’s descriptions of your many business and industrial projects—especially the Colorado dam! How wonderful to be in the thick of such productive things!”

  He looked pleased, and at the same instant gave Cherry a sharp, appraising glance. “Yes, there is vital work going on all over the United States, in many fields,” he said. “Many opportunities for private investors to share in this country’s development. Wonderful growth! Thrilling, in fact. Look at these photographs, Miss Ames—”

  The man swiveled in his desk chair to wave his hand toward several industrial photographs and charts on a bulletin board. Cherry’s quick eyes noticed one desk drawer left standing open. It was stuffed with money!—with hundred-dollar bills! Why wasn’t this money in the bank? Or invested with various companies? How many other desk and file drawers in this office were crammed with cash? He certainly was careless with the thousands of dollars he received. Cherry hastily controlled her expression as Cleveland Pell turned back to her.

  “And look at these, Miss Ames!” He rested his hand on a pile of letters and checks carelessly strewn across his desk. “People in all walks of life recognize these growth possibilities—youths, widows, businessmen, professional people—and rely on my service to invest for them.”

  Cherry smiled her nicest at him. “I understand you’re called The Wizard, Mr. Pell.”

  He looked wary, then pleased. “I can’t claim that much credit, Miss Ames. A man would have to be obtuse not to see these marvelous business opportunities. Then, too, you see, I was educated for this promotional work—” Pell named two of the leading Schools of Business Administration at eastern universities, and the London School of Economics. “Also, I’ve been fortunate in associating always with the biggest men in their fields—” and Cleveland Pell named some very great names indeed.

  To substantiate what he was saying, he handed Cherry a batch of business letters on letterhead paper, addressed to him and signed by the presidents and treasurers of leading businesses: banking, manufacturing, farming, and shipping interests. These letters were like the documents James Foye had shown her, Cherry recalled, but a great deal more impressive, just as Cleveland Pell was vastly more high-powered than his salesman. As Pell shuffled the letters about, he uncovered a certified check made out to the Pell Corporation, from Pacific Northwestern Railroad, for three hundred and forty-nine thousand dollars.

  Cherry felt stunned, if only by the sheer mass of what he was showing her. If her father and the local banker had not forewarned her, she could have been completely impressed and convinced. Pell was showing her these impressive proofs to persuade her to invest through him. So far, though, he had made no direct sales talk. Cherry went along with his leisurely approach to ask, respectfully and admiringly:

  “It would be so interesting to know, Mr. Pell, how a man like yourself gets started in investment counseling work.”

  Cleveland Pell leaned back expansively in his big chair. Cherry noticed his monogrammed tie, his conservative, expensive wristwatch, the satisfied glint in his eyes.

  “As a matter of fact, Miss Ames, I am still just getting started with the Pell Investment Plan. Tell me something. Aren’t you surprised to find me here rather than in one of Chicago’s fine office buildings?”

  “Why—why, not at all,” Cherry said politely. “This is a well-appointed office.” Without saying so, she wondered where the other four doors led—one into the hotel hall, obviously, one into a bathroom, one to a closet—and the fourth? Into a room where Pell lived, or did that door conceal a fold-up bed? Possibly that door was locked and not in use by Pell at all. Cherry added, “I’m sure it’s convenient in many ways to be located in a hotel.”

  “My dear young lady, I assure you this is a great deal less than I’m accustomed to! In my previous ventures in organizing and reorganizing companies, which I have then turned over in a highly solvent condition to others—” Pell gave her to understand that he had been a promoter, a troubleshooter, and consultant, always restless for new projects to challenge his organizing talents and his unique business vision. Out of this wide range of experience he had conceived the Pell Investment Plan. It was the pinnacle of his career, his own creation to share with others who had vision, too.

  “This office is merely a way station,” he said. “As soon as the Pell Plan gets fully under way, I’ll set up a home office and regional offices worthy of this undertaking. In the meantime, I’ve invested all my own funds, and I don’t feel I have the right to use my clients’ funds for any frills like offices. Every cent goes into investments! That’s why I make do temporarily with this place—and with Miss Black.”

  He took a silver flask from a shelf under his desk. “Miss Ames, would you like a drink?”

  Cherry shook her head, and Cleveland Pell went on talking in the same grandiose fashion. All of his statements and explanations were plausible—but were they true? His smooth, overpowering way of speaking made Cherry uneasy. It sounded rehearsed. But she could be wrong—she had never met a business promoter like Cleveland Pell before, so that she had no basis for judgment. She decided to get down to her own specific “business.”

