Rexroth leapt from his chair. “Seven hundred and fifty dollars!” Rexroth shouted. “This man Cabray was a genius!” With a thump of his fist on the desk, Rexroth said, “Senzell, now here was a man who understood how to keep down overhead-something I’ve been trying to get across to you Horse Racing Journal buffoons for years!”
As the dog Winston began to snore, Rexroth plunked himself back down in his chair and resumed reading.
DES MOINES, Iowa-The eagerness of criminal mastermind John C. Cabray’s victims became evident in federal court here Monday when some of their letters were read into the record. This was over the objections of Cabray’s attorney, Charles McStone of Chicago, objections denied by presiding Judge George H. Stevens.
A letter from Moline, Ill., signed by Oscar Farley, said “am inclosing $3,000 to apply to our deal, pending. I am looking forward to a fine, and prompt, result and return.”
Another letter, this one from Eugene S. Hunter of Antigo, Wisc., said: “I have made my check on the bank here for $7,500. My father-in-law is the president of the bank, to which proceeds may be forwarded. We are looking forward to their arrival.”
Rexroth flipped through a few more reports from Richard Lloyd-Brown before he found the one he was seeking. Brow furrowed, jaw clenched, he read it through twice. Then he threw his head back and erupted in laughter, a cascade of sound that startled Deirdre, Senzell and the dozing Winston.
Reaching for the intercom on his desk, Rexroth ordered champagne. Next, he buzzed for his executive secretary. When Stoner had emerged from his office, nodded at Senzell, and taken a chair, Rexroth slid most of the clippings across the desk to him. Stoner began reading. Rexroth poured champagne for himself as Stoner perused the material. After several minutes, Stoner looked up, a puzzled look on his face.
“I grasp the situation,” Stoner said, “but only up to a point. A sharp con man puts together a dishonest scheme to clip some of the nation’s greediest burghers. You could call it the Rape of the Rotarians, except I’m not sure the Rotary Club existed back then.”
“Or, Clipping the Kiwanians,” Rexroth said with another booming laugh. “Mauling the Masons in their pocketbooks. Eviscerating the Elks. Oh, yes, W. C. Fields had it right, you can’t cheat an honest man. But as Cabray knew, that left plenty of material to work with. He knew there were suckers mooning in pools all over the country, primed and ready to make what they thought was a dishonest fortune.
“Here, let me read to you about one of these pillars of the community,” Rexroth said. He searched the folder of clippings until he found the one he wanted. “I’m quoting from Lloyd-Brown’s story,” he said.
Millionaire banker W. T. Baillew, of Jefferson City, Mo., the star witness in the case against John C. Cabray, was on the stand all day Thursday detailing the manner in which he lost the money.
Baillew acknowledged that, although he believed the race had been “fixed” and that he and his friends thought they were sure to win their bets, he considered it “legitimate” that he had bet on the outcome of the race.
Baillew said he had been approached by a man named Martin, who brought a letter of introduction from Cabray. After much discussion, it was agreed that Baillew should travel to St. Louis and make a bet for Martin on the supposedly fixed race. Baillew was to bring $30,000 of his own money to show that he was a “man of affairs.”
After Baillew had bet many thousands of dollars of Martin’s money, he grew excited, he said, and put up his own cash as well.
After he’d finished reading from the clipping, Rexroth took another gulp of champagne. As was his custom, he was drinking out of a beer stein in order to save time on replenishing. Stoner had seen the man quaff quarts of the stuff in an afternoon before beginning his cocktail hour. He must have a liver the size of a bowling ball, Stoner thought. Rexroth interrupted this reverie when he said, “But Stoner, that’s not the point of interest here. It’s not so much who Cabray conned, as it is how he conned them. Therein lies the beauty of this.”
Rexroth reached across the desk and took the file of clippings from Stoner. “You don’t have to read the rest of them,” he said, “I’ll sum this up for you. Listen, and marvel at Cabray’s chicanery.
“After getting all those boobs to send him their money,” Rexroth began, “money he and his people have convinced them will be at least tripled as the result of the race, Cabray goes to New Jersey and sets things up.
“Now, with all these prominent people on the hook, he’s got to put on some kind of race or they’ll be pursuing him all over the country. He can’t just disappear with the loot without going through his illegal motions. That would be too crude for this artiste.
“So, Cabray arranges for this match race to be held on a July afternoon at the track in New Jersey. He tells the investors that all their money is going on a horse named Bradford Baron, a horse that Cabray has shipped east from Chicago in order to take advantage of the arrogant, provincial Easterners who traditionally look down their noses at Midwest talent. This long-prevalent attitude, he tells his backers, will boost the price they get on Bradford Baron.
“Cabray tells them that he owns Bradford Baron, which is true, and assures them that the Baron will beat his rival, a horse named Rex of Racine, which could never happen.
“Rex is actually a pretty decent little stakes horse, and he figures to leave Bradford Baron in his dust. Cabray knows that, all right, but his investors don’t.
“Cabray has also gone so far as to assure all the suckers that the race is fixed. He tells them Bradford Baron is a cinch, because the connections of Rex of Racine are in on the deal. This is not true, either. Actually, Rex of Racine’s owner was an honest gent named Garson Carleton, who thought they’d been invited into an easy spot to pick up a little purse between stakes engagements. According to his later deposition, Carleton privately told friends he thought Cabray was crazy to challenge Rex of Racine. He considered Cabray to be a pigeon!”
Throwing back his head, Rexroth let loose another barrage of laughter. He drained his stein of champagne. After refilling it-still failing to offer any to Stoner or Senzell-he resumed his description of the coup.
“The day of the match race arrives. Cabray’s got everybody in that town paid off, from the DA on down. Riding Bradford Baron is an old drunken jock on his last legs named Bobby Mitchell that Cabray has resurrected for this race.
“They lift the barrier-there was no starting gate in those days-and Rex of Racine scoots into a big lead. This should be no surprise, since he’s a stakes-class horse facing a little old allowance runner.
“When Rex of Racine starts pulling farther away, Bobby Mitchell takes a nice little gymnast’s tumble off Bradford Baron near the far turn and lies on the track, still as a silver dollar. The screaming crowd suddenly goes silent. Rex of Racine zips down the stretch and crosses the finish line as the easy winner.
“Now, there are other bettors on hand besides Cabray and his boys, bettors who out of honest stupidity have wagered on Bradford Baron. They begin to voice their suspicions regarding the gentle tumble taken by Bobby Mitchell. Their voices grew louder, and according to one of the stories in the file it was ‘feared that unruly elements might burn down the grandstand in their furor over the outcome.’
“But Cabray-oh, what a blue ribbon rascal-is ahead of them here. All of a sudden a so-called doctor, medicine satchel in hand, rushes from out of the crowd onto the track. The doctor pushes aside the attendants that are peering at Bobby Mitchell, who is face down in the loam and hasn’t moved a muscle.
“The doctor, of course, is another guy Cabray has hired, a down and out New York actor named Ned Robinson. Robinson does a terrific job. He examines the still prostrate Bobby Mitchell, shakes his head sadly, gets to his feet, and loudly proclaims, ‘This man is dead. A heart attack apparently caused him to fall from his horse. Please, gentlemen, step away from the body.’