Title:   The Mystery Of The Steel Disk

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Author:   Broughton Brandenburg

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PDF Version:   1.2



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The Mystery Of The Steel Disk

Broughton Brandenburg

THE telephone bell in the outer office rang, and opening the switch at the  side of my desk I took up my

stand'phone and answered: 

"Hello. Well?" 

"Hello, is this Duncan Betts?" inquired a man's voice with a slight  foreign accent. 

"Yes." 

"I want to speak wit' Mister Lawrence Duncan." 

"This is Mr. Duncan. What can I do for you?" 

"T'is is Mr. Martin Anderson of 196 Gramercy Park. Yust now while I was  eating my breakwast in my rooms

over my real estate office, I was called  to my telephone by Mr. George Rhodes, who is in t'e Municipal Bank.

He is  a young man who wants to marry my daughter Marie, and he called me up to  tell me t'at when he

opened t'e wault a little while ago he found t'at  since he closed it t'e night before a package wit' more t'an a

million  dollars in bonds was gone. He is responsible for t'e wault and no one else,  and he called me up to tell

me, and say he did not take it, to tell Marie  t'at, but he wit'drew his request for her hand. Now, t'en, Mr.

Duncan, I  don't care one tam about him, but my daughter must not be made to come in  in t'is case wit' t'e

noospapers or t'e gossip, so I want you to go over  to t'e bank and see him and help him out in every way,

yust so he keep his  mout' shut about Marie, and if t'ey lock him up I want t'at she don't get  to see him or no

such foolishness. I send you my check for five hundred  t'is morning, and I want to know all about what you

do, at my house  tonight. Will you do it?" 

"Yes, I will go over at once," I answered. 

"T'at is all, Goodby—" 

"Thank you. Goodby. I will call this evening." 

"Goodby, Mr. Duncan." 

My first impression as I hung up the receiver was a thrill at being thus  thrust into the centre of what appeared

to be one of the biggest cases  which had transpired in years. My second was a pleasurable recognition of  the

crisp, direct, clear, and ample statement of the matter which the old  real estate man had made. It had all been

done in two minutes or less. It  is not often that we lawyers encounter people outside of our own and the

newspaper profession who can state anything so concisely and not lose any  value in it. 

At this moment, Betts, my partner, and the stenographer came in, so I  hurried over to the Municipal Bank. 

Business was just beginning for the day. I could see at a glance over the  men behind the brass screens that

they as a whole did not as yet know  that the bank was a loser by a million. The cashier's door was open, and

he was just smoothing out his morning mail in the calmest of manners. No  one looked up as I entered; that

showed normal state of mind among the  clerks. 

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I asked for Mr. George Rhodes, and a tall, broad shouldered, cleancut  young chap came forward from a

desk in the extreme rear of the place and  took my card through the bars. Even with the slight view I could get

of  his face, I perceived he was pale and haggard. He opened a side door and  admitted me to the anteroom of

the directors' chamber. I told him I had  come in his interest, retained by Mr. Anderson, and stated my client's

reason for sending me, namely, to prevent his daughter's name from being  mentioned in the matter at any or

all times, and asked the young man what  I could do for him. 

He had been sitting running his thumbnail precisely along the edge of my  card, and now he looked up and

said, in a dull, expressionless way: 

"Really, Mr. Duncan, I have thought the matter over carefully, and there  is nothing to do." 

He seemed so numbed and hopeless that I was amused. 

"You surprise me, Mr. Rhodes," I said. "Surely a thing like this can not  in itself shut off any action. In the

first place, give me the facts. We  will see what can be done." 

"The facts are few enough," he answered, simply. "The bonds were in a  package four inches thick. They were

'90 government fours, clipped and  worth one million two hundred thousand when entered the first of the

month, three weeks ago. They were marked with a typewritten slip on the  end and lay in the securities

compartment of the vault. Last night, with  the assistant cashier and the receiving teller, as is our rule here, I

checked the cash and books going in. We together do not check securities  in that compartment except once

every month, but I go over them every  night and morning in the way that I was instructed by the cashier; that

is, the packets are piled in alphabetical classification, and the piling  is done so that if a packet were taken out

it would make a hole which I  should see at a glance, and by reference to my list see what it was. Last  night

there was nothing missing, for the pile was perfectly even across  the top, and we closed the vault and set the

timelock. This morning the  timelock was still running when I arrived and the safe was absolutely  just as I

