Bogus Bondsman

by Paul Colt

  Scenes, characters, engagements, Patron must know his business, but this is all most confusing.

  Chicago

  First National Bank of Chicago

  Heinrich Gottschaft worked in a brewery. He had little knowledge of banks and bonds and such. Banks were generally formal imposing structures armed to inspire confidence in the depositor with marble, stone, and steel. He had little use for them. He was paid in cash and lived from payday to payday. This bank certainly looked the part. A massive stone façade mounted by a broad stone stairway to a marble expanse where the banking business took place. His eye traveled to a row of brass cages that separated the bankers from their customers. He found an unoccupied cage. A prim buxom woman with gray hair swept up to the top of her head sized him up and down.

  “May I help you?”

  He drew the bond out of its folder and slid it across the counter. “I vish to cash this.”

  Her eyes rounded behind wire-rimmed spectacles. “Come to the end of the counter, Mister . . .”

  “Gottschaft, Heinrich Gottschaft.”

  “Thank you. Let me escort you to the cashier.”

  He smiled to himself. Even a humble brewery worker merited an escort in a bank when he came to cash a one-hundred-thousand-dollar bond. He followed her across the marble expanse to a polished wooden desk occupied by a pinched man in a dark suit seated before the entry to a massive steel vault.

  “Mr. Kimball, Mr. Gottschaft would like to redeem this bond.” She handed the bond to the banker.

  “Please, Mr. Gottschaft, have a seat. Thank you, Miss Cromwell.” He inspected the bond.

  “Have you an account with the bank?”

  “No, sir. I am settling my father’s estate.”

  “I see. I’m sorry for your loss. The paying agent for this instrument is the Salmon Chase Bank in New York. We will have to present it for redemption with them. That will take a few days. Perhaps we should have something for you this time next week.”

  “Do I get a receipt or something for it?”

  “If you’d like to open an account we could give you provisional credit.”

  “I expect to receive the cash.”

  “Are you quite sure? This is, after all, a rather large sum to go about with on your person. I would certainly advise against it.”

  “I vill take my chances.”

  “I see. Then we shall have to not only redeem the bond we shall also have to arrange for the cash. We should be able to wrap all that up by a week from Friday. If you’ll wait, I’ll only be a moment with your receipt.”

  New York

  Charles Colbert III, cashier at Salmon Chase Bank, examined the bond. Admittedly he hadn’t redeemed many Texas & Pacific construction bonds, but he certainly would have remembered one of a one-hundred-thousand-dollar denomination. Something didn’t sit right. He wired Texas & Pacific Treasurer, Carter Sewell, to verify the railroad had issued bonds in a one-hundred-thousand-dollar denomination. Sewell responded two hours later. No bonds had been issued in denominations greater than ten thousand dollars. Colbert had his answer. This bond was a forgery, a very good forgery but a forgery nonetheless.

  Chicago

  Carter Sewell wired the Pinkerton Detective Agency head office in Chicago with instructions to contact the cashier at First National Bank of Chicago and apprehend the individual or individuals responsible for the bogus bond. Heinrich Gottschaft was taken into custody the following Friday. Under questioning he admitted to finding the bond among his murdered father’s personal effects. After considering the senior Gottschaft’s occupation and the circumstances surrounding his untimely demise, the lead Pinkerton investigator determined it highly likely that the Gottschaft bond was part of a larger plot. He expected additional bonds would likely be presented for payment. He recommended the Texas & Pacific offer a reward for the apprehension of those responsible. Texas & Pacific subsequently offered a ten thousand dollar reward.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Cheyenne Union Bank

  Franklin Pierpont glanced up from the reconciliation statement for the bank’s previous day’s business. Stunning was all he could think. Not the numbers, the woman who’d just entered the lobby. She glanced around the lobby, her eyes coming to rest on his desk beside the vault. She crossed the sun-splashed hardwood, her heels tapping a purposeful tattoo. She smiled, understated warmth in the greeting.

  “Might you be the cashier?”

