XIX
THE CLUE IN THE CLASSIFIED COLUMN
Quinn tossed his evening paper aside with a gesture in which disgust wasmingled in equal proportion with annoyance.
"Why is it," he inquired, testily, "that some fools never learnanything?"
"Possibly that's because they're fools," I suggested. "What's thetrouble now?"
"Look at that!" And the former Secret Service operative recovered thepaper long enough to indicate a short news item near the bottom of thefirst page--an item which bore the headline, "New Fifty-DollarCounterfeit Discovered."
"Yes," I agreed, "there always are people foolish enough to change billswithout examining them any too closely. But possibly this one is verycleverly faked."
"Fools not to examine them!" echoed Quinn. "That isn't the direction inwhich the idiocy lies. The fools are the people who think they cancounterfeit Uncle Sam's currency and get away with it. Barnum must havebeen right. There's a sucker born every minute--and those that don't tryto beat the ponies or buck the stock market turn to counterfeiting for aliving. They get it, too, in Leavenworth or Atlanta or some other placethat maintains a federal penitentiary.
"They never seem to learn anything by others' experience, either. You'dthink, after the Thurene case, it would be perfectly apparent that noone could beat the counterfeiting game for long."
"The Thurene case? I don't seem to remember that. The name is unusual,but--"
"Yes, and that wasn't the only part of the affair that was out of theordinary," Quinn cut in. "Spencer Graham also contributed some work thatwas well off the beaten path--not forgetting the assistance rendered bya certain young woman."
* * * * *
Probably the most remarkable portion of the case [continued Quinn] wasthe fact that Graham didn't get in on it until Thurene had beenarrested. Nevertheless, if it hadn't been for his work in breakingthrough an ironclad alibi the government might have been left high anddry, with a trunkful of suspicions and mighty little else.
Somewhere around the latter part of August the New York branch of theSecret Service informed Washington that a remarkably clever counterfeitfifty-dollar bill had turned up in Albany--a bill in which the engravingwas practically perfect and the only thing missing from the paper wasthe silk fiber. This, however, was replaced by tiny red and blue lines,drawn in indelible ink. The finished product was so exceptionally goodthat, if it had not been for the lynxlike eyes of a paying teller--plusthe highly developed sense of touch which bank officials accumulate--thenote would have been changed without a moment's hesitation.
The man who presented it, who happened to be well known to the bankofficials, was informed that the bill was counterfeit and the matter wasreported through the usual channels. A few days later another bill,evidently from the same batch, was picked up in Syracuse, and from thattime on it rained counterfeits so hard that every teller in the statethrew a fit whenever a fifty-dollar bill came in, either for deposit orfor change.
Hardly had the flow of upstate counterfeits lessened than the billsbegan to make their appearance in and around New York, sometimes inbanks, but more often in the resorts patronized by bookmakers fromJamaica and the other near-by race tracks.
The significance of this fact didn't strike the Secret Service menassigned to the case until the horses had moved southward. The instantone of the bills was reported in Baltimore two operatives were orderedto haunt the _pari-mutuel_ booths at Pimlico, with instructions to payparticular attention to the windows where the larger wagers were laid.An expert in counterfeits also took up his position inside the cage, tosignal the men outside as soon as a phony bill was presented.
It was during the rush of the betting after the two-year-olds had goneto the post for the first race that the signal came--indicating that aman about forty-five years of age, well dressed and well groomed, hadexchanged two of the counterfeits for a one hundred-dollar ticket on thefavorite.
Hollister and Sheehan, the Secret Service men, took no chances withtheir prey. Neither did they run the risk of arresting him prematurely.Figuring that it was well within the realms of possibility that he hadreceived the bills in exchange for other money, and that he wastherefore ignorant of the fact that they were spurious, they contentedthemselves with keeping close to him during the race and the intervalwhich followed.