left it. When I opened the vault, I went over the securities as  usual, and, observing a slight depression in the

rear tier, put my hand on  it. It gave way enough to show something was missing, and I checked off  the

packets and found the '90 governments gone. I checked them over three  times, and then, when I had got over

the shock, went into the booth  outside and telephoned Mr. Anderson just what I have told you. Having  asked

him for his daughter, I felt I owed that to them and to myself. The  assistant cashier and the assistant receiving

teller were with me when I  opened the vault, and I checked out the books and cash so that they know  the safe

had not been touched overnight; now you see it is up to me to  account for those bonds. Mr. Anderson asked

me to wait and see you before  I told the cashier. The president is not down yet." 

I had been watching him covertly as he spoke, and the instant that he had  given me the case I felt the

conviction stealing over me that he had the  bonds, or had had them. The case of a smallsalaried trust

company clerk,  who put four hundred thousand dollars of his employer's money into Wall  Street in four

weeks, rose in my mind. No matter, however, whether he had  taken them or not, a fifteen or twenty years'

term stared him in the face.  Perhaps he thought that worth the gain. I supposed that, of course, he  was bonded

for one or two hundred thousand by some one of the fidelity  companies, so I did not trouble to ask him as to

that. I merely remarked,  drawing on my gloves: 

"Well, Mr. Rhodes, I would advise you to put back the bonds if you can do  it without detection, or

else—slide." 

A red flush crept up to his temples. It was either anger or guilt,  probably both, but he controlled himself and

said almost between his  teeth, rising and turning away: 


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"I wish to bid you goodmorning, Mr. Duncan. You can go back to Mr.  Anderson and tell him Marie will

receive a last note from me in an hour,  and now, if you will excuse me, I shall inform the cashier." 

Something in his manner and the remembrance of his quixotic haste in  calling up his sweetheart's father

caused a pang of remorse to shoot  through me and I put out my hand and stopped him. 

"I beg your pardon, Rhodes. I did not mean to be brutal, but the facts—" 

The tense line of his white lips relaxed into a sickly smile. 

"Yes, the facts—I know. I am not in a position to resent being reminded  of them. But, I have made up my

mind to tell the cashier." 

We left the room together, and I walked with him along the outer corridor  to the cashier's door, where the

stenographer said he had gone out, and  we found the president would not be down until one o'clock. 

"See here, Rhodes," I said with sudden determination, "I'm going to do  what I can in this matter. Is there any

reason why it will become known as  a matter of course?" 

"The first of the month, a week from tomorrow, will be the triple  checkingup time." 

"Very well, just you hold off this morning, anyhow. You will probably have  threequarters of an hour for

lunch; meet me at Haan's at 12:15." 

"All right. Goodmorning." 

After I had gone twenty yards from the bank I was sorry that I had made  the engagement. It was not in the

line of my duty to my client, Mr.  Anderson, and I was likely to become unprofitably involved with young

Rhodes. I saw, even without thought, that there were two alternatives.  Either he had taken the bonds or they

had been removed overnight from the  vault, and I believed he was telling the truth when he said the vault was

all right in the morning, for if it had not been, he would have eagerly  seized on the circumstance; and

furthermore, the fact would have been  known by the other officials and the state of peace which I had found

on  entering would not have existed. There was but one thing to think: Rhodes  had taken the bonds, or was

shielding the thief. 

I related the case to Betts when I reached the office, and he laughed  incredulously: 

"Say, Duncan," he said, "that is a bit too wild a tale for me. Twelve  hundred thousand dollars gone from a

timelocked bank vault overnight  without opening it! Gee! Why don't you consult that man Rand, Lawrence

Rand, the fellow who has been untying some of those hard knots out West?  Don't you remember the

Johnstone mirror poisoning case and the Rebstock  mines affair?" 

"Yes, I do. Is Rand his name? Where is he to be found?" 

"Jordan went up to his place one night—I think it is in Fiftyseventh  Street, in some apartment house. Here,

look him up in the telephone  book." 

I found him entered there. "Lawrence Rand, Special Agent. 32088 Plaza."  And calling him up made an

engagement for an hour later. 


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I was ushered into the receptionroom of his apartment by a darkskinned  young giant, whom I at first

thought a negro, but as I saw him in the full  light and noted his straight hair and heavy coppery features, I

was  surprised to find he was a fullblooded Indian. He was dressed in clothes  that did not seem compatible

with the rank of a servant. 

