by Jack London
“Which will be my busy day,” Francis smiled wanly, as they shook hands. “I’ll be out of the house by eight.”
“And I’ll be there by eight then,” Charley Tippery responded, again wringing his hand heartily. “And in the meantime I’ll get busy. There are ideas already beginning to sprout���”
Another interview Francis had that afternoon. Arrived back at his broker’s office, Bascom told him that Regan had called up and wanted to see Francis, saying that he had some interesting information for him.
“I’ll run around right away,” Francis said, reaching for his hat, while his face lighted up with hope. “He was an old friend of father’s, and if anybody could pull me through, he could.”
“Don’t be too sure,” Bascom shook his head, and paused reluctantly a moment before making confession. ” I called him up just before you returned from Panama. I was very frank. I told him of your absence and of your perilous situation here, and oh, yes, flatly and flat out asked him if I could rely on him in case of need. And he baffled. You know anybody can baffle when asked a favor. That was all right. But I thought I sensed more��� no, I won’t dare to say enmity; but I will say that I was impressed��� how shall I say? well, that he struck me as being particularly and peculiarly cold-blooded and noncommittal.”
“Nonsense,” Francis laughed. “He was too good a friend of my father’s.”
“Ever heard of the Conmopolitan Railways Merger?” Bascom queried with significant irrelevance.
Francis nodded promptly, then said:
“But that was before my time. I merely have heard of it, that’s all. Shoot. Tell me about it. Give me the weight of your mind.”
“Too long a story, but take this one word of advice. If you see Regan, don’t put your cards on the table. Let him play first, and, if he offers, let him offer without solicitation from you. Of course, I may be all wrong, but it won’t damage you to hold up your hand and get his play first.”
At the end of another half hour, Francis was closeted with Regan, and the stress of his peril was such that he controlled his natural impulses, remembering Bascom’s instruction, and was quite fairly nonchalant about the state of his affairs. He even bluffed.
“In pretty deep, eh?” was Regan’s beginning.
“Oh, not so deep that my back-teeth are awash yet,” Francis replied airily. “I can still breathe, and it will be a long time before I begin swallowing.”
Regan did not immediately reply. Instead, pregnantly, he ran over the last few yards of the ticker tape.
“You’re dumping Tampico Pet pretty heavily, just the same.”
“And they’re snapping it up,” Francis came back, and for the first time, in a maze of wonderment, he considered the possibility of Bascom’s intuition being right. “Sure, I’ve got them swallowing.”
“Just the same, you’ll note that Tampico Pet is tumbling at the same time it’s being snapped up, which is a very curious phenomenon,” Regan urged.
“In a bear market all sorts of curious phenomena occur,” Francis bluffed with a mature show of wisdom. “And when they’ve swallowed enough of my dumpings they’ll be ripe to roll on a barrel. Somebody will pay something to get my dumpings out of their system. I fancy they’ll pay through the nose before I’m done with them.”
“But you’re all in, boy. I’ve been watching your fight, even before your return. Tampico Pet is your last.”
Francis shook his head.
“I’d scarcely say that,” he lied. “I’ve got assets my market enemies never dream of. I’m luring them on, that’s all, just luring them on. Of course, Regan, I’m telling you this in confidence. You were my father’s friend. Mine is going to be some clean up, and, if you’ll take my tip, in this short market you start buying. You’ll be sure to settle with the sellers long in the end.”
“What are your other assets?”
Francis shrugged his shoulders.
“That’s what they’re going to find out when they’re full up with my stuff.”
“It’s a bluff!” Regan admired explosively. “You’ve got the old man’s nerve, all right. But you’ve got to show me it isn’t bluff.”
Regan waited, and Francis was suddenly inspired.
“It is,” he muttered. “You’ve named it. I’m drowning ��� over my back-teeth now, and they’re the highest out of the wash. But I won’t drown if you will help me. All you’ve got to do is to remember my father and put out your hand to save his son. If you’ll back me up, we’ll make them all sick���”
And right there the Wolf of Wall Street showed his teeth. He pointed to Richard Henry Morgan’s picture.
