“Precisely,” he said coldly.
“Nothin’ personal,” said Harder.
The banker turned to Sid Rodney.
“Has your firm anything to report, Mr. Rodney?”
Rodney continued to sit back in his chair, his thumbs hooked into the arm holes of his vest, his cigarette hanging at a drooping angle.
“Nothin’ that I know of,” he said, smoke seeping from his lips with the words.
“Well?” asked Charles Ealy.
Captain Harder looked at the banker meaningly.
“Well?” he said.
Ruby Orman held her pencil poised over her paper.
“The Clarion readers will be so much interested in your answer, Mr. Soloman.”
The banker’s mouth tightened.
“The answer,” he said, still speaking in the same husky voice, “is no!”
The reporters scribbled.
Bob Sands, secretary of the missing man, got to his feet. His manner was belligerent. He seemed to be controlling himself with an effort.
“You admit Mr. Dangerfield could sell enough securities within half an hour of the time he got back on the job to liquidate the entire amount!” he said accusingly.
The banker’s nod was casual.
“I believe he could.”
“And this letter is in his handwriting?”
“Yes. I would say it was.”
“And he authorizes you to do anything that needs to be done, gives you his power of attorney and all that, doesn’t he?”
“Yes.” Soloman nodded.
“Then why not trust his judgment in the matter and do what he says?”
The banker smiled, and the smile was cold, tight-lipped.
“Because the bank is under no obligations to do so. Mr. Dangerfield has a checking account of about two hundred thousand dollars. The bank would honor his check in that amount, provided our attorney could advise us that the information we have received through the press and the police would not be tantamount to knowledge that such check was obtained by duress and menace.
“But as far as loaning any such additional sum to be paid as ransom, the bank does not care to encourage kidnapings by establishing any such precedent. The demand, gentlemen, is unreasonable.”
“What,” yelled Sands, “has the bank got to say about how much kidnapers demand?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all, Mr. Sands. Mr. Rodney, I trust your firm will uncover some clue which will be of value. The bank values Mr. Dangerfield’s account very much. We are leaving no stone unturned to assist the police. But we cannot subscribe to the payment of such an unheard-of ransom.”
“A human life is at stake!” yelled Sands.
The banker paused, his hand on the door, and firmly said:
“The safety of the business world is also at stake, gentlemen. Good morning!”
Chapter II
Who Is Albert Crome?
The door slammed shut.
Captain Harder sighed.
Sid Rodney tossed away the stub of his cigarette, groped for a fresh one.
“Such is life,” mused Charles Ealy.
“The dirty pirate!” snapped Sands. “He’s made thousands off the Dangerfield account. He doesn’t care a fig what happens to Dangerfield. He’s just afraid of establishing a precedent that will inspire other criminals.”
Sid Rodney lit his fresh cigarette.
Ruby Orman’s pencil scribbled across the paper.
“Scene one of greatest consternation,” she wrote. “Men glanced at each other in an ecstasy of futility. Sands gave the impression of fighting back tears. Even strong men may weep when the life of a friend is at stake. Police promise renewed activity...”
Bob Sands reached for his hat.
“I’ll go crazy if I hang around here. Is there anything I can do?”
Captain Harder shook his head.
“We’ll have this letter gone over by the handwriting department,” he said.
Sands walked from the room.
“Good morning,” he said wearily.
Charles Ealy turned to the captain.
“Nothing new, Harry?”
“Not a thing, other than that letter,” said Captain Harder. “This is one case where we can’t get a toe-hold to work on.”
Charles Ealy nodded sympathetically.
“Anything for publication?” he asked.
“Yes,” snapped Captain Harder. “You can state that I am working on a brand-new lead, and that within the next twenty-four hours we feel certain we will have the criminals in custody. You may state that we already have a cordon of police guarding against an escape from the city, and that, momentarily, the dragnet is tightening... Oh, you folks know, say the usual thing that may put the fear of God into the kidnapers and make the public think we aren’t sitting here with arms folded.”
Charles Ealy scraped back his chair.
“Wait a minute,” said Rodney, the cigarette in his mouth wabbling in a smoky zigzag as he talked. “I may have a hunch that’s worth while. Will you give me a break on it, captain, if it’s a lead?”
The police captain nodded wearily.
“Shoot,” he said.
Rodney grinned at the two reporters.
“This stuff is off the record,” he admonished. “You two can scoop it if anything comes of it. Right now it’s on the q.t.”
The reporters nodded.
They were there, in the first place, because the two papers were “in right” with the administration. And they kept in right with the police department by printing what the police were willing they should print, and by keeping that confidential which was given to them in confidence.
Sid Rodney went to the trouble of removing his cigarette from the corner of his mouth, sure sign of earnestness.
“I’ve got a funny angle on this thing. I didn’t say anything before, because I think it’s a whole lot more grave than many people think. I have a hunch we’re doing business with a man who has a lot more sense than the average kidnapper. I have a hunch he’s dangerous. And if there was any chance of the bank coming to the front, then letting us try to recover the money afterward, I wanted to play it that way.
“But the bank’s out, so it’s everything to gain and nothing to lose. Now here’s the situation. I ran down every one I could find who might have a motive. One of the things the agency did, which the police also did, was to run down every one who might profit by the disappearance or death of P. H. Dangerfield.
“But one thing our agency did that the police didn’t do, was to try and find out whether or not any person had been trying to interest Dangerfield in a business deal and been turned down.
“We found a dozen leads and ran ’em down. It happened I was to run down a list of three or four, and the fourth person on the list was a chap named Albert Crome. Ever hear of him?”
He paused.
Captain Harder shook his head.
Ruby Orman looked blank. Charles Ealy puckered his brows.
“You mean the scientist that claimed he had some sort of a radium method of disrupting ether waves and forming an etheric screen?”
Rodney nodded. “That’s the chap.”
“Sort of cuckoo, isn’t he? He tried to peddle his invention to the government, but they never took any particular notice of him. Sent a man, I believe, and Crome claimed the man they sent didn’t even know elemental physics.”
Sid Rodney nodded again.
There was a rap at the door.
Captain Harder frowned, reached back a huge arm, twisted the knob, and opened the door a crack.
“I left orders...” He paused in mid-sentence as he saw the face of Bob Sands.
“Oh, come in, Sands. I left orders only five people could come in here, and then I didn’t want to be disturbed... Lord, man, what’s the matter? You look as though you’d seen a ghost!”