The Four Hundred

by Stephen Sheppard

  At that moment the cabbie entered the shop and stood wiping his nose and brow with alternate sleeves of his dirty jacket. He remained waiting for the portmanteau, as were his instructions.

  "See to it, Williams," Mr. Green commanded loudly.

  "I'm doing the change, sir!" the young man shouted back from the office. Williams had decided he would not be forced into the flurry all who knew him associated with Mr. Green.

  "Then get the others!" were the words that came out tartly, aimed straight as an arrow at Williams, who yet again wondered, on sheer instinct, why his employer was unmarried.

  "Thank you, Mr. Green," Austin said, "for everything." He watched the portmanteau being manhandled out by the cabbie and two assistants.

  "I'll be on my way."

  Williams arrived with the change.

  "Here we are, sir—all correct."

  "Prompt as usual, Mr. Williams." Austin looked at young Arthur Byron. Outside on the pavement, to anguished shouts, the portmanteau slipped from the grasp of three pairs of hands.

  "See to it, Williams," Mr. Green said.

  Reluctantly, Williams went out to help.

  "Oh!" said Austin. "I almost forgot." He smiled with great charm at Mr. Green. "I've more money on me than I like to travel with—in a vest pocket, at least. I'd like, if I may to leave it with you." Austin took out the roll of money. '

  "Certainly sir. How much is it, Mr. Warren? May I be so bold as to ask?"

  Austin casually looked at the roll.

  "Only four thousand pounds—it may be five..."

  Green was astounded. Money was money. Big money was hundreds. But thousands...!

  "Oh, sir." He hesitated. "I would be afraid to take charge of so much"

  Displeasure clouded Austin's countenance, conveying precisely what was intended.

  "Well, I really don't know what to do "

  Mr. Green was upset as he heard his Mr. Warren speak this last. What could he do? He thought hard, then spoke.

  "What about your bank, sir—surely... ?"

  Austin kept his tone casual.

  "Truth to tell, Mr. Green, I've no introductions here. Didn't think I'd be staying long in your country, and I suppose I just 'plain ain't bothered' about banks and the like." The impression struck home.

  "But so much, sir... ?" Mr. Green said.

  "I didn't expect to accumulate 'so much' whilst here in England," Austin replied.

  Mr. Green hesitated and said nothing. Austin was silent.

  "Well, sir, I'm sorry but I couldn't..." began Mr. Green eventually. His face was all anguish. He just could not take the responsibility of such a large amount.

  The shop bell rang, and Williams entered.

  "All shipshape, sir!" he said to Austin as he arrived. "Loaded and ready." He grinned with an openness he reserved for the wealthy. Manufactured charm met concocted helpfulness in a look between Austin and Williams that lasted barely a second but was enough to give "Mr. Warren" an edge on the situation. What came next was an extraordinary finesse.

  "Here," Austin said. "I am sure you will cherish it." He handed the cane, ebony and silver, to Williams, Arthur Byron.

  "I have many others," finished Austin "—of my own." He winked at the young tailor's assistant. There was magic in the moment as Williams took the cane lovingly. Words came eventually.

  "Oh, sir! I... I couldn't... I mean ... I could ... I will . . . oh!" The cane was more important immediately than words of thanks, so Williams gaped still whilst his hands, having none of the inaction of his halting gratitude, tested the weight, then twirled the cane.

  Mr. Green breathed deeply—partly with instinctive jealousy at the transfer of affection from himself to a mere assistant.

  "How very generous, Mr. Warren," he said.

  "To stave off footpads, Mr. Williams," Austin suggested.

  "Thank you, sir," Williams said, looking at the inscribed initials A.B. "But I ain't worth knockin' over." Austin laughed, Williams smiled at the success of his joke and Mr. Green was suddenly given visions of his best customer beaten to the ground in some back alley and deprived of this large sum of money still evident on the polished wood counter.

  Austin remembered that silence at the correct time says far more, influences more effectively and lures action more surely than words, no matter how well put together. Even to Williams it seemed like an eternity before Green spoke; but when he did, for Mr. Warren they were the precise words he had expected.