“Why do you think I kept that hanging on the wail all these years?” he demanded.
Francis nodded as if the one accepted explanation was their tried and ancient friendship.
“Guess again,” Regan sneered grimly.
Francis shook his head in perplexity.
“So I shouldn’t ever forget him,” the Wolf went on.
“And never a waking moment have I forgotten him.
Remember the Conmopolitan Railways Merger? Well, old R.H.M. doublecrossed me in that deal. And it was some doublecross, believe me. But he was too cunning ever to let me get a come-back on him. So there his picture has hung, and here I’ve sat and waited. And now the time has come.”
“You mean?” Francis queried quietly.
“Just that,” Regan snarled. “I’v,e waited and worked for this day, and the day has come. I’ve got the whelp where I want him at any rate.” He glanced up maliciously at the picture. “And if that don’t make the old gent turn in his grave���”
Francis rose to his feet and regarded his enemy curiously. “No,” he said, as if in soliloquy, “it isn’t worth it.” “What isn’t worth what?” the other demanded with swift suspicion.
“Beating you up,” was the cool answer. “I could kill you with my hands in five minutes. You’re no Wolf. You’re just mere yellow dog, the part of you that isn’t plain skunk. They told me to expect this of you; but I didn’t believe, and I came to see. They were right. You were all that they said. Well, I must get along out of this. It smells like a den of foxes. It stinks.”
He paused with his hand on the door knob and looked back. He had not succeeded in making Regan lose his temper.
“And what are you going to do about it?” the latter jeered.
“If you’ll permit me to get my broker on your ‘phone maybe you’ll learn,” Francis replied.
“Go to it, my laddy buck,” Regan conceded, then, with a wave of suspicion, “I’ll get him for you myself.”
And, having ascertained that Bascom was really at the other end of the line, he turned the receiver over to Francis. “You were right,” the latter assured Bascom. “Regan’s all you said and worse. Go right on with your plan of campaign. We’ve got him where we want him, though the old fox won’t believe it for a moment. He thinks he’s going to strip me, clean me out.” Francis paused to think up the strongest way of carrying on his bluff, then continued. “I’ll tell you something you don’t know. He’s the one who manoauvred the raid from the beginning. So now you know who we’re going to bury.”
And, after a little more of similar talk, he hung up. “You see,” he explained, again from the door, “you were so crafty that we couldn’t make out who it was. Why hell, Regan, we were prepared to give a walloping to some unknown that had several times your strength. And now that it’s you, it’s easy. We were prepared to strain. But with you it will be a walk-over. Tomorrow, around this time, there’s going to be a funeral right Here in your office and you’re not going to be one of the mourners. You’re going to be the corpse and a not-nice looking financial corpse you’ll be when we get done with you.”
“The dead spit of E.H.M.,” the Wolf grinned. “Lord, how he could pull off a bluff!”
“It’s a pity he didn’t bury you and save me all the trouble,” was Francis’ parting shot.
“And all
the expense,” Regan flung after him. “It’s going to be pretty expensive for you, and there isn’t going to be any funeral from this place.”
“Well, tomorrow’s the day,” Francis delivered to Bascom, as they parted that evening. “This time tomorrow I’ll be a perfectly nice scalped and skinned and sun-dried and smoke-cured specimen for Regan’s private collection. But who’d have believed the old^ skunk had it in for me! I never harmed him. On the contrary, I always considered him father’s best friend. If Charley Tippery could only come through with some of the Tippery surplus coin���”
“Or if the United States would only declare a moratorium,” Bascom hoped equally hopelessly.
And Regan, at that moment, was saying to his assembled agents and rumor-factory specialists:
“Sell! Sell! Sell all you’ve got and then sell short. I see no bottom to this market!”
And Francis, on his way up town, buying the last extra, scanned the five-inch-lettered headline:
“I SEE NO BOTTOM TO THIS MARKET��� THOMAS BEGAN.”