  He nodded, returning her smile as he rose from his desk. “Franklin Pierpont at your service, Miss . . .”

  “St. James, Cecile St. James.” She extended a businesslike hand.

  “Please have a seat, Miss St. James. How may Cheyenne Union be of service this morning?”

  “I wish to secure a letter of credit.”

  “Splendid. I’m sure we can accommodate that. In what amount were you thinking?”

  She lifted her chin ever so slightly. “One hundred thousand dollars.” She said it as casually as observing the weather.

  The banker’s eyes revealed surprise. The rest of his demeanor said nothing. “That’s rather a large sum. May I ask what it is for?”

  “I plan to purchase a ranch.”

  “Wouldn’t a mortgage be a more conventional vehicle for such a purchase?”

  “I’m not inclined to take on the debt and the seller is in need of a swift closing.”

  “Then how do you plan to secure the line?”

  “With this.” She drew a Texas & Pacific bearer bond from her bag and laid it on the desk.

  “I see. Well this should certainly cover the facility. I can have the letter drawn up for you by later this afternoon.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll wait.”

  Her smile was positively dazzling.

  “Of course, I’m at your service.”

  Cecile returned to the U.P. Hotel just after lunch. She climbed the stairs to the second floor and knocked at Escobar’s suite. The ferret-like little man let her in.

  “Have you got it?”

  She handed him the letter of credit. “Now about my fee, half now and the balance when we finish.”

  “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll return with your fee within the hour.”

  The Cheyenne Continental Express office traced its roots to the Black Hills gold rush. Gold was a commodity that required transport and transfer services. The venerable money order filled a need for transport services that did not require a freight wagon or strongbox and armed guards. It also suited the purpose of anonymity when needed and thus suited the purposes of Don Victor Carnicero and his anonymous client. Escobar purchased three money orders, two in the amount of ten thousand dollars and one in the amount of eighty thousand dollars. He sent ten thousand to Don Victor in Santa Fe. He posted the eighty thousand dollar order to a Chicago post office address. He used the second ten thousand dollar order to pay Cecile Antoine who boarded the next westbound train for Laramie.

  Two days later Continental Express presented the letter of credit for payment at the Cheyenne Union Bank. Satisfied the ranch purchase must have concluded successfully, Franklin Pierpont forwarded the bond for redemption at Salmon Chase. A week later Salmon Chase notified Texas & Pacific and Cheyenne Union that the bond was counterfeit. Texas & Pacific notified the Pinkerton head office in Chicago.

  Laramie

  The gold leaf window sign proclaimed Laramie Cattleman’s Bank. Cecile paused to check her reflection in the window. The lines of her letter of credit story worked perfectly in Cheyenne. She saw no need to change them for Laramie. With the opening act behind her, speed became the most important element to success. Time was her ally only so long as she stayed ahead of the news that the bonds were counterfeit.

  She entered the lobby and spotted her mark, a portly banker who looked as though he might have slept in his rumpled suit and sweat-stained linen. Did they all sit at desks just outside the vault? Why not? That’s where they kept the money. She smiled her most fetching smile.

  An hour later she le
ft the bank with a letter of credit. This might prove easier than she’d first expected. The bonds appeared to be good as gold to these unsuspecting bankers. She glanced at the small watch she wore on a ribbon about her neck, time enough to purchase a ticket and catch the next train west for Rawlins.

  Denver

  The Western Union messenger arrived at the Pinkerton office as Managing Director Reginald Kingsley was preparing to leave for lunch. He signed for the telegram and tipped the lad, sending him on his way. He tore open the envelope and read the message.

  Texas & Pacific victim of bond forgery operation.

  Most recent occurrence Cheyenne Union Bank.

  Meet Agent Maples at U.P. Hotel Cheyenne in three days.

  —W. Pinkerton

  Hmm, Kingsley thought, high profile case when it comes off the desk of the Director of Western Operations.

