When he passed Curtin’s desk, he spoke to him :
“Going to be home to-night? I’m coming round to see you.”
CHAPTER VII
THE SPY
NEXT morning Bagsbury’s bank had a joke, that is, the younger and less serious employees thought they had a joke, Curtin had come down early. Ridiculously early, too ; not only before his own hour, which was any time in the middle of the morning, but before John Bags- bury himself appeared, or Jackson, the cashier. There was no visible press of work which seemed to demand Curtin’ s attention, for he stood about in a lost way, apparently unable to make up his mind to do anything. Every one who passed Jack Dorlin’s desk paused to make jocular speculations, principally to the effect that Curtin’s alarm clock must have gone wrong. Curtin with an alarm clock !
But Jack Dorlin found it hard to enjoy the joke ; he could not satisfactorily convince him- self that it was a joke at all. Neither he nor Dick had ever told John Bagsbury that Sponley 103 had lied in saying that he did not know Jer- vis Curtin, though now, after six months, the lie still troubled them. Throughout the game which they knew was being played about the bank both of them were handicapped by a lack of familiarity with the rules. It was like noth- ing else in their experience. Up to within a year they had never met any one who was an expert at skating over the ice of the law where it was thin. The exact knowledge which en- ables men to avoid by the merest fraction the breaking of this law, which must on no account be broken, and encourages them to defy this other law with impunity, this classified knowl- edge was a science of whose very existence they had never been made aware. To their minds such things as conspiracies and spies and betrayals were things which occurred only in a certain sort of novel which they seldom read. They could not think of a real detective without a smile. They heartily distrusted Sponley, and they suspected Curtin, but they could not specu- late upon the possible relation between these two without feeling rather foolish. They decided again and again that it was nothing, but just as often they again began wondering what it was.
And the fear of making themselves ridiculous kept them of speaking of it to John.
Jack’s distrust of Curtin was not nearly as strong as it had been when he entered the bank. This was not so much because he seemed a good-humored, easy-going fellow, Jack could take that cordialmanner for just about what it was worth, but because he be- lieved that Curtin’s ignorance and utter unim- portance in the bank reduced his capacity for rascality to almost nothing. But Jack’s suspi- cions never more than slept, and any unusual act of Curtin’s, no matter how innocent it might look, was enough to waken them.
Jack had been promoted to the remittance ledgers ; his desk stood at the rear end of an aisle which ran nearly the length of the room, behind the rank of tellers’ cages and in front of the vaults. At the other end of the aisle was the door which opened on the two private offices. Just before this door stood a large chest of drawers where was kept a large part of the bank’s collateral securities. This chest was, of course, directly in Jack Dorlin’s line of vision, and when, a few minutes after Curtin’s arrival, he raised his eyes from his work, he saw the assistant cashier searching busily through one of the drawers. That was nothing, and his eyes fell to his work again, but when he glanced up, Curtin was still there. Fifteen twenty minutes passed ; Curtin was going through that chest systematically from top to bottom.
Jack flung down his pencil impatiently, for again he had caught himself in the act of specu- lating on the old theme, on Curtin’s motives. There was no possible reason why Curtin shouldn’t look over the collateral if he chose ; there might be some excellent reason why he should. But then, why had he come early ? Why didn’t he set some one else to finding what he wanted? Why could he not wait until Jackson came down ? Jackson knew everything there was in that chest.
At that moment Hillsmead walked past his desk, and Jack grinned to see him making straight for Curtin. They talked but a mo- ment, and Curtin walked away to his own desk, while Hillsmead retraced is steps toward the rear of the bank. He stopped to say to Jack :
“ That man’s a regular fool. He’s been look- ing in that collateral box for half an hour ; but
when I asked him if I could help him find any- thing he was looking for, he said he was just as much obliged, but he’d found it, and then he went away. I’d like to know what he was looking for.”
“ Postage-stamps, maybe,” Jack suggested.