  “Mr. Pell,” Cherry said when he paused for breath, “as you know, I’m a prospective customer. I believe Mr. Foye may have told you about me? I’m a nurse from Hilton—”

  Cleveland Pell nodded. “You agreed to let Jim Foye know how much you plan to invest.”

  This was not precisely true, but Cherry let it pass. “Yes, I do want to discuss my investment. But first I’d like to talk with you on behalf of my patient, Mrs. Margaret Wilmot. You know sick people are often great worriers, and when she didn’t receive her dividend check this week—”

  “Now you tell Mrs. Wilmot,” Pell interrupted, “that she hasn’t a thing to worry about! We have several big deals under way! American Eagle Lead, the projected Colorado dam, Commonwealth Wool are all coming along well—best of all is the marvelous new one we can’t talk about yet—” Pell gave Cherry the same spiel that James Foye had given her and Peggy at the hospital, and in his special-delivery letters. “Our money is tied up for the moment, that’s all! If you insist on proof, Miss Ames—”

  He pulled still another batch of documents out of a desk drawer. This drawer, too, held a great deal of money. Cherry could not help but see it. Pell looked annoyed. He muttered something about “The mail is flooding in—can’t keep up with it,” and clicked on the intercom. He gave the secretary an order. “Miss Black! On Monday I want you to deposit this cash in the bank.” Then Pell turned off the intercom and handed Cherry the letters, photographs, and confidential reports. He looked rather huffy by this time.

  Cherry politely declined to look at the documents. “Thank you, Mr. Pell, but I’m sure what you say is true. It isn’t at all necessary to show me these.”

  He looked mollified. “Wish Mrs. Wilmot had as much good sense as you have. Now, about your own investment—” The secretary undoubtedly had repeated to him Cherry’s statement that she had with her a large sum of money. Pell wanted it.

  “Just one word more, please, about my patient?” Cherry asked prettily. “I know it’s a bore for you, Mr. Pell, a waste of an important man’s time. But the doctors feel—well, if you could help out this client—All she wants is a—a recess in her investment plans. She could invest again later when she’s well and calm. For now, if you could return her original investment, of course deducting your commission fees and the dividends you have paid her.”

  Pell snorted. “You mean Mrs. Wilmot wants to withdraw her account? Why, that’s sheer stupidity, if you’ll forgive my saying so. To withdraw at a time of rapid growth—the very time our clients are investing further—!”

  Cherry said disarmingly, “I don’t mean to insist, Mr. Pell. I have confidence in you. And I’m sure Mrs. Wilmot really has, too—I th
ink it’s just a sick person’s mood that makes her talk, sometimes, about withdrawing her account—”

  Pell heard the unspoken implication: Miss Ames trusts you, she is in a position to smooth things over with the disgruntled Mrs. Wilmot—and besides Miss Ames has funds of her own to invest.

  Cherry watched his expression change, holding her breath. She must keep him believing that he would benefit by remaining in touch with her, and on good terms.

  The prepossessing Cleveland Pell was studying Cherry with a guarded look that made her uneasy. What was he thinking? She did not flatter herself that she was any match for this shrewd man, nor that she could easily fool him. Yet she had to try, had to make some sort of effort for her misguided patient.

  Then Pell smiled, and reached out to pat Cherry’s hand. He was all urbanity and the “great man” again.

  “Don’t you worry your pretty head about Mrs. Wilmot’s affairs,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll be able to work out something satisfactory. Would you like to talk about yourself and your own financial future now?” Pell glanced at his wristwatch, then apologized. “Excuse me, time does run out, even on a weekend, doesn’t it? Now, about yourself—”

  Cherry fenced with him. She had no intention of investing but concealed that fact. It exasperated her that Pell warily kept her from bringing the conversation back to Peggy Wilmot, and evaded her leading questions—supposedly about her own possible investment—as to getting one’s money back, or what happened next when the dividend checks stopped. Cherry pulled verbally in that direction, while Pell talked hard and fast, trying to rush her into signing and paying.

  “I’m getting nowhere fast,” Cherry thought. “This is a waste of my time. I can’t find out a thing.”

  She was trying to think of what tack to try next, when one of the telephones rang.