  "Look, sir," Mr. Green began. "If you'll permit me—I'm going to introduce you to my bank."

  Austin affected surprise and gratitude,

  "Why thank you, Mr. Green." He took up the roll of notes. "Where would that be?"

  "Why," said Mr. Green, his decision made, "if we can take your brougham, sir, it is not too long a drive from here." Mr. Green took up his own hat and indicated to Williams he should get Mr. Warren's.

  "I can return afoot," Mr. Green concluded. He looked at Austin.

  "And which is it, Mr. Green?" Austin said. "Your bank?"

  "Why, sir," said Mr. Green. "The Bank of England, sir!" It was said with pride.

  In his imagination, Austin had rehearsed every aspect of the crucial meeting. Now what remained was mere formality. Austin indicated the door.

  "Then shall we?" It was said with the relief, after weeks of waiting, that success brings to a mind tense with the prospect of possible failure. But to Mr. Green and young Arthur Byron Williams, who was oblivious of everything but ebony and silver, the three words had only the charm of a well-mannered reply and were quite obviously entirely spontaneous.

  Garraway's

  "GENTLEMEN," Austin said, "John Bull." Three glasses met in a toast across a table in the alcove of what had now become, for the three Americans, a familiar rendezvous— Garraway's.

  George sipped his champagne, then looked down at the crisp new checkbook on the table, BANK OF ENGLAND clearly marked on the cover. His smile faded. He stared thoughtfully and was stern when he spoke.

  "I think we should now take care. If we're to come out of this clean, we've got to be seen together only in a public place so we are just part of the crowd."

  Mac leaned back, exuberant still; he spread his arms.

  "Then let it be here in Garraway's." He looked out at the masses in the large dining room. "There's such a business throng around us, most times we'll be lost faces."

  "It reminds me of Delmonico's, off Broadway," said George, following Mac's gaze.

  "You're right!" said Mac with a smile, remembering their favorite haunt in New York. Austin interrupted the reminiscence: "Then we have to remain living separately?"

  George nodded. "I've yet to work it out, but come the time—as yours is the face that's been seen ..." He paused and looked hard at his brother, sobering them all with his voice. "... you have to be far away when we make our final Play."

  Mac exchanged a glance with Austin, then stared at George. It was inconceivable—were they crazy? Mac coughed, then voiced his thoughts.

  "How do you mean, George? If Austin's far away and he's the only one actually involved, it's not possible."

  George had a plan, quite obviously. Mac was confused, although Austin appeared to understand. George went on, now spelling it out for Mac: "Austin will have to take on a clerk to conduct our business."

  "Edwin Noyes," said Austin.

  Suddenly Mac began to see the plot.

  "George, you've a mind and a half!" He looked at Austin and shook his head in admiration.

  George smiled wryly and sipped more of his drink—remembering at that moment less favorable times.

  "When there's nothing before you but walls an' silence for two years, you've got nothin' else but . . ." He stopped, recalling all too vividly Wheeling Prison and the hell of time lost. He paused, then went on.

  "We must pool our funds, and Austin can then use our account at the Bank to maximum effect. We'll begin with, say, four thousand in, two thousand out; then six thousand pounds
in, five out; convert that to U.S. Bonds, then, reconverted to cash, put two thousand back in. Then repeat it. To the inquisitive eye it'll seem we're conducting quite brisk business."

  "So we're looking for an opening?" asked Mac.

  "No, establishing a reputation," replied George.

  "But it may take—" Austin was interrupted by Mac.

  "As long as it does." Mac paused. "Until we find a flaw in the system," he finished, "we wait."

  George smiled knowingly to himself, but Austin appeared to be decidedly unhappy. George looked out at the dining room, where the hubbub drowned the half whispers in which they were conducting their conversation. He nodded at Mac, who leaned back and, with his long arms, pulled closed the curtain. Only then did George speak—softly.

  "We're taking on a giant to whom details, which we don't yet know anything about, are everyday fare. If we end up with our two million, we've done all the work we'll ever need. After ..." Here he paused a moment for effect. "... we've only our whims and pleasures to satisfy. It's worth some time to pave the way—wouldn't you say?''