“ Oh, no, he wouldn’t look there for postage- stamps. They don’t keep anything but collat- eral in that box. When he wants to mail things, he just gives ‘em to an office boy.”
Jack often wished that he had enough leisure during the day to enjoy Hillsmead properly. He used to chuckle over him in the evening, and quote him to Dick ; but then there were other things to think about in the evening.
It was growing late that same afternoon, long after closing time, and concentration on columns of figures was becoming difficult, when Jack, glancing up, saw the cashier come out of the office with his street coat on, which meant that he was going home. Then a few minutes later he saw John Bagsbury follow him, and he wished his own work was done so that he could go, too just where John Bagsbury was going, and have an hour with Dick before dinner time. He sat there in a brown study until recalled to him- self by seeing Curtin go through the doorway into the outer private office and then, turning to the right, enter John Bagsbury’s room.
“ Go in there, if you like,” he said to himself, apostrophizing the assistant cashier ; “ go and stay as long as you please and steal the furni- ture; I’m tired of watching you.” But in spite of himself, he did watch. Again and again he forced himself back to his work, but he was aware all the while that Jervis Curtin had not yet come out of that door. And after half an hour in which he did about ten minutes’ work, he gave up trying, and slipping from his high stool he walked slowly toward the door at the other end of the aisle.
When John Bagsbury had come in from lunch the day before, he had interrupted Curtin before he had told Sponley anything beyond the fact of Pickering’s visit to the bank. Acting on the hint Sponley had given him, Curtin at once set about to find out what was the nature of Picker- ing’s business with the bank. It was a simple matter for an officer in his position to discover that Pickering had made a deposit of one hun- dred thousand dollars, and had given his note for an additional five hundred thousand. That was complete enough information for anybody so far as Curtin could see, and he had given it to Sponley when the speculator came to see him that evening, with a good deal of self -congratula- tion upon his success. But Sponley was far from satisfied.
“What collateral did he put up?” he de- manded.
“ None, I suppose. His note does not men- tion any collateral. It isn’t made out on the sort of form we use when we take collateral.”
“That doesn’t mean anything except that Bagsbury doesn’t want anybody to know what kind of security it was. That’s what I want you to find out for me.”
“ I don’t see how I’m going to do it,” Curtin remonstrated. “ If he’s gone to all that trouble to keep us from finding out, it isn’t likely that he’s left it around where anybody can see it. Probably it’s not with the other collateral at all.”
“ Probably not,” Sponley assented.
“It’s ten to one,” the other continued, “that he’s put it somewhere among his private papers.”
HO The Banker and the Bear
“Well,” said Sponley, “doesn’t that simplify matters ? “
Curtin glanced at him, then smiled uneasily in reply.
“ What do you mean ? “
“ Only that if you know where a thing is likely to be, you stand a fair chance of finding it by looking there.”
Curtin was frightened, and he laughed.
“ On the other hand,” he said, “ if one can’t look there, he’s not so likely to find it.”
“ Why can’t you ? “ Sponley asked quickly. “ You know where he keeps his p
rivate papers, don’t you ? “
Curtin answered coolly. Everything the man did was something of a pose. He posed to himself. Just now he really believed that he was cool.
“ If that suggestion is made as a jest,” he said, “it seems to me rather unprofitable. If you mean it seriously, it’s an insult.”
“ It’s neither a jest nor an insult,” said Spon- ley. “ It’s business. Of course, if you’re squeam- ish about looking through a file of papers marked ‘private,’ you can look through the other collat- eral first. You may find what you want there ;
The Spy ill but if you don’t, I guess you’ll have to see the job through.”
“ That’s ridiculous. It’s not to be considered for a moment. There’s no good talking any further about it.”
“ It won’t be so difficult as it sounds,” Spon- ley continued evenly. “ Bagsbury keeps all that sort of thing in the cabinet that stands in his office all day. It’s never locked. They take it into one of the vaults just before they lock up at night, but you’ll have nearly an hour after he’s gone home when the way will be clear. It’ll take a little management, but it won’t be difficult.”