When the favorite won, the man they were watching cashed his bet andstowed his winnings away in a trousers pocket. Then, after a prolongedexamination of the jockeys, the past performances and the weights ofthe various horses, he made his way back to the window to place anotherbet.
Again the signal--and this time Hollister and Sheehan closed in on theirman, notifying him that he was under arrest and advising him to comealong without creating any disturbance.
"Arrest for what?" he demanded.
"Passing counterfeit money," replied Hollister, flashing his badge.Then, as the man started to protest, Sheehan counseled him to reservehis arguments until later, and the trio made their way out of theinclosure in silence.
When searched, in Baltimore, two sums of money were found upon thesuspect--one roll in his left-hand trousers pocket being made up ofgenuine currency, including that which he had received for picking thewinner of the first race, and the one in the right-hand pocket beingentirely of counterfeit fifty-dollar bills--forty-eight in number.
When questioned, the prisoner claimed that his name was Robert J.Thurene of New Haven, and added that there were plenty of people in theConnecticut city who would vouch for his respectability.
"Then why," inquired the chief of the Secret Service, who had come overfrom Washington to take charge of the case, "do you happen to have twothousand four hundred dollars in counterfeit money on you?"
At that moment Thurene dropped his bomb--or, rather, one of the manywhich rendered the case far from monotonous.
"If you'll search my room at the Belvedere," he suggested, "you'll findsome five thousand dollars more."
"What?" demanded the chief. "Do you admit that you deliberately broughtseven thousand five hundred dollars of counterfeit money here and triedto pass it?"
"I admit nothing," corrected the arrested man. "You stated that thefifty-dollar bills which you found upon me when I was searched againstmy will were false. I'll take your word for that. But if they arecounterfeit, I'm merely telling you that there are a hundred more likethem in my room at the hotel."
"Of course you're willing to state where they came from?" suggested thechief, who was beginning to sense the fact that something underlayThurene's apparent sincerity.
"Certainly. I found them."
"Old stuff," sneered one of the operatives standing near by. "Not onlyan old alibi, but one which you'll have a pretty hard time proving."
"Do you happen to have a copy of yesterday's _News_ handy?" Thureneasked.
When the paper was produced he turned rapidly to the Lost and Foundcolumn and pointed to an advertisement which appeared there:
FOUND--An envelope containing a sum of money. Owner may recover same by notifying Robert J. Thurene, Belvedere Hotel, and proving property.
"There," he continued, after reading the advertisement aloud, "that isthe notice which I inserted after finding the money which you say iscounterfeit."
"Where did you find it?"
"In the Pennsylvania station, night before last. I had just come in fromNew York, and chanced to see the envelope lying under one of the rows ofseats in the center of the waiting room. It attracted my attention, butwhen I examined it I was amazed to find that it contained one hundredand fifty fifty-dollar bills, all apparently brand new. Naturally, Ididn't care to part with the money unless I was certain that I wasgiving it up to the rightful owner, so I carried it with me to the hoteland advertised the loss at once.
"The next afternoon I went out to the track and found, when it was toolate, that the only money I had with me was that contained in theenvelope. I used a couple of the bills, won, and, being superstitious,dec
ided to continue betting with that money. That's the reason I used itthis afternoon. Come to think of it, you won't find the original fivethousand dollars in my room. Part of it is the money which I received atthe track and which I replaced in order to make up the sum I found. Butmost of the bills are there."
"You said," remarked the chief, striking another tack, "that your nameis Thurene and that you live in New Haven. What business are you in?"
"Stationery. You'll find that my rating in Bradstreet's is excellent,even though my capital may not be large. What's more"--and here theman's voice became almost aggressive--"any bank in New Haven and anymember of the Chamber of Commerce will vouch for me. I've a record often years there and some ten in Lowell, Mass., which will bear theclosest possible inspection."
And he was right, at that.