Rand entered with a brisk step, a frank smile on his keen face. As he  gripped my hand I realized that far more

physical power was in his  possession than one would think by his frame, of medium height and  slender

almost to thinness. It was afterward that I found every inch of  him was whipcord and steel. 

We sat down in the inner room and I told him the story of Rhodes and the  bonds. When I had finished he

frowned ever so slightly and said, "Is that  all?" 

I thought I had been rather explicit, so I replied with a little rigor:  "That seems to cover the case." 

"Do you know whether there is one nightwatchman or two? What is the make  of the safe? Have there ever

been any attempts at robbery of the bank?  Are all of the members of the bank staff present this morning? Has

the  president been on the right side of the market for the past year?" 

The questions came like shots from a rapidfire gun. He did not wait for  me to answer. 

"I see you do not know. We will waste no time. You are to meet young  Rhodes at lunch. I want you to invite

me, too, for I want to see him." 

We took a Sixth Avenue train to Rector Street, and at 12:15 chose our  seats in a corner compartment in

Haan's. We had been at the table a  moment when Rhodes, still very pale, entered and looked around for me.

As  I introduced him to Rand, I noticed that the latter, after looking the  bank clerk full in the eyes a second, let

his gaze play like lightning  over Rhodes's head and features, and before we sat down he even sought a  pretext

to step behind Rhodes and look at the back of his head. 

Rhodes was subjected to a severe questioning at once, and some of the  queries seemed to be anything but

relevant, and in sum were meant to make  sure that it was impossible for any one but Rhodes to take the bonds

at  any time the safe was open. After the books and cash had been checked out,  Rhodes said, a sliding steel

screen was drawn over the approach to the  vault at such times as he was not inside to get or replace papers or

securities ordered out on written slip by some one of the officers. He  was sure the bonds could not have been

given out by mistake on a slip for  other securities because the list tallied. 

"Then either you took the bonds or they were extracted from the safe after  the timelock was set, and the

timelock being all right up to the  present minute, you are facing toward Sing Sing," summarized Rand,

tilting his cigar and spilling salt into his beer. 

Rhodes looked down and swallowed hard at something in his throat, but  could not answer. 

"Who made the vault, when and where?" asked Rand. 

"Mahler, in 1890, in Cincinnati." 

"Hm, is that so—a Mahler vault, eh? Did I understand you to say the  watchman is an old Irishman named

Hanahan, has been at the bank twenty  years and has considerable property? How do you know about his

property?" 


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"When I was on accounts he always had fifteen or twenty thousand on time  deposits, and drew some large

checks or made heavy deposits when Mr.  Anderson bought or sold property for him—" 

"Whom did you say, Mr. Anderson? The real estate agent who sent Mr.  Duncan to see you?" 

"Yes, Mr. Martin Anderson. He is Hanahan's agent. They were old volunteer  firemen together in

Williamsburg shortly after they came to this  country." 

"Indeed! How do you know that?" 

"Well, one evening shortly after I met Marie, I went to call on her and  she said her father was not at home;

that he was down at our bank  chatting with Hanahan and having a smoke. Then she told me about their

having belonged to the same fire company. After the old man had taken a  dislike to me and threatened to

shoot me if I came to the house again, I  used to watch for Hanahan's check, for every time he drew, I knew he

was  expecting to see Mr. Anderson and I would go up to the house. I never  missed it." 

Rand smiled as if he enjoyed the humor in the instance. He thought a  moment and then said: 

"Well, now, if you will go back to the bank I will be over presently  accompanied by a man from the

Broadway office of Mahler's, and you will be  asked to show us the vault. Please do not indicate that you

know me." 

When Rhodes was gone, Rand turned to me quickly and said: "Mr. Duncan,  kindly go over to Mr. Robert

Steele in Hargan's office in Wall Street and  tell him I sent you. Ask him whether any government fours of '90

have  been in evidence in the market recently. Meet me in half an hour at the  telephone booth in the Park Row

drug store." 

I hurried to the office of the great firm of Hargan Company and sent in my  card to Mr. Steele with "through

Ms. Rand" on the corner. I was ushered in  immediately. 

"Mr. Steele, I was sent here by Mr. Rand to inquire whether there have  been any '90 government fours on the

market in more than the usual  quantity recently?" 