“ Look here,” said Curtin, “ I will not hear any more. You’ve said rather too much as it is. What you suggest is outrageously, infer- nally insulting, and “
“ There’s no use in talking big,” Sponley cut in. “ The job may be unpleasant, but you’ve got to do it.”
“ I won’t do it,” Curtin almost shouted. Then more quietly : “ If your own delicate sense of honor doesn’t tell you that it’s an insult to a gentleman to ask him to sneak and spy or per- haps crack a safe, why, you’ll have to take my word for it. But I don’t want anything more to do with you. I won’t stay in a position where I’m liable to that sort of damned inso- lence. You’d better leave my house at once. Do you understand me ? “
Sponley laughed. The opportunity with such a man comes when the pendulum has swung back, when the brave, hot wrath has burned out of him. Sponley did not try to pacify Cur- tin. Curtin wished to be angry, did he ? Well, he should be-just as angry as he pleased.
“ If you choose to call yourself a spy, nobody will take the trouble to deny it,” he said ; “ but you don’t gain anything by it. You must un- derstand that this is exactly what I hired you for; not at all to be assistant cashier at the bank. You are in my employ ; I may tell you to crack a safe for me sometime, and when I do, you’ll do it.”
“ I may have been in your employ, as you say, up to five minutes ago, but I’m not now. Is that clear? You’ve made a mistake, that’s all. You’ve hired the wrong kind of man.”
“ I think not,” said Sponley, smiling ; “you are just the right kind of a man. You see, you’re not exactly independent. You’ve been spend-
ing a good deal of money lately; Mrs. Curtin has entertained a good deal “
“You damned impertinent “
“ Ah ! there you make your mistake. That is the only thing that is really pertinent at all. It’s just a question of money.”
Curtin grinned ; he was trying to adopt Spon- ley’s tactics. “ It seems to me,” he said (why would not the words come evenly ?), “ it seems to me that there I have as good a hold on you as you have on me. Your part in this business will hardly bear daylight.”
“I’m no such blunderer as that,” answered Sponley, tolerantly. “ This is what will happen. I will tell Bagsbury that I have bought your stock, and then, since you are really grossly incompetent as assistant cashier, at the next directors’ meeting we will act on your resigna- tion. And you can see what will happen after that. You owe me alone enough money to make a rather fine smash, and you have other creditors besides. You can console yourself by telling John Bagsbury any fanciful yarn you can think of about me.”
One could hardly say that Curtin listened, though he heard. He sat gripping the arms of his chair and stared. Sponley looked at him keenly. He could read the thoughts, though the blank face afforded no index.
“ You see,” he went on, “ you’re not the sort to take poverty easily. When a fellow like me or John Bagsbury goes broke, his case isn’t hopeless at all. We’re used to making money, and we know how to take care of ourselves. We can do it, even if we do have to start back at the beginning. But you’re different. You’ve never been able to earn any money. Your father took care of you at first, and then he left you his property, and your friends took care of that for you, and you and they have got rid of most of it. When a fellow like you has hard luck and gets smashed, he comes down after a while to hanging round his former friends, try- ing to beg the price of a drink.”
Curtin was trying to speak, but his shaking lips would not obey him. He rose from his chair and stood facing his persecutor.
“All right,” he said at last. “All right. You can do all you say you will. You can bust me up; but I’d rather have that than the other. I’d rather have that than sell my soul to you. That’s what you want. But, by God, you won’t get it ! “
He began pacing the room, now swiftly, now slowly; Sponley sat still and watched him in silence for a moment. Then he asked :
“ Do you mind if I smoke ? I want to think.”
Curtin nodded, without pausing in his nervous walk.
Sponley sat perfectly still. His gross body completely filled the wide arm-chair ; there was something uncanny about his complete repose. You could as easily conceive of his receding from a position he had once taken, or relenting toward one who was in his power, as of a fat Indian idol’s answering a prayer for mercy. He did not look at Curtin, he only smoked and waited.
