Guests were in the spacious living room. Most of them were of the younger set — friends of Claire Hildreth, the banker’s niece. A group of older persons — all men — was stationed near the wide door to the library. Here Tobias Hildreth was talking with men of prominence.
The discussion concerned Garaucan bonds. The afternoon had brought a new and sensational development. That had been the announcement, by Dunwood Marrick, that he had been a heavy purchaser of the South American issue. Hildreth’s guests were anxious to learn his opinions of Marrick’s statement.
Half severe, half smiling, Hildreth was brushing off his questioners. Portly, with a fat, broad face and partly-bald head, Hildreth seemed a man of conservative nature. His statements also indicated his character.
“One cannot count strongly on what Marrick says,” asserted Hildreth. “The man is an upstart. His methods of investment are radical. This may be one of his sensational measures.”
“But he was caught with the bad bonds,” insisted a guest. “He showed them to newspaper reporters. His announcement is unquestionably a correct one.”
“Let me discuss the matter later,” smiled Hildreth. “I expect another guest — one who is anxious to gain my exact opinion.”
“A banker?”
“A former banker. I refer to our new police commissioner, Wainwright Barth.”
A buzz of surprise swept through the group. This statement promised interesting developments. Tobias Hildreth turned the subject and others followed his lead. Yet an eager tenseness came upon the group.
NEAR the front of the living room, a girl was speaking to a uniformed butler. This girl was Claire Hildreth. She was an attractive blonde, well-featured and of likable appearance; but her face showed definite annoyance.
“Did you call Mr. Wilking, Lowdy?” Claire was questioning. “Again, as I told you?”
“Yes, Miss Hildreth,” replied the menial. “There was no answer.”
“You are sure you called the right number? Margate 8-2943?”
“That was the number I called, ma’am.”
“Call again in fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Another girl approached and smiled as Claire turned in her direction.
“Wally still among the missing?” questioned the second girl.
“Yes.” Claire pursed her lips and frowned. “It’s just like him — always undependable.”
“The case with most fiances.”
“I guess you are right. Ever since our engagement, Wally has been less thoughtful about appointments. Of course, his conduct is somewhat excusable.”
“Why?”
“Because Uncle Tobias does not like him. He says Wally is a spendthrift, a ne’er-do-well.”
“Is he right?”
“I am afraid so. Of course Wally is always promising to settle down; but Uncle says that promises are merely pretences. Really, I am almost ready to call quits with Wally—”
Claire broke off suddenly. A new guest had arrived. A young man, handsome but lethargic, had strolled into the living room. Perfectly attired in evening clothes, a long, ornate cigarette holder between his lips, he appeared as a typical man-about-town. It was Wally Wilking, Claire’s fiance.
“Well, Wally,” questioned Claire, as she approached her fiance. “What’s to-night’s excuse?”
“Business, my dear,” responded Wally, in an affable tone. “Sorry to be late, but I had a very important appointment. Very.”
“Business,” echoed Claire, scornfully. “I wish you had some business, Wally. Drawing money from your trust fund seems to be all you worry about. It makes Uncle very indignant.”
“Poor old Uncle Toby,” sneered Wally. “Well, he’s paid for managing trust funds. Reminds me — I want to speak to him. I’ll be back with you a little later, Claire, after I’ve broken in on that conclave there by the library door. Say — look who’s here.”
“Where?” questioned Claire.
“Coming in the door,” answered Wally. “The tall hombre with the frozen face and the one with his head stuck forward like the prow of a ship.”
“One is Lamont Cranston,” stated Claire. “He’s a millionaire globe-trotter — a very remarkable man. The other must be Wainwright Barth, the new police commissioner.”
“Jolly, eh?” laughed Wally, as he watched the two arrivals meet Tobias Hildreth. “Well, well. I’ll have to make their acquaintance. See you after a bit, Claire.”
Strolling over, Wally Wilking joined the group by the library door. He stood in the offing, applying a new cigarette to his holder and listened in to the conversation that was beginning. Minutes drifted by; all the while, Wally made no effort to speak to Tobias Hildreth.
THE head of the Founders Trust was discussing Dunwood Marrick. That appeared to be of considerable interest to Wally Wilking. Though apparently indolent, the young society man did not miss a single word.
“Some one backed the Garaucan bond swindle,” asserted Hildreth. “That some one put up a definite sum — say ten millions — and received a bond issue valued at least twice the amount. Then came the sale. Big blocks to big buyers. Double profits to the crooked backer.
“When Birafel scampered from Garauca, some began to unload. The sudden flurry of bonds started Weston on the war-path. Most of the original buyers are caught — as Marrick is caught. However, he was in very deeply — so deeply, in fact, that he could not afford to leave the bonds in the trust funds where he planted them.”
“So he took the loss himself,” put in a member of the group. “That was a commendable action.”
“Commendable!” jeered Hildreth. “He did it to save his scalp. He was afraid to have people find out that he held two millions of those bad bonds.”
“Precisely,” asserted Commissioner Barth, peering wisely through his pince-nez. “I see your point, Mr. Hildreth. There is every reason to believe that the financier who backed the crooked bond issue would have a large amount still in his possession.”
“Certainly,” assured Hildreth. “Time was too short for a complete clean-up. Our friend Marrick” — he laughed scornfully — “is noted for his wild-cat transactions. He did not care to have it rumored that he held large blocks of those bonds. People might well have supposed that he himself backed the crooked enterprise.”
“I see,” nodded a listener. “So he cleared himself of such suspicion by announcing that he had the bonds. It was a wise move, but an expensive one.”
“Marrick,” added Hildreth, emphatically, “preferred to be branded as a dupe rather than as a swindler.”
There was a brief pause. Wally Wilking sensed a tenseness as he lighted another cigarette. Several men seemed on the point of asking a question. All thought better of it. The question, however, came— voiced by the one man most fitted to ask it: Wainwright Barth.
“Tell me, Mr. Hildreth,” demanded the new commissioner, “would you class Dunwood Marrick as the type of banker who would become a dupe?”
Nods. Wise exchange of glances. Every one looked at Hildreth. The conservative banker seemed loath to reply. However, Barth was waiting for an answer.
“I should class Marrick,” said Hildreth, slowly, “as anything but a dupe. I must admit that I was amazed by his announcement that he was a heavy purchaser of Garaucan bonds.”
“The issue seemed sound,” said some one.
“Too sound for Marrick,” commented Hildreth. “Understand, gentlemen, the teeth of this swindle lay in the solid appearance of the Garaucan bonds. Conservative investors might well have been attracted by the issue. I feel sure that many reliable bankers bought reasonable amounts of Garaucan bonds.