  Thoughts raced in Mac's mind, but Austin spoke impatiently.

  "And what do we do meantime?" he asked. "Try our skills elsewhere," replied George. "After all I've done so far! We'll lose the chance here," said Austin.

  "When a chance is offered, we'll take it," said George firmly.

  "And what if we don't. . . succeed elsewhere?" Austin's anger was growing.

  Mac smiled and said confidently, "No one can fault my work, Austin. I've a fine hand and a good eye. I was taught by masters."

  George sighed and looked hard at his brother. They had known the worst and the best; survival without bequeathed material advantages had been, to put it mildly, extremely difficult. But, thought George, here they were, as they were, and not too badly off at that. He gazed in silence as Austin calmed himself.

  "If we fail—elsewhere," said George, " 'the Old Lady' will be the last of our problems, Austin." His point made firmly, George watched his brother sink back into his seat, apologetic but stubbornly silent.

  George turned to Mac. "We are not hunting small game—there's none bigger." George let this last sink in. Mac was a willing audience. "The old lady with a heart of gold," he said grinning.

  George nodded. "We've got to get exchange-bill paper and have a whole heap of blocks made. We'll give ourselves thirty days, I'd say, to do our business and show ourselves. If we make time bills of three months—ninety days—then we've left ourselves sixty days to get lost."

  "It's a lot of work," said Mac quietly. Austin shook his head.

  "But George, the bills we make, no matter how good, are going to be declared fake when they go for clearance," he said.

  "They don't..." replied George, "... go." Mac was stunned momentarily. "What?" George grinned and continued. "That's the flaw in the system, Mac." "I don't believe it," Austin said emphatically. George leaned across the table. His eyes were hypnotic, authoritative.

  "I spent the best part of two years with a defraudin' clerk from this John Bull island who had gone 'to sea'—shipped out in the 'sixties and he was caught again in Virginia for forging." George looked steadily at his brother. "In this country, the best banks simply assume that their valued customers who present bills have already checked that they're the genuine article; why should the bank trouble a second time? This, I'm told, has always been the practice, and as here in England tradition is the rule, I'm betting things are the same now as one hundred years past—certainly as ten years ago."

  Austin would not be turned; he believed he was right and stuck to his point. For the first time in quite a while he thought his brother had overstepped the line of credibility.

  "George, in a nine-by-nine in Wheeling Prison, that may be a fact—but it sure ain't living proof!''

  George, knowing he had them both—Mac and Austin— holding on to his every word, lit up a cigar slowly.

  A time bill was a form of credit, created by the banks for the convenience of businessmen traveling abroad, for whom these bills of exchange were as good as currency. Irrevocable once endorsed by the issuing bank, they became known as acceptances, which could be traded at any bank. At the end of a prescribed period of, say, ninety days, the bills matured and were returned to the issuing house to be withdrawn from circulation.

  Between European countries, in fact throughout the world, this trade in bills was common practice and, indeed, convenient business. London merchants dealing with Paris could buy bills issued at Parisian sources and give these to French merchants as payment, thus negotiating their purchases without the need to ship large sums of gold or currency across the Channel.

  As the bills passed from person to person, endorsement marks were stamped on them by the banks through which they passed, often accumulating until they covered the back of a bill of exchange. To safeguard each transaction, every bill was supposed to be checked at the issuing house or with its representative in the city where it was presented before payment was made. Only occasionally was this formality waived. Then the account of a known customer of substance would be credited at once, the endorsement stamp thus establishing the validity of the bill. The issuing bank would not be notified until the time had run out and the bill was finally returned. So for a few valued customers, this time-saving exception was made, simultaneously creating in the system, hitherto regarded as impregnable, a fatal weakness.

  Lighting his cigar, George concentrated on every move-cutting the end, warming the tip with a lit taper, then slowly puffing against the flame. Austin remained dubious, but Mac's optimism was as aglow as George's cigar. He whistled. "But if that was..." Mac said, "... why, we could..." He stopped, not caring to finish the sentence. Austin bit his lip, then looked at George steadily.