At the question he started visibly and whirled abruptly around in his desk  chair to face me. He stared at me a

moment as if weighing his words  forthcoming. 

"Well—yes," he said slowly, dropping his eyes in a manner that was  anything but frank. "Yes, there have

been—some." He paused and looked up  at me again, took off his glasses, and, wiping them tentatively, put

them  on and looked me full in the face as if decided on his course. 

"Since Mr. Rand sent you, it must be all right, for we trust Mr. Rand  thoroughly here. Tell him that a pile of

them has been dumped into the  market in the past week, not into the market exactly, but Strauss brokers  had

them and loans on them were used to buy Overland Pacific at an  average of 87, and when it reached 161 last

Thursday, whoever was in this  pool began to take profits as nearly as we can tell and closed out the  line at an

average of 157. Of course Overland went to 136, but she  is—let me see—let me see—" he looked at the

tape—"is 206, so whoever  held these bonds must have been outside of Strauss's pool. It cost us  about three

million dollars, and if you can tell me any more about it I  will be very grateful." 

I told him there was absolutely nothing of which I knew personally. 


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Suddenly I remembered that I had not learned even the name of the  president of the Municipal Bank, and if

Rand had asked Rhodes at lunch I  had let it slip by me. Inwardly ashamed of my loose methods, compared

with Rand's thorough ones, I hastened to ask of Mr. Steele, as a  bymatter, being sure that he would know. I

was at the door ready to  go out when the matter flashed into my mind. 

"By the way, Mr. Steele," I said, "do you happen to know the president of  the Municipal Bank—" 

"J. R. Farrington Smith?" He jerked his head around sharply toward me as  he interrupted me. "Indeed I do."

Then he emitted a short, grating laugh,  and continued, looking at me sharply all the while: "How odd I should

be  thinking of him also at that moment! Do you know, Mr. Duncan, that  Strauss is or was his broker? Yet, he

was on the short end of Overland  very badly; that I know, to my sorrow." 

He dropped his voice to a confidenceinviting tone, and said as he leaned  forward, motioning me to a chair

once more: 

"Come now, Mr. Duncan, why should we dissemble? You are evidently very  well informed in this matter.

Did Smith flop and put up those bonds to go  long on Overland? He made a pretty penny if he did. Honestly,

is that the  way he played fast and loose with us?" 

I remained standing and put on my hat to further signify that I was about  to go. 

"Mr. Steele, to tell the truth, I did not know until a moment ago that J.  R. Farrington Smith is president of the

Municipal Bank. You have just  informed me." 

He became very stiff in his manner, and turned to his papers as if already  thinking of them, and said quietly: 

"Oh, then we are talking to no purpose. Good morning, Mr. Duncan." 

By a short cut and a brisk walk up Nassau Street I reached the Park Row  drug store on the minute of the half

hour. A man was in the telephone  booth talking, and just outside the halfopen door was Rand, directing  the

queries that the man was making. The stranger was evidently the man  from Mahler's. As I approached Rand

motioned me to silence. 

"Well, my books show the number is D186N," the safe man was saying; "we  have no record of complaints or

repairs back to '94. Have you any before  that?—All right, I'll hold the wire.—Hello, yes. You have none at

all.  Now, what is the pattern of the timelock?—Neilson patent, yes.—Well,  who superintended the Secret

Construction Room when this one was  made?—The old man himself, eh?—Where is Neilson now?—How

long has  he been dead?—Well, was his brotherinlaw working with him in  1890?—Wait a moment—" 

He kept the receiver to his ear and turned to Rand. 

"Is there anything else you wish me to ask, Mr. Rand?" 

"Inquire if there has ever been any trouble with any D class vaults. That  will be all." 

The safe man repeated the question into the 'phone; received the answer,  hung up the receiver, turned around

and said: 

"None but an attempt to blow one open in the Produce Exchange in  Springfield. It failed. He says the man

who controlled the secret  measurements on that set of vaults was the patentee of the timelock and  he is

dead. The measurements are sealed and filed. The patents went to  his brotherinlaw, who worked with him,


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who sold them outright to the  company for a song." 

"What was his name?" asked Rand, with disappointment in his voice and  manner. 

"They have no record and do not remember. He was just a drunken  thickheaded Swede." 