In the first place, a search of his room at the hotel brought to light alarge official envelope containing just the sum of money he hadmentioned, counterfeit bills and real ones. Secondly, a wire to NewHaven elicited the information that "Robert J. Thurene, answering todescription in inquiry received, has operated a successful stationerystore here for the past ten years. Financial standing excellent. Widecircle of friends, all of whom vouch for his character and integrity."
When this wire was forwarded to Washington, the chief having returnedto headquarters, Spencer Graham received a hurry-up call to report inthe main office. There he was informed that he was to take charge of theThurene case and see what he could find out.
"I don't have to tell you," added the chief, "that it's rather adelicate matter. Either the man is the victim of circumstances--in whichcase we'll have to release him with profound apologies and begin allover again--or he's a mighty clever crook. We can't afford to take anychances. The case as it finally stands will have to be presented incourt, and, therefore, must be proof against the acid test of shrewdlawyers for the defense, lawyers who will rely upon the newspaperadvertisement and Thurene's spotless record as indications of hisinnocence."
"That being the case, Chief, why take any chances right now? The casehasn't gotten into the papers, so why not release Thurene?"
"And keep him under constant surveillance? That wouldn't be a bad idea.The moment he started to leave the country we could nab him, andmeanwhile we would have plenty of time to look into the matter. Ofcourse, there's always the danger of suicide--but that's proof of guilt,and it would save the Service a lot of work in the long run. Good idea!We'll do it."
So it was that Robert J. Thurene of New Haven was released from custodywith the apologies of the Secret Service--who retained the counterfeitmoney, but returned the real bills--while Spencer Graham went to work onthe Baltimore end of the case, four operatives took up the job oftrailing the stationer, and Rita Clarke found that she had importantbusiness to transact in Connecticut.
Anyone who didn't know Rita would never have suspected that, back ofher brown eyes lay a fund of information upon a score ofsubjects--including stenography, the best methods of filing, costaccounting, and many other points which rendered her invaluable aroundan office. Even if they found this out, there was something else whichshe kept strictly to herself--the fact that she was engaged to acertain operative in the United States Secret Service, sometimes knownas Number Thirty-three, and sometimes as Spencer Graham.
In reply to Spencer's often-repeated requests that she set a day fortheir wedding, Miss Clarke would answer: "And lose the chance to figurein any more cases? Not so that you could notice it! As long as I'msingle you find that you can use me every now and then, but if I weremarried I'd have too many domestic cares. No, Spencer, let's wait untilwe get one more BIG case, and then--well, we'll say one month from theday it's finished."
Which was the reason that Graham and his fiancee had a double reason forwanting to bring Thurene to earth.
The first place that Graham went to in Baltimore was the Pennsylvaniastation, where he made a number of extended inquiries of certainemployees there. After that he went to the newspaper office, where heconferred with the clerk whose business it was to receive the lost andfound advertisements, finally securing a copy of the original notice inThurene's handwriting. Also some other information which he jotted downin a notebook reserved for that purpose.
Several days spent in Baltimore failed to turn up any additional leadsand Graham returned to Washington with a request for a list of thevarious places where counterfeit fifty-dollar bills had been reportedduring the past month. The record sounded like the megaphonic call of atrain leaving Grand Central Station--New York, Yonkers, Poughkeepsie,Syracuse, Troy, and points north, with a few other cities thrown in forgood measure. So Spencer informed the chief that he would make hisheadquarters in New York for the next ten days or so, wired Rita to thesame effect, and left Washington on the midnight train.
In New York he discovered only what he had already known, plus one othervery significant bit of evidence--something which would have warrantedhim in placing Thurene again under arrest had he not been waiting forword from Rita. He knew that it would take her at least a month to workup her end of the case, so Graham put in the intervening time in weavinghis net a little stronger, for he had determined that the next time theNew Haven stationer was taken into custody would be the last--that thegovernment would have a case which all the lawyers on earth couldn'tbreak.
Early in December he received a wire from Rita--a telegram whichcontained the single word, "Come"--but that was enough. He was in NewHaven that night, and, in a quiet corner of the Taft grille the girlgave him an account of what she had found.