As for Curtin, he had made his brave speech. He had resisted temptation, and the glow of virtuous indignation and righteous resolve was fast turning to cold ashes.
And the minutes crept away till the big hand of the clock had made half its journey before Sponley spoke.
“Sit down a minute, Curtin, and we’ll talk this thing over. We’ve both got excited, and we’ve both talked big, and we’ve both pretty generally made fools of ourselves. That’s fun n6 The Banker and the Bear enough while it lasts ; but when a fellow wakes up the next morning and has to face the conse- quences, he feels rather silly. If we don’t man- age to hang together some way, why, I’ll be in an awkward fix, and you’ll be busted, and we’ll both wish we’d shown a little sense. Now I don’t ask you to do anything that I wouldn’t do myself, and I never will ask you to. I don’t ask you to meddle with John Bagsbury’s private papers. This is a matter that concerns the bank, and you and I are as much a part of it as he is. But we’ll leave it this way : if you can find out what collateral it was that Pickering put up, why, it will help us both out. And if you can’t well, we’ll talk about that later. Don’t say anything about it now. Take time to think it over. Good night.”
That was the reason why Curtin had puzzled the clerks by looking so thoroughly through the collateral box next morning. And now, for half an hour, he had searched drawer after drawer in the little oak cabinet in John Bagsbury’s private office. At first he listened intently for footsteps, but soon his quest became absorbing.
Finally it was rewarded. There were the The Spy 117 yellow warehouse certificates. Lard! Forty thousand tierces !
And then the half-shut door behind him creaked as some one pushed it open. It was numbness rather than self-control that kept him still. Jack spoke, “ I beg your pardon.”
The sound of the voice, the voice which was not John Bagsbury’s,restored Curtin to himself. He looked up.
“ Ah, Mr. Dorlin ! Are you looking for Mr. Bagsbury ? He went home about an hour ago, I think. I want him myself. He’s put a cer- tain paper away so carefully that we can’t find it.”
There was another step behind them and Sponley entered the office. He glanced about before he spoke.
“ So I’ve missed the president again, have I ? That seems to be sort of habit with me these days. However, it’s a matter of business, this time, that you can attend to, Mr. Curtin.”
&nbs
p; With that he turned and bowed to Jack Dorlin. It was a polite, deliberate bow, which turned Jack out of the office as effectively as if it had been a whole platoon of police.
CHAPTER VIII
A BATTLE
“YouR coffee must be stone cold by this time, dear,” Alice Bagsbury observed in a tone of mild remonstrance; “shan’t I pour you another cup ? “
“ What’s that ? “ John asked absently, from behind his morning paper. “ Oh, yes, if you please.” He took up the cup, but instead of handing it to her, he drank off the dismal bev- erage, and replacing the cup in its saucer turned back to his paper, apparently under the impression that he had followed her sug- gestion.
“ Do you know,” said Dick, “ I think it’s dangerous to be as absent-minded as that. If that had been kerosene, you’d have drunk it just the same all of it.”
John dropped the paper beside his chair, stared at his plate a moment, and then turned to Dick.
“ Did either of you say anything to me just now ? I think I’ll have some more coffee. What are you laughing about ? “
“ I said I thought there must be something very entertaining about the front page of that paper,” said Dick.
“Entertaining isn’t just the word,” he an- swered slowly. “ It’s what I call confoundedly enterprising. They’ve told a great deal more than they’ve any right to know, and the worst of it is they’ve told the truth.”
“ I don’t know why you should object to their telling the truth,” said Alice.
“ Is it about something you’re concerned in ? “ Dick asked.
John nodded. “ I loaned a man a large sum of money day before yesterday, and the fact of his wanting it and the kind of security he put up would show to any one who knew about it that he was in a certain deal. He didn’t want that to get out, so I was very careful to conceal the loan. And here this paper seems to know all about it: not only about the deal, which they might have guessed from other things, but about the loan. It leaves me in an awk- ward position, you see.”
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