  Shady Grove

  “I received a telegram that same morning from the cashier at Cheyenne Union Bank with the offer of a ten thousand dollar reward for the capture of those responsible for defrauding the bank of one hundred thousand dollars in bond forgery. After ascertaining the paying agent, I wired the cashier at Salmon Chase informing him that the league had been retained by Cheyenne Union and could he please advise any pertinent details. He notified me by return wire that the Cheyenne redemption was the second. The first having occurred in Chicago. Texas & Pacific had also offered a ten-thousand-dollar reward for the apprehension of the counterfeiters. I expected there would be more to come. I dispatched Cane and Longstreet to Cheyenne straight away.”

  “Time for lunch, Colonel.”

  I’d been so absorbed in the story I’d not heard her come into the solarium.

  “Will you be returning this afternoon after my nap, Robert?”

  “Not today I’m afraid.”

  “A somewhat more pressing engagement on such a bright spring day?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. Penny has the afternoon off.”

  “I might have known where your priorities are concerned. It’s enough to make a man question the seriousness of your commitment to this project.”

  “You cut me to the quick, sir. Surely you don’t begrudge a man a few moments leisure.”

  “Time is a fleeting thing, Robert. I’m not getting any younger, you know.”

  “I think he’ll make it to next Saturday,” Penny said. She seldom joined in on the colonel’s teasing, at least willingly.

  “You would take his side. All right, then, I know when I’m overmatched. Until next week, then.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Cheyenne Union Bank

  The Denver stage rolled into Cheyenne two days later. Cane and Longstreet climbed down at the station on Sixteenth Street across from the depot. The driver unloaded their bags from the boot and set them on the boardwalk. Longstreet checked his watch.

  “Two thirty. If we head on over to the bank, we might still catch them before they close.” He snapped the case shut, pocketed the watch, and set off up the street. Cheyenne owed its prominence to Grenville Dodge’s decision to route the Union Pacific leg of the Pacific railway north of Denver. Denver lamented the slight while Cheyenne prospered for it with the town sprawling north of the tracks.

  Longstreet led the way through a door with a shade half drawn against the afternoon sun. He crossed the polished lobby to the banker seated at a desk beside the vault; he reckoned this was the cashier.

  “Mr. Pierpont?”

  “Yes.” He rose to shake hands.

  “Beau Longstreet with the Great Western Detective League. This gentleman is Briscoe Cane. We’re here about the loss you reported to Colonel Crook.”

  “I’ve been expecting you. Please, have a seat.” He indicated chairs drawn up beside his desk. “Now where should we begin?”

  Longstreet drew a pencil and notepad from his coat pocket. “Tell us what happened in as much detail as you can recall.”

  “She came in one morning shortly after we opened.”

  “She?”

  “Yes. Said her name was Cecile St. James. Dignified lady, conservatively dressed, yet stunningly beautiful.”

  “Anything distinguishing, hair color, eyes?”

  “I suppose you’d call her hair chestnut. I don’t recall much beyond that. She said she wished to secure a letter of credit for the purchase of a ranch. She offered the bond as security for the credit.”

  “Didn’t that strike you as odd? Wouldn’t a mortgage have been a more conventional means to finance such a purchase?”

  “I did question it. She said the seller desired a quick sale and that she didn’t wish to take on the debt. In hindsight I suppose all that was little more than part of the ruse. I saw a Texas & Pacific bond as solid security for the transaction. I thought it better than a mortgaged property in terms of liquidity and constancy in value. Other than the sizeable amount, it seemed a straightforward transaction.”

  “So you drew the letter of credit and she left.”

  He nodded.

  “What happened next?”

  “Continental Express cashed the letter and presented it for payment.”

  “They provided cash?”

  “Money orders.”

  “The woman,” he checked his notes. “Cecile St. James used your letter of credit to purchase a money order.”

  “I assume it was her, but it could have been someone else. Continental Express protects the confidentiality of its clients.”

  “Didn’t anyone at Continental Express question the nature of the transaction?”