When Rand was paying the telephone toll the clerk figured on the rate to  Cincinnati, so I knew they had been

talking to the Mahler offices at the  factory. I told Rand just what had happened in Steele's office, and he

smiled slightly and said: 

"Well, well, the lost bonds or others have been used as collateral for a  week past, eh, and Farrington Smith

was on the wrong side of the markets.  I do not think Rhodes will 'do any time' if he is clever. I have learned

that he was a favorite employee of Smith's. Let us go over to the  Municipal." 

At the bank, the man from Mahler's spoke a moment to the cashier and  received his permission to show the

vault to "two prospective customers,"  and a boy was sent to tell Rhodes that the visitors had been accorded

the  courtesy. 

As we passed the president's inner office door, I saw Smith at his desk  and noticed how pale and careworn he

appeared. I saw that Rand observed  it also. 

Rhodes admitted us to the enclosure, and, according to Rand's previous  instructions, gave us no sign of

recognition. Rand and the man from  Mahler's examined the interior of the electrically lighted vault. The  safe

man tapped the floor all around with the stick he carried,  sounding for concealed tunneling, but the inspection

was unfruitful.  The place was in perfect order, and the lock responded repeatedly to  the safe man's skilled

touch in a way that showed it was in excellent  condition. Rand had been standing still, looking carefully at

everything within range of his keen eyes, stroking his silvertouched  hair lightly with one hand in a way I

have observed many times since. 

Suddenly he pulled out his watch, looked at the dial of the timelock,  then at his watch, then at the bank

clock, an electrically regulated  affair hung on the wall. The Clock read 2 P. M. to the second. 

"I beg pardon," said Rand to Rhodes. "What time is it by your watch?" 

Rhodes took out his timepiece, and said: "I have two o'clock flat." 

I now noticed that the dial of the timelock stood 1.58:30. 

"When did you notice that the clock of the timelock was slow?" 

"It is slow, isn't it? Why, I had forgot that. It was last Monday morning,  a week ago. I remember I was a little

late," replied Rhodes. 

"Has any one swept in here since?" 

Rand asked this with his eyes fixed on a dark corner at the heel of the  right door. 

"No, not in the vault." 

Rand stooped and put his hand into the corner. For a moment I thought he  was picking up something, but he

straightened up and brushed his fingers  one against the other as if ridding them of dust, so I knew his hands


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were empty. 

In a moment he signified he was through and we left the place, and at the  corner parted with the man from

Mahler's. We walked on toward my office. 

"What do you make of that?" said Rand suddenly, and I saw that he was  holding something toward me

between his thumb and forefinger, I was sure  he had put neither hand in his pockets since we had left the

bank. 

The small, bright object was merely a plain, smoothworn bit of steel,  thinner than a penny, and not as broad,

with a small round hole in the  centre. Just a tiny disk of steel. 

"Did you pick that up in the vault?" I asked. 

"Yes, out of that dark corner by the door." 

"Why, how is that? I saw your hands as you rose and they were empty." 

"Oh, no, you were mistaken, just as that man from Mahler's was. I merely  palmed the disk, that is all, so he

could not see it. There is no reason  why he should be on the inside of this case. He thinks too much of his

own cleverness as it is." 

"Well, what is this thing?" I said, slightly irritated at having been so  easily tricked. 

"I wish I could answer that question as easily as you ask it," replied  Rand, and relapsed into silence. 

As we entered the building in which I had my office, there emerged from an  elevator car that had just

descended a girl, whose appearance caught my  attention. She was attired in a dark street suit that set her

small, trim  figure to advantage, but by contrast emphasized the pallor of her face.  Her hair was of that

abundant flaxen quality so often seen in Germans and  Scandinavians, and her eyes were large and dark blue.

They were very  troubled and it was plain she had been crying. There was something  bravely piteous in every

line of her face. She paused a moment as if half  expecting some one and hurried out as we entered the next

upbound car. 

When I went into the office, Betts came in with a slip of paper in his  hand. After I had introduced him to

Rand, he said: 

"Duncan, for shame not to be in when nice young ladies call on you. The  pretty daughter of your old real

estate client, Anderson, was just here.  She has received a letter from the young fellow who took those bonds

in  which he says he wishes her to forget him. She refuses to believe he is  guilty, and has had a scene with her

father, who must have told her that  he has retained you, for she came down here demanding that you take her

to  see the young chap, wherever he is locked up. Has he been arrested yet?" 

"No," I said, "he is over in the bank." 

"I think he will be there for some time yet," observed Rand, looking out  the window. 

