The Garaucan Swindle

CHAPTER V. THE MONEY MASTER

NOON the next day. Screaming headlines still blared from New York newspapers. Worthless bonds remained the subject of their theme. The death of Sigby Rund; the departure of Ralph Weston; the statements of Wainwright Barth — these tied into the big news stories.

A squatty, big-shouldered, chunky-headed man was standing in the center of a magnificent office. His face — fierce, yet keen — was straight-nosed and marked by a protruding chin. Black eyebrows bristled below his massive forehead; wiry, short-clipped black hair sprang brushlike above his brow.

Leaning with heavy fist upon a desktop, this man was glowering at the spread out copy of an evening newspaper. His lips were forming silent epithets. A buzzer sounded on the desk. The man did not answer it until the second buzz; then he picked up a telephone and spoke:

“Dunwood Marrick speaking.”

Words clicked through the receiver.

“Stokely is here, eh?” responded Marrick. “Send him in at once.”

Clicking the desk phone back on its hook, the heavy man clumped past the desk and seated himself in a massive chair. He placed both hands on the desk and watched the door opposite. The barrier opened; a tall, well-dressed man entered. The newcomer bowed.

“Good morning, Mr. Marrick.”

“Good morning, Stokely,” rejoined the man at the desk. “Pull up a chair. I want to talk to you.”

When Stokely was seated, Marrick eyed him steadily. This visit was not an unusual one. Dunwood Marrick was president of the Hercules Trust Company, one of Manhattan’s newest, yet most widespread institutions. Stokely was one of the lawyers who belonged on the bank’s pay-roll.

“Stokely,” declared Marrick, abruptly, “I want to talk to you about Garaucan bonds. I bought some when they were first on sale. They looked like a good investment when they first came out.”

“Do you still have them?” inquired Stokely, anxiously.

“Yes,” returned Marrick. “Two million dollars’ worth.”

“Hm-m,” mused Stokely. “A large amount. You have them — as personal property?”

“No. I placed them in trust funds that are under my own management. I took out other securities in their place.”

“Ah.” Stokely appeared a bit relieved. “When did you place the bonds in those funds?”

“When the bonds were still at par,” answered Marrick. “Here is the list — with the dates when the bonds were placed in the funds.”

“You are quite sure” — Stokely paused to smile wanly — “that no one can dispute these dates?”

“I know what you mean, Stokely.” Marrick’s tone was firm and reproving. “Your thought is that I might have loaded those funds after the bonds began to fail. In brief, I could have bought them for myself; but when the Birafel government collapsed, and the bonds dropped to fifty per cent of their original value, I could have made the trust funds the goats.”

“By dating back your statements,” nodded Stokely, wisely. “Plenty of administrators have worked it, Mr. Marrick.”

“I have never done so,” declared Marrick, sternly. “Therefore, Stokely, I have played fair with those to whom the funds belong.”

“No offense, Mr. Marrick,” pleaded the lawyer. “I merely spoke in your interest. Well, since the dates are established, your position is quite tenable. You could not foresee that the Birafel government would collapse.”

MARRICK rested back in his chair. He clamped an elbow on a chair arm and placed his chin upon his heavy fist. Still eyeing Stokely, he spoke again.

“Garaucan bonds,” he said, “are now worth nothing. It is known that the issue was floated by an American financier. At least twenty millions were given for a payment of not more than ten. Therefore, some one cleaned up at least ten million. So it is conceded. But the death of Sigby Rund covers up the person who engineered the game.

“Yes. Rund is dead. But Rund acted as selling agent for all the original blocks. I bought my two million from Rund. That makes the situation a bad one, Stokely. This suicide of Rund’s is going to place a stigma upon all who purchased bonds from him.

“Whether or not my transaction was a proper one is beside the case. The very fact that I purchased Garaucan bonds from Rund; the added point that I placed those bonds into trust funds — those circumstances are going to place me under a certain suspicion. Do you agree?”

Stokely deliberated. At first he shook his head; then, rather solemnly, he began to nod.

“I think you are right, Mr. Marrick,” declared the lawyer. “Right for two reasons. First, because you purchased so large an amount. Second, because your investment methods are reputed to be radical.”

“Both matters,” remarked Marrick, “are my own affair. At the same time, Stokely, the suspicion will exist.”

“At least,” said the lawyer, “Rund is not alive to make statements. Presumably, all persons who purchased bonds from him were dupes — not parties to his criminal methods. It will be hard for you, however, to convince the recipients of the trust funds that you were a dupe. You do not have the reputation of being one.”

“Quite right, Stokely,” rumbled Marrick. “I wanted your opinion. Having received it, I intend to establish a precedent. I shall purchase back the two million dollars’ worth of bonds at par. I shall place cash or negotiable securities into the funds.”

“What!” exclaimed Stokely, in astonishment. “You mean to bear the loss yourself?”

“Precisely,” returned Marrick.

“Can you stand it?” questioned the lawyer. “They call you the money master — because of the large transactions that you have handled — but your own estate is still on the build. Two millions! A terrific loss for you, Mr. Marrick!”

“I can just about weather it,” admitted Marrick. “It means that I shall have to plan prompt measures to recoup my loss. Nevertheless, I think my method is the best one.

“Answer this, Stokely. Do you think my action — and its prompt announcement — will completely convince the public that I had nothing to do with the Garaucan bond swindle?”

“It should certainly do so,” snorted Stokely. “Throwing away two million dollars is a fair enough way of showing that your hands are clean.”

“Very well,” decided Marrick, rising. “Return at two o’clock, Stokely. I shall have the transaction completed. I am going to my apartment to obtain the replacements from my own safe. I shall have the Garaucan bonds here — as my own property — and I shall be ready to issue a complete statement to the press.”

Stokely arose and bowed. He left the office, shaking his head. He had seen numerous instances of Dunwood Marrick’s amazing strokes in banking; but never one so bold as this. Dunwood Marrick was noted for his ability to turn over huge profits for the Hercules Trust. It was supposed that he had made many great gains for himself.

But to be marked as a loser would be a new story. To admit himself the dupe; to take a loss which he could have shifted upon others— this would be a new chapter in the career of Dunwood Marrick.

Stokely was somewhat awed as he contemplated the possible outcome.

MARRICK paced his office, alone, after Stokely had gone. His heavy brow was knitted in fierce thought. At times he scowled; at other intervals, he thrust this jaw forward in challenge. The consequences of his stroke seemed to perplex him.

At last, the banker seated himself in his big chair. His face took on a crafty look. A malicious glare showed in his dark eyes. Picking up the telephone, Marrick dialed a number: Margate 8-2943. A voice responded through the receiver.

Marrick asked no question. He recognized the voice. He spoke in his own tone, announcing his name.

His comments were brief and pointed.

“Dunwood Marrick…,” he informed. “Yes. I intend to proceed… Two million to be lost… I would like to get it back. I think it can be done… Yes, the way I told you. It may work… You can begin to-night?… You are going there? Yes, of course you could learn nothing to-night… Very soon, though…

“Yes, I can spare a few thousand… At my apartment… To-night… Yes, I shall be there by seven. We can discuss further arrangements at that time… I agree with you. I’d like to see the old boy take it hard… All right.”

Finishing his call, Marrick smiled with satisfaction. His face showed an evil pleasure dominated by personal animosity. Still smiling, Dunwood Marrick placed his list upon the desk. Drawing other records from a drawer, he began to plan the transaction that would make him loser of two million dollars.