“Very well, sir.”
“Here is the fault,” declared Kendall. “The lists are made out on Monday morning. The managers go to their local banks, and turn in change for paper currency. Then you collect; but you leave a residue on hand.”
“From five hundred to a thousand dollars in silver, depending upon the size of the house.”
“That must be stopped,” asserted Kendall. “I want collections in full. Let them change all silver into paper currency, at nine o’clock each Monday.”
“Then they will be short of change,” objected Landow.
“Not at all,” declared Kendall. “I have arranged for that. Look here, Landow.”
He led the young man to the window, and pointed to the street below. Landow observed a light armored truck drawn up in front of the building. Two men in uniform were standing beside it.
“Brought it around to give you a look,” said Kendall, with a laugh. “Had it up at the plant; we don’t need it there. That’s going out every Monday morning. It will make the circuit before the theaters open. One thousand dollars in change for each manager.
“That means they can turn in all the cash as a separate transaction. I don’t trust those fellows, Landow. Have them turn in all their receipts. We’ll take care of a new supply of change.”
“It will complicate affairs here,” said Landow.
“It will simplify them,” returned Kendall. “When you get the full receipts, the truck will come to take you up to my office in the plant. You can turn all the cash over to me. It will be checked by my accountants. Then it will go into bank deposits. Remember, Landow, I am director of the Kendall Theaters. Other men hold stock; they must be protected.”
CLAYTON LANDOW could not see the need for this new system. In a sense, it lessened his importance to the theater chain. At the same time, it was Kendall’s idea, and it relieved Landow of much responsibility.
Cash receipts — paper money from local and neighborhood banks — every cent taken in by the theaters during the week, would go through the young man’s hands to Kendall’s office. Each theater, in turn, would receive, by separate delivery, a large supply of silver to be used during the week.
While Landow was considering the arrangement, Kendall began to talk on another angle of the business.
“There is a lot of waste effort in connection with these theaters,” complained the manufacturer. “I see possibilities for more efficient efforts. Understand, Clayton” — Kendall’s tone became almost fatherly — “I am not trying to criticize you. My purpose is to give you good advice. I am a task maker; that is why I have been successful in business.”
“I understand,” returned Landow. “I feel that I have been doing well with this work, but I feel that there is always room for improvement.”
“We must begin at bed rock,” decided Kendall. “I foresee dangerous competition. We must be so thoroughly organized that if the United Theater Chain tries to compete with us, we can win. I have given you a great deal of authority, Clayton. I feel that you have done well. I merely want to make sure that we have the best possible method in every detail.”
The millionaire stood by the window, looking out. The sight of the truck, now driving away, evidently brought his mind back to the matter of collections. He swung to Clayton Landow.
“The new system goes into effect at once,” announced Kendall. “We will keep records at my office, to check with yours. Let me see the books that you have kept.”
Clayton Landow went to the office safe. He brought out packages of records. He spread them out for Kendall’s inspection. The millionaire went through a large book first.
“My own record,” explained Landow. “Notice how I have listed the receipts from each theater.”
“And these?” questioned Kendall, indicating the smaller books.
“Old books from the individual theaters,” said Landow. “I collect them, check them with my own records, and keep them in accordance with our plan. The older ones are destroyed when they have passed their period of usefulness. Notice how the totals are certified to agree with my records.”
“How long do you plan to keep this lot of old books?”
“Until a new set of reports have come in from the theaters. I keep three sets of old books, each covering a three months’ period—”
“Keep all of them from now on. They might prove useful in the future.”
“The records are transcribed into my own book—”
“I know that. Therefore, they are unnecessary. At the same time, they afford an insight into the methods of each individual manager. Hold the old books here.”
Kendall’s brusque manner ended. He began to talk on other subjects. He mentioned that he did not intend to be at home that evening until quite late.
IN his conversation, Foulkrod Kendall displayed changing moods, particularly when he discoursed with Clayton Landow.
The approaching marriage between young Landow and Kendall’s niece, Miriam, was much to the millionaire’s liking. Hiram Landow, Clayton’s father, was a powerful figure in State politics. As governor, he favored industrial development. Foulkrod Kendall knew that Clayton Landow formed a definite link between himself and the chief executive of the State.
The millionaire watched Clayton Landow put the books back into the safe. He glanced at his watch, and noted that it was nearly five o’clock. He remarked that he must return to the factory. He made his departure, and Clayton Landow, watching from the window, saw the millionaire’s limousine drive away.
Clayton Landow intended to call on Miriam Kendall that evening, but not until after eight o’clock. He decided to dine at the New Avalon Hotel. He went to his downtown apartment, changed his attire, and reached the hotel at half past six. In the dining room, he chanced to observe Harry Vincent at an obscure corner table. Landow joined The Shadow’s agent.
In his study of Harry Vincent, Clayton Landow could not agree with Foulkrod Kendall. The governor’s son was convinced that Harry had come here for a legitimate reason; that since his purpose had failed, he would return to New York without making any other negotiations. On this account, Landow was relieved when he heard Harry state that he intended to leave on the night train which left New Avalon at ten o’clock.
Dinner over, Landow offered to drive Harry to the station to make reservations. Harry accepted the offer. They reached the station at half past seven; Landow was with Harry when The Shadow’s agent bought his tickets. They drove back to the hotel. They alighted from the car, and Landow extended his hand to say good-by.
AT that moment a dull roar sounded from far above. Landow looked up to spy the lights of an airplane that was passing over New Avalon.
“Some one headed for the airport,” remarked Landow.
“Where is it located?” asked Harry.
“On the south side of the city,” informed Landow. “Taxi service is supplied. Air travel is still something of a novelty in this portion of the country, however.”
After Clayton Landow had driven away, Harry Vincent went directly into the hotel. He glanced about to make sure that Vic Marquette was not in the lobby; assured of this, he approached the desk, and told the clerk that he was checking out.
“I’m taking the ten o’clock for New York,” said Harry. “It will be all right for me to remain in the room until nine thirty?”
“Certainly, Mr. Vincent.”
In his room, Harry completed packing; then sat down at the writing desk and wrote out a brief report. He sealed it in an envelope, and placed this with a second envelope that he had prepared the night before. He set both on the desk, then called for the porter to come up for his bags.