"Well, she will be back in half an hour," said Betts, laying down the  strip of paper on my desk. "She did not

have a card and wrote her name.  Excuse me, Mr. Rand, I am not through with my correspondence yet, and it

will soon be three o'clock." 


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As Betts went out Rand rose and looked at the strip with the name written  in a tall, delicate hand, "Miss

Marie Neilson Anderson." 

In a short time Miss Anderson came into the outer office and I brought her  in and closed the door. With

trembling lips and tears constantly ready to  fall, she repeated what she had already told Betts and demanded

that I  arrange an interview with Rhodes at once. 

I reassured her to the best of my ability. Rand sat quiet and said nothing.  I thought he might at least have

repeated to her what he had just said to  Betts, though I could not exactly make out what were his grounds for

the  statement. Instead, just before she was leaving, much comforted and calmer,  he said: 

"Excuse me, Miss Anderson, when did you last see Mr. Rhodes?" 

"Oh, I have had a letter from him nearly every day, but I have not talked  with him since Sunday night a week

ago, when he came to see me at the  house." 

"How long have you known him?" 

"Nearly two years." 

"How did you meet him?" 

"Why, he knew papa at the bank, and one day when papa was ill he sent for  George to come up to the house

to get some papers about his accounts and  papa introduced us. When we were first engaged, he did not seem

to dislike  George, and often sat talking with him about matters in the bank and  other things." 

"By the way, how old are you, Miss Anderson?" 

She did not seem to mind the blunt question and replied quickly: 

"I am twentyone." 

"Were you born in this country?" 

"Yes, I was born in New York." 

"Thank you, kindly; that is all," said Rand, and was promptly so deep in  thought that he barely rose and

bowed as she left a few minutes later. He  kept his feet and put on his hat as if he, too, were going. 

"I believe you told me that you were to go to Anderson's house tonight  and report, did you not?" he asked. 

"Yes, I am sorry that I can not make a better showing both for my client  and for Rhodes." 

"I suppose you mean that you hoped a man of my reputation would have  offered better support to you in

yours," he observed with a quizzical  smile that nettled me as he walked over to the door. 

"I should like to go with you, Mr. Duncan," he continued. "I will meet you  at the northwest corner of

Gramercy Park at eight o'clock. Will you be so  kind as to bring young Rhodes with you? 'Phone him at the

bank, now, and  you might come prepared for anything in the way of a fight for—we will  close up the case

tonight." 


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He shut the door and went out. I was wild to call him back and get an  explanation, but pride restrained me. 

That evening Rhodes met me by appointment at the Fifth Avenue Hotel and we  walked over to the corner

Rand had named. We had been standing there a  moment when a carriage drove up, stopped, and Rand

alighted, followed by  J. R. Farrington Smith and the brawny Indian.

I could see by the street light that Smith was very white, and the Indian  kept just at his elbow and a little

behind him as they advanced to meet  us. Rand presented me to Smith, who bowed coldly. If Smith and

Rhodes  exchanged salutations I did not notice it. Rand said to me as we walked  along to the house after he

had told the cabman to wait for him: 

"Will you kindly ask Mr. Anderson to see Mr. Duncan and some gentlemen?" 

I was angry with him for a number of small things which had occurred  during the day, but more than ever

now for bringing Smith into the case,  and at Anderson's house, a proceeding which would be sure to involve

Anderson and his daughter in the expose' that must occur in so short a  time. 

A little maid admitted us at a door beside Anderson's real estate office,  and passed back along a narrow hall

and up to a wellfurnished apartment  immediately over the offices. The maid vanished through portieres, and

I  judged by the sounds that she found Anderson in the third room to the  rear. I could hear him clearing his

throat as he came. 

As he stepped through the portieres, I saw he was a man of fifty, of good  appearance, short and heavy, with

large hands and a massive jaw. His eyes  were very small and nearly hidden by the overfolding wrinkles about

them. 

"Goodevening, gentlemen," he said cheerily, looking about in a pleasant  though puzzled way. I rose and

went forward, saying: 

"I am Mr. Duncan, Mr. Anderson. I believe you know Mr. Smith and Mr.  Rhodes. This is Mr. Lawrence

Rand, with whom I have consulted in this  matter." 