But Francis was not at his house at eight next tmorning to meet Charley Tippery. It had been a night in which official Washington had not slept, and the night-wires had carried the news out over the land that the United States, though not at war, had declared its moratorium. Wakened out of his bed at seven by Bascom in person, who brought the news, Francis had accompanied him down town. The moratorium had given them hope, and there was much to do.
Charles Tippery, however, was not the first to arrive at the Biverside Drive palace. A few minutes before eight, Parker was very much disturbed and perturbed when Henry and Leoncia, much the worse for sunburn and travel-stain, brushed past the second butler who had opened the door.
“It’s no use you’re coming in this way,” Parker assured them. “Mr. Morgan is not at home.”
“Where’s he gone?” Henry demanded, shifting the suitcase he carried to the other hand. “We’ve got to see him pronto, and I’ll have you know that pronto means quick. And who in hell are you?”
“I am Mr. Morgan’s confidential valet,” Parker answered solemnly. “And who are you?”
“My name’s Morgan,” Henry answered shortly, looking about in quest of something, striding to the library, glancing in, and discovering the telephones. “Where’s Francis? With what number can I call him up?”
“Mr. Morgan left express instructions that nobody was to telephone him except on important business.”
“Well, my business is important. What’s the number?”
“Mr. Morgan is very busy to-day,” Parker reiterated stubbornly.
“He’s in a pretty bad way, eh?” Henry quizzed.
The valet’s face remained expressionless.
“Looks as though he was going to be cleaned out to-day, Parker’s face betrayed neither emotion nor intelligence.
“For a second time I tell you he is very busy���” he began.
“Hell’s bells!” Henry interrupted. “It’s no secret. The market’s got him where the hair is short. Everybody knows that. A lot of it was in the morning papers. Now come across, Mr. Confidential Valet. I want his number. I’ve got important business with him myself.”
But Parker remained obdurate.
“What’s his lawyer’s name? Or the name of his agent? Or of any of his representatives?”
Parker shook his head.
“If you will tell me the nature of your business with him,” the valet essayed.
Henry dropped the suitcase and made as if about to leap upon the other and shake Francis’ number out of him. But Leoncia intervened.
“Tell him,” she said.
“Tell him!” Henry shouted, accepting her suggestion. “I’ll do better than that. I’ll show him. Here, come on, you.” He strode into the library, swung the suitcase on the reading table, and began opening it. “Listen to me, Mr. Confidential Valet. Our business is the real business. We’re going to save Francis Morgan. We’re going to pull him out of the hole. We’ve got millions for him, right here inside of this thing-”
Parker, who had been looking on with cold, disapproving eyes, recoiled in alarm at the last words. Either the strange callers were lunatics, or cunning criminals. Even at that moment, while they held him here with their talk of millions, confederates might be ransacking the upper parts of the house. As for the suitcase, for all he knew it might be filled with dynamite.
“Here!”
With a quick reach Henry had caught him by the collar as he turned to flee. With his other hand, Henry lifted the cover, exposing a bushel of uncut gems. Parker showed plainly that he was overcorne, although Henry failed to guess the nature of his agitation.
“Thought I’d convince you,” Henry exulted. “Now be good dog and give me his number.”
“Be seated, sir��� and madame,” Parker murmured, with polite bows and a successful effort to control himself. “Be seated, please. I have left the private number in Mr. Morgan’s bedroom, which he gave to me this morning when I helped him dress. I shall be gone but a moment to get it. In the meantime please be seated.”
Once outside the library, Parker became a most active, clear-thinking person. Stationing the second footman at the front door, he placed the first one to watch at the library door. Several other servants he sent scouting into the upper regions on the chance of surprising possible confederates at their nefarious work. Himself he addressed, via the butler’s telephone, to the nearest police station.