  The older Bidwell went on. "We need only one thing," said George. "Money."

  "Money we have," answered Austin.

  George blew out smoke from his Havana. "Not enough," he replied.

  Exasperated, Mac interrupted the calm silence.

  "What exactly are you planning, George?"

  The older Bidwell smiled. "No-risk capital," he said. Mac caught Austin's eye, and the latter looked back at his brother.

  "Say it all," he said, sympathetic with Mac's mood.

  "Mac," said George, "supposing we were to be sure the bills could not be presented."

  Mac shook his head. "I can't really believe it's possible, George. Why, even in the U.S. a cable would be used to check on them. From the bank discounting back to the bank issuing." "Think..." George said, "... farther south, Mac." "Where?" asked Mac. "Brazil," said Austin. "Rio," said George. He paused and smiled. 'They have no telegraph. *'

  Austin looked at Mac and finished: "Twenty days to and twenty days from, and then by fast boat."

  Mac understood immediately. "George, you're a genius!"

  Austin in that moment was proud to be of the same blood. George sobered him.

  "We have yet to do it!"

  Austin smiled.

  "Perhaps, then, we say only 'low-risk capital.' " Enthusiasm now raged at the table, champagne aiding excitement.

  Mac began: "Then we'll need letters of credit and introduction." He paused, his mind racing. "I'll get some bill-of-exchange paper and have blocks made up that we can print from. I can copy the best bills we have—given time.

  "George, I have to make only one contact in the city to get the addresses of all the engravers I can use. The detailed work—scrolls, bank lettering and the like—I can farm out to different shops. It's always suspicious if one man does all the work I need for the same bill."

  "Maybe I can help," suggested Austin.

  "I doubt it," answered Mac. His tone of voice had a sharpness prompted only by pride in his abilities. Austin was hurt, Mac could see, and immediately he softened toward his friend.

  "I'll print the money," he said smiling; "you cash it." Mac put a hand on Austin's shoulder, and they both laughed.

  "Then I," said
George, "will book our passage for the tropics."

  Austin's face fell. "And the John Bull Bank?" he asked.

  "Austin," answered George calmly, "when we come back from South America we'll have our pockets full and our heads brimmin' over with experience—so when we hit 'the Old Lady,' we do it right with only need for the once—which is all the chance we'll get.''

  "But . . ." Austin paused. ". . . Rio's one thing, but here . . ." He looked at Mac. ". . . we-still are not sure, George. Sight payment on a bill, or a credited account... I can't believe it."

  "When we return," George said, "we have only to assure 'the Old Lady' that you are a valuable customer—and that is what will take time and our money."

  Austin remained stubborn, but after all, it was he who, for the trio, had fronted the operation—at least, to date. He drank more champagne while George and Mac watched.

  "Okay," he said, "I accept that in Rio it's not a physical possibility to have a time bill initialed and cleared from the issuing house before payment: forty days there and back— okay; but here in London a messenger has only to walk—well, sometimes it's only a hundred yards, and the bill is checked and verified—or not," he finished ominously. He looked at his brother. "It can't be a fact, George."

  "It is not..." said George firmly,"... done."

  "It's an oversight, Austin," Mac said, his desire that it should be aiding belief.

  "Hoping..." said Austin, "... ain't knowing."

  Mac looked at Austin and grinned.

  "Well, so as we know what we're coming back to, Austin, there's only one way to find out—for certain."

  George surveyed his brother a moment longer, then made his proposition.

  "Then the day before we leave, you buy a real bill, and you go to the Bank of England and try it."

  Austin swallowed at the thought.

  "But what if—if it doesn't work—if it is sent off straightaway to be checked; if the bill is cleared, initialed and sent back?"

  "Then, Austin, we and 'the Old Lady' will not do business," George said.

  "If the bill is genuine," Mac said, "there's nothing to fear."

  Austin remained only partially convinced. After all, it was he who had gone into the Bank with the tailor. It was he who had met the Assistant Manager. It was he who had felt the tradition of centuries and the might of Empire in the great rooms of the Bank.