The Indian, whom I scarcely knew how to consider, whether companion of  Rand's or his servant, had stepped

back into the shadow by the portieres,  and I do not think Anderson saw him, so I made no reference to him

whatever. I was very busy thinking just what to say and how to say it,  for Rand's bringing Smith with him

showed Smith was informed in part or  wholly, and was so unexpected that I had had no chance to ask him

aside  just what the situation was. He left me in no uncertainty. He gracefully  superseded me in the initiative

by drawing back a chair at a small table  in the centre of the room, in the full glow of the shaded light, and

saying: 

"Would you mind sitting here, please, Mr. Anderson? I shall want you to  write something in a moment and it

will be more convenient for you." 

Anderson sat down, as requested, and turned his face toward Rand as if he  knew where the power lay. I could

see the arteries in his neck throbbing.  I noticed that Rhodes was very pale, and the bank president was

laboring  under great excitement. 

"Now, to be brief, gentlemen, we are about to adjust this matter of the  disappearance of twelve hundred

thousand dollars' worth of bonds from the  vault of the Municipal Bank." 


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Rand spoke in a soft even voice. I think I was the only man who moved a  muscle. I could see that at least

Anderson's blood did not quicken any.  His eyes may have turned toward Rhodes. I could not tell. Rand went

on: 

"Before I say anything further, I wish to remind the interested parties  that I have brought an officer with me

and any violence would be  inadvisable. 

"Mr. Anderson, you will kindly turn over to Mr. Smith that packet of '90  government fours. Mr. Smith will

give you a receipt in full. You will also  give Mr. Smith your order on Strauss Company for four hundred

thousand  dollars, which is approximately what Mr. Smith lost when caught short on  Overland Pacific ten

days ago, and also your order to Mr. George Rhodes  for the remainder of your profits when you went long on

Overland Pacific  this last week by using the Municipal Bank as an involuntary partner. You  will also give

your consent to his marriage with your daughter. Mr.  Duncan here will arrange the matter of fees and that

will close the  incident. If you do not, Mr. Smith will prosecute you and I will furnish  the evidence. If Mr.

Smith does not perform his share I will, in behalf  of Mr. Rhodes, inform the bank directors of his hand in

Overland. Kindly  do as I have requested, Mr. Anderson."

The old fellow never changed color one whit, nor did the throbbing of the  arteries in his neck increase. They

diminished, if anything. A bitter  sneer came on his face, and as he spoke he dropped into very broken

English. 

"Vot iss diss nonsense, Meester, votaferyour nemiss? Vot a ni'ice  liddle scheme bote Ah don't ma'eke no

mohney baycoss Ah aindt got dey  bontss—"

Rand held up a forefinger and the old man stopped. He was now breathing  hard and was flushed. Rand drew

from his vest pocket and laid on the table  before Anderson the little steel disk.

Before Rand could speak, the portieres parted, and in the opening stood  Marie Anderson, very white and

drawn up to her full height. In one hand  she extended the packet with the typewritten slip still on the end. 

"Father," she said slowly, in a low, tense voice, "here are the bonds. By  accident I just found them in a jar on

the sideboard." 

With surprising quickness Anderson drew out a drawer in the table at which  he sat, snatched up a revolver,

leaped to the doorway, thrusting his  daughter aside, but as he turned and fired pointblank at Rand, who had

vaulted the table to reach him, the Indian knocked up the muzzle of the  revolver from behind. The bullet

struck the ceiling and the next instant  Anderson was on the floor, helpless in the bearlike clasp of the big red

man. 

The girl had reeled as if about to faint. Rhodes had sprung to her  assistance, but she recovered herself and

seemed to be anxious to get  away from her father, as if from a reptile. Rhodes led her to the other  side of the

room. 

"Take the gun away from him and set him on the chair again, Tom," said  Rand, as if nothing had happened.

He returned to his own seat, and we too  sat down. 