"Getting into Thurene's store was the easiest part of the whole job,"she admitted. "It took me less than a day to spot one of the girls whowanted to get married, bribe her to leave, and then arrive bright andearly the following morning, in response to the 'stenographer wanted'advertisement."
"Thurene's had a lot of practice writing ads lately," remarked Graham,with a smile.
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing. Tell you later. What'd you find in the store?"
"Not a thing--until day before yesterday. I thought it best to moveslowly and let matters take their own course as far as possible. So Icontented myself with doing the work which had been handled by the girlwhose place I took--dictation, typing, and the rest. Then I found thatthe correspondence files were in shocking shape. I grabbed theopportunity to do a little night work by offering to bring them up todate.
"'Certainly,' said the boss, and then took good care to be on hand whenI arrived after dinner that night. The very way he hung around andwatched every movement I made convinced me that the stuff was somewhereon the premises. But where? That's what I couldn't figure out.
"Having demonstrated my ability by three hours of stiff work on thefiles, I suggested a few days later that I had a first-hand knowledge ofcost accounting and that I would be glad to help get his books in shapefor the holiday business, the old man who usually attends to this beingsick. Again Thurene assented and again he blew in, 'to explain anyentries which might prove troublesome.' I'll say this for him,though--there isn't a single incriminating entry on the books. Everypurchase is accounted for, down to the last paper of pins.
"Then, when I felt that I had wormed myself sufficiently well into hisgood graces, I hinted that I might be able to help out by supervisingthe system in the engraving department--checking up the purchases,watching the disbursements, keeping an eye on the stock and so on.Rather to my surprise, he didn't offer any objection. Said that my workhad been of so much help elsewhere that he would be glad to have mewatch the engravers' work.
"It was there that I got my first real lead--at least I hope it's alead. Back of the engraving department is a small room, locked andpadlocked, where the boss is supposed to ride his personal hobby ofamateur photography. I asked one of the men the reason for guarding adark room so carefully, and he replied that Thurene claimed to be on theverge of making a great discovery in color photography, but that theprocess took a long time and he didn't want to run the risk of
having itdisturbed. I'm to have a look at his color process to-night."
"What?" cried Graham. "He's going to show you what is in thedouble-locked room?"
"That's what he's promised to do. I haven't the least hope of seeinganything incriminating--all the evidence will probably be wellhidden--but this morning I expressed a casual interest in photographyand remarked that I understood he was working on a new color process. Idid it mainly to see how he would react. But he never batted an eyelid.'I've been making some interesting experiments recently,' he said, 'andthey ought to reach a climax to-night. If you'd care to see how theyturn out, suppose you meet me here at nine o'clock and we'll examinethem together.'"
"But Rita," Graham protested, "you don't mean to say that you're goingto put yourself entirely in this man's power?"
The girl's first answer was a laugh, and then, "What do you mean, 'putmyself in his power'?" she mocked. "You talk like the hero of amelodrama. This isn't the first time that I've been alone in the storewith him after dark. Besides, he doesn't suspect a thing and it's toogood a chance to miss. Meet me here the first thing in themorning--around eight-thirty--and I'll give you the details of Thurene'ssecret chamber, provided it contains anything interesting."
"Rita, I can't--" Graham started to argue, but the girl cut in with,"You can't stop me? No, you can't. What's more, I'll have to hurry. It'sten minutes to nine now. See you in the morning."
The next thing Graham knew she had slipped away from the table and wason her way out of the grille.
When Rita reached the Thurene establishment, promptly at nine, she foundthe proprietor waiting for her.
"On time, as usual," he laughed. "Now you'd better keep your hat andcoat on. There's no heat in the dark room and I don't want you to catchcold. The plates ought to be ready by this time. We'll go right down andtake a look at them."
Guided by the light from the lantern which the stationer held high inthe air, the girl started down the steps leading to the basement wherethe engraving department was located. She heard Thurene close the doorbehind him, but failed to hear him slip the bolt which, as theyafterward found, had been well oiled.