  He shook his head. “The letter of credit was in order. They presented it. We honored it. We didn’t realize we had a problem until Salmon Chase Bank, the paying agent in New York, notified us this past week that the bond is a forgery. Frankly not only is the loss serious, the embarrassment and potential damage to the bank’s reputation in this community make the matter even worse.”

  “Do you have any idea where this Cecile St. James might have gone?”

  “The Union Pacific spans the continent. She could be anywhere. How do you begin a search like that?”

  “We let her lead us to her,” Cane said.

  The banker glanced from Longstreet to Cane. “That doesn’t make for good jest.”

  “No jest intended. Two bonds have been presented for redemption so far, one in Chicago and one here. That means they probably have more. The question is, where will the gang strike next? That’s where the Great Western Detective League comes in. We cast a wide net. If you’d been notified to be on the lookout for counterfeit Texas & Pacific construction bonds, you’d likely have avoided the loss. You might even have been able to notify law enforcement authorities and capture the suspect. That’s what we do.”

  “Let’s hope so,” he said, wiping sweat from his pate with a linen kerchief.

  “Is there anything else you can think of, Mr. Pierpont?”

  “No. I’m afraid not.”

  Longstreet closed his notepad. “We’ll be at the U.P. Hotel if anything comes to mind.”

  Outside Cane led the way down Sixteenth Street toward the depot.

  “What do you make of it?” Longstreet asked.

  “Damn clever.”

  “You’re right about them striking again. We need to get word to Colonel Crook.”

  “There’ll be a Western Union office at the depot. We can send a wire there. The colonel can notify the league to be on the lookout for counterfeit bonds and a beautiful woman who passes them.”

  “She may not be working alone.”

  “Probably isn’t.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  “We wait.”

  Longstreet lifted a brow. “Wait?”

  “I haven’t been at this much longer than you, Beau; but one thing the colonel’s made me believe is the value of information. Trains follow tracks. They don’t leave any. We need this woman to tell us where to look for her.”

  The Cheyenne Depot was a stair-stepped clapboard structure. The or
iginal station now housed the post office and a Western Union office. A larger station had been added on with ticket counters, passenger lounge, and dining room. The most recent addition, the U.P. Hotel, climbed the skyline east of the two older structures.

  Longstreet waited at a window while Cane telegraphed Cecile St. James’s description and other pertinent facts of the case to Colonel Crook. He watched an arriving westbound train discharge passengers and freight. Speaking of beautiful women, he picked the dark-haired beauty out of the arriving passenger crowd. His gaze followed her across the platform to the U.P. Hotel. Now that would be a painless way to await further developments.

  Chicago

  The Counselor waded through the swirling bluster blowing off the lake among the buildings along Michigan Avenue. He turned north away from the stench of the stockyards to the stone-edifice monument to the constancy of the U.S. Postal Service. He climbed broad steps to an arched entry portal guarded by a life-size pair of gilt lions. The service counter flanked a massive lobby whose far wall presented row upon row of locked boxes. He fished a small key from his vest pocket and unlocked his box. He withdrew a single envelope, relocked the box, and went to a counter set aside for private business.

  He tore the envelope open to find a money order in the amount of eighty thousand dollars. The wheels were in motion. He drew a new envelope from his case and addressed it to a blind trust held at Salmon Chase Bank of New York on behalf of a shell corporation, having a note payable to one Jay Gould in the amount of one million dollars. He inserted the money order and posted it at the service desk.

  U.P. Hotel

  Cheyenne

  Kingsley stepped off the stage in Cheyenne and made his way to the U.P. Hotel. The registration desk stood across a spacious yet spartan lobby. He was greeted with a note.

  Cheyenne Union Bank, 2:00 PM.

  —Maples

  He checked his pocket watch. Time enough for a quick bite of lunch in the station dining room. After lunch he made his way uptown to the bank, arriving moments before two.

  “Mr. Kingsley?”

  A shapely dark-eyed beauty with cultured manners took him by surprise.

  “Yes.”