In fifteen seconds the smoke floating about the ceiling was the only sign  of the crisis just passed, Rand began

again: 

"In order to give you an opportunity to recover your composure before you  begin writing, Mr. Anderson, and

to prevent your indulging in any more  foolish lies, I will tell you the evidence against you. You helped your


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brotherinlaw, Neilson, make the timelock on the vault ordered for the  Municipal Bank in 1890. You

inserted in the journal of the main standard  of the clock works a steel disk instead of a brass one, knowing

that the  steel against steel would make a friction that would wear out both in  several years' time. By means of

a second timelock accurately duplicated,  and which, if I am not mistaken, is ticking away in that black box

on the  mantel behind you, you were able to tell very nearly the very hour when  you could turn back the bolts

of the Municipal vault without let or  hindrance. When your brotherinlaw died, you sold his patents to the

company, returned to New York, and began to live for the hour when you  could help yourself to whatever

you wished. You stopped drinking and  settled down. You went into the real estate business because you

could  obtain in that manner a permanent hold on Hanahan, the watchman at the  Municipal, whom you

already knew, and you drew him into the habit of  seeing you on business regularly at the bank at night. You

have his  perfect confidence. When you found that about the time you were ready to  make your haul George

Rhodes would be the young man in charge of the  vault, you called him to the house on a pretext and made

him acquainted  with your daughter and encouraged his visits that you might get from him  in your chats, bit

by bit, knowledge of just what to put your hand on in  the short time you were in the vault, and how to conceal

the theft long  enough for you to convert the securities. This is one of the deepest and  cleverest criminal plots

of which I have ever heard. Your life for all  these years has been devoted to it. I am not surprised that you

succeeded.  Your one mistake was in giving so flimsy a pretext to Mr. Duncan for  calling him up and

retaining him. That attracted my attention to you.  What you really wanted was to be able to have constant

information from  Mr. Duncan when he should become Rhodes's counsel in the natural course  of events, as to

efforts to explain the disappearance of the bonds in  order to defend Rhodes. In that way you would always

know how close he was  on the track of the real thief, Mr. Martin Anderson. Few men pay  attorneys $500

retaining fees to persuade young men who really love their  daughters from dragging them into a scandal

which does not essentially  concern the daughters at best. You were surprised into this mistake when  Rhodes

called you up and crystallized your plan to force your choice of  counsel on him too hastily. 

"On Sunday night a week ago you went to the bank, as your duplicate  timelock showed you the steel disk

was worn so thin a jar on the door  would cause the standard to drop and the lock to release. Hanahan, as he

told me an hour ago, went across the street for some tobacco that Sunday  night, leaving you in the bank. In

ninety seconds you had opened the  vault, taken the right packet, opened the case of the timelock,  replaced

the disk with a brass one, closed the case, and closed the  vault, but—you carelessly dropped this worn disk on

the floor.

"You used the bonds as collateral to buy stock, not as a speculation, but  as an investment that would conceal

the bonds, and by chance chose  Overland Pacific at a low figure and it rose. You thought best to take  your

profits, and only your greed prevented you from returning the bonds  to Rhodes by mail. As we have seen,

you had not thought long enough or  deeply enough what you would do with your lifetime harvest after you

got  it in your hands, and suddenly you found yourself out of your depth. You  hid the bonds in a jar, just like a

foolish old woman. But I must  compliment you on your clear thinking and previous planning. I have never

known of anything so deliberate, and only a phlegmatic Scandinavian would  be capable of it, especially to

end up with such good nerves as you have  shown tonight. Mr. Smith does not wish to prosecute you and

expose his  speculations. Since Mr. Smith and Mr. Duncan doubtless have other  engagements tonight, kindly

write as I requested a few minutes ago." 

Muttering objurgations in his native tongue, Anderson wrote the two drafts,  Rhodes's being for more than one

hundred thousand, and both Rhodes and  Smith receipted. Smith took the bonds and thrust them into his

overcoat  pocket. Miss Anderson refused to remain an hour longer under her father's  roof, and left the house to

go to the home of a distant relative. I  pocketed the odd little steel dish, which lies before me as I write, with  a

slip copied from a page of Rand's notebook that lays out so plainly and  simply his quick, sure, and unerring

processes in this remarkable case,  that I can not refrain from giving it. 

(1) Anderson's retaining Duncan very strange. 


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(2) Rhodes's cranium shows moral incapacity for theft. Innocent. 

(3) Neilson's brotherinlaw could know lock construction. 

(4) Smith lost speculating. Thief won half million with bonds. 

(5) Timeclock lost 90 sec. Sunday night, week before discovery. 

(6) Disk of steel instead of brass. Meant to wear out. Is discarded part  of lock. Must be a new disk in lock.

Work of expert. Prepared since making  of lock. 

(7) Marie Neilson Anderson. 

(8) Anderson was alone in bank 3 min. Sunday night of robbery. 

Anderson guilty. Proved and confessed. Adjusted, no proceedings, by L. R. 


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