In fact, it was not until they had reached the center of the large room,in one corner of which was the door to the private photographiclaboratory, that she knew anything was wrong. Then it was too late.
Before she could move, Thurene leaned forward and seized her--one armabout her waist, the other over her mouth. Struggle as she might, Ritawas unable to move. Slowly, relentlessly, Thurene turned her arounduntil she faced him, and then, with a sudden movement of the arm thatencircled her waist, secured a wad of cotton waste, which he hadevidently prepared for just such an emergency. When he had crammed thisin the girl's mouth and tied her hands securely, he moved forward toopen the door to the dark room.
"Thought I was easy, didn't you?" he sneered. "Didn't think I'd seethrough your scheme to get a position here and your infernal clevernesswith the books and the accounts? Want to see something of my colorprocess, eh? Well, you'll have an opportunity to study it at yourleisure, for it'll be twelve good hours before anyone comes down here,and by that time I'll be where the rest of your crowd can't touch me."
"Come along! In with you!"
At that moment there was a crash of glass from somewhere near theceiling and something leaped into the room--something that took only twostrides to reach Thurene and back him up against the wall, with themuzzle of a very businesslike automatic pressed into the pit of hisstomach.
The whole thing happened so quickly that by the time Rita recovered herbalance and turned around she only saw the stationer with his hands wellabove his head and Spencer Graham--her Spencer--holding him up at thepoint of a gun.
"Take this," snapped the operative, producing a penknife, "and cut thatgirl's hands loose! No false moves now--or I'm likely to get nervous!"
A moment later Rita was free and Thurene had resumed his positionagainst the wall.
"Frisk him!" ordered Graham, and then, when the girl had produced amiscellaneous collection of money, keys and jewelry from the man'spockets, Spencer allowed him to drop his arms long enough to snap a pairof handcuffs in place.
"This time," announced the Secret Service man, "you won't be releasedmerely because of a fake ad. and the testimony of your friends. Prettyclever scheme, that. Inserting a 'found advertisement' to cover yourpossession of counterfeit money in case you were caught. But youoverlooked a couple of points. The station in Baltimore was thoroughlyswept just five minutes before your train arrived from New York andevery man on duty there is ready to swear that he wouldn't haveoverlooked anything as large as the envelope containing that phonymoney. Then, too, the clerk in the _News_ office received youradvertisement shortly after noon the next day--so you didn't advertiseit 'at once,' as you said you did.
"But your biggest mistake was in playing the game too often.Here"--producing a page from the classified section of a New Yorknewspaper--"is the duplicate of your Baltimore ad., inserted to coveryour tracks in case they caught you at Jamaica. I've got the original,in your handwriting, in my pocket."
"But how'd you happen to arrive here at the right moment?" exclaimedRita.
"I wasn't any too well convinced that you'd fooled our friend here,"Graham replied. "So I trailed you, and, attracted by the light fromThurene's lantern, managed to break in that window at the time youneeded me."
"There's only one thing that puzzles me," the operative continued,turning to Thurene. "What made you take up counterfeiting? Your businessrecord was clear enough before that, and, of course, being an engraver,it wasn't hard for you to find the opportunity. What was the motive?"
For a full sixty seconds the man was silent and then, from between hisclenched teeth, came two words, "Wall Street."
"I might have guessed that," replied Graham. "I'll see you safely injail first and then have a look through your room. Want to come along,Rita?"
"No, thanks, Spencer. I've had enough for one evening. Let's see. Thisis the sixth of December. Suppose we plan a certain event for the sixthof January?"
* * * * *
"And so they were married and lived happily ever after?" I added, asQuinn paused.
"And so they were married," he amended. "I can't say as to the rest ofit--though I'm inclined to believe that they were happy. Anyhow, Ritaknew when she had enough--and that's all you can really ask for in awife."