“Yes, sir,” he repeated to the desk sergeant. “They are either a couple of lunatics or criminals. Send a patrol wagon at once, please, sir. Even now I do not know what horrible crimes are being committed under this roof���”
In the meantime, in response at the front door, the second footman, with visible relief, admitted Charley Tippery, clad in evening dress at that early hour, as a known and tried friend of the master. The first butler, with similar relief, to which he added sundry winks and warnings, admitted him into the library.
Expecting he knew not what nor whom, Charley Tippery advanced across the large room to the strange man and woman. Unlike Parker, their sunburn and travel-stain caught his eye, noi as insignia suspicious, but as tokens worthy of wider consideration than average New York accords its more or less average visitors. Leoncia’s beauty was like a blow between the eyes, and he knew she was a lady. Henry’s bronze, brazed upon features unmistakably reminiscent of Francis and of E.H.M., drew his admiration and respect.
“Good morning,” he addressed Henry, although he subtly embraced Leoncia with his greeting. “Friends of Francis?”
“Oh, sir,” Leoncia cried out. “We are more than friends. We are here to save him. I have read the morning papers. If only it weren’t for the stupidity of the servants���”
And Charley Tippery was immediately unaware of any slightest doubt. He extended his hand to Henry.
“I am Charley Tippery,” he said.
“And my name’s Morgan, Henry Morgan,” Henry met him warmly, like a drowning man clutching at a life preserver. “And this is Miss Solano the Senorita Solano, Mr. Tippery. In fact, Miss Solano is my sister.”
“I came on the same errand,” Charley Tippery announced, introductions over. “The saving of Francis, as I understand it, must consist of hard cash or of securities indisputably negotiable. I have brought with me what I have hustled all night to get, and what I am confident is not sufficient-”
“How much have you brought?” Henry asked bluntly.
“Eighteen hundred thousand ��� what have you brought?”
“Piffle,” said Henry, pointing to the open suitcase, unaware that he talked to a three-generations’ gem expert.
A quick examination of a dozen of the gems picked at random, and an even quicker eye-estimate of the quantity, put wonder and excitement into Charley Tippery’s face.
“They’re worth millions! millions!” he exclaimed. “What are you going to do with them?”
“Negotiate them, so as to he
lp Francis out,” Henry answered. “They’re security for any amount, aren’t they?”
“Close up the suitcase,” Charley Tippery cried, “while I telephone! I want to catch my father before he leaves the house,” he explained over his shoulder, while waiting for his switch. “It’s only five minutes’ run from here.”
Just as he concluded the brief words with his father, Parker, followed by a police lieutenant and two policemen, entered.
“There’s the gang, lieutenant arrest them,” Parker said. “Oh, sir, I beg your pardon, Mr. Tippery. Not you, of course. Only the other two, lieutenant. I don’t know what the charge will be crazy, anyway, if not worse, which is more likely.”
“How do you do, Mr. Tippery,” the lieutenant greeted familiarly.
“You’ll arrest nobody, Lieutenant Burns,” Charley Tippery smiled to him. “You can send the wagon back to the station. I’ll square it with the Inspector. For you’re coming along with me, and this suitcase, and these suspicious characters, to my house. You’ll have to be bodyguard oh, not for me, but for this suitcase. There are millions in it, cold millions, hard millions, beautiful millions. When I open it before my father, you’ll see a sight given to few men in this world to see. And now, come on everybody. We’re wasting time.”
He made a grab at the suitcase simultaneously with Henry, and, as both their hands clutched it, Lieutenant Burns sprang to interfere.
“I fancy I’ll carry it until it’s negotiated,” Henry asserted.
“Surely, surely,” Charley Tippery conceded, “as long as we don’t lose any more precious time. It will take time to do the negotiating. Come on! Hustle!”
CHAPTER XXIX
HELPED tremendously by the moratorium, the sagging market had ceased sagging, and some stocks were even beginning to recover. This was true for practically every line save those lines in which Francis owned and which Regan was bearing. He continued bearing and making them reluctantly fall, and he noted with joy the huge blocks of Tampico Petroleum which were being dumped obviously by no other person than Francis.
