The Silver Scourge

CHAPTER XII CROOKS CONFER

FOULKROD KENDALL had spoken the truth when he had stated that he was going to his factory. The millionaire was a man who lived on business. He frequently went to the plant in the evening. It was not an unusual practice.

Hence, Clayton Landow, at dinner with Harry Vincent, had mentioned Kendall’s whereabouts when the millionaire’s name had been brought up. Kendall’s plan for the evening had gone into Harry’s final report to The Shadow.

Before The Shadow had received that report, however, Foulkrod Kendall was already stationed in his factory office, awaiting the arrival of a special visitor. A rap at the side door of Kendall’s sumptuous office told the millionaire that the expected man had arrived.

Kendall opened the door. Silk Elverton entered. The smooth crook smiled as he approached the millionaire.

“That side door is a great idea,” he remarked. “I didn’t have any trouble finding it.”

“I left it open for you,” returned Kendall. “It is my own private mode of entry. It will serve you as well. Here is a duplicate key to the door for future use.”

“How’s the work coming along?”

“Come. I shall show you.”

Kendall led the way through an empty outer office, then down a deserted side corridor. The factory had various ins and outs; Silk realized quickly that Kendall could follow a course through here without encountering watchmen or workers.

The dull rumble of machinery was in evidence. Kendall explained that the factory was engaged in night work.

Silk smiled. Whether this was legitimate business or subterfuge did not matter. Some activity in the plant would be useful at nights. That was the time when the hidden workers were employed.

Kendall stopped at an obscure door. He unlocked it with the same key that fitted the special entrance to his office. He gave a low explanation to Silk Elverton.

“This is an experimental room,” said the millionaire. “Only myself and those workers whom I delegate are allowed to enter. It has long been accepted as an institution in this plant. Moreover, it has its own storeroom, which is well supplied with the alloy, and which will be replenished.”

Kendall rapped quietly at an inner door. It opened. Silk accompanied the millionaire into a compact workshop. The room had no windows; it was well illuminated. Its occupants were three men who waved a prompt greeting to Silk Elverton.

CYRUS BARBIER, Tony Cumo, Tim Mecke — these formed the trio. Barbier, in overalls and goggles, was standing by a heavy machine, set up for use. Cumo was also attired in working clothes; Mecke wore a chauffeur’s uniform.

“What do you think of it?” questioned Kendall.

“Great,” responded Silk. “You’ve handled my men with good effect. Let’s see the wheels run.”

Cyrus Barbier grinned at the suggestion. He mumbled toothless words, and Tony Cumo went to his post. Tim Mecke joined Kendall and Elverton. At a command from Barbier, Tony drew a lever. Machinery began to thrum and grind.

Silk Elverton watched in elation as the heavy arm of the stamping machine pounded out its work. Shining metal disks dropped in rapid succession, clattering as they fell into the receptacle below. Barbier was controlling the machine; Tony Cumo was feeding it.

“I had the equipment,” explained Kendall. “Disk cutters, stamping machines, and all. They supplied the dies. The metal — well, that’s the real secret.”

The millionaire dipped his hand among the falling disks, and scooped out a handful. He poured shining silver half dollars into Silk’s eager hinds. The smooth crook rang them; he weighed them. He tossed them back into the receptable and thumped Kendall on the back.

“Wonderful!” he exclaimed in enthusiasm. “Look at them fall! Say — those will stand the test!”

“Come into the storeroom,” suggested Kendall.

Silk followed the manufacturer. They reached a large, solid-walled room, and there Silk observed huge stacks of silver strips. He examined one of the ribbonlike articles, and noted its thickness.

“For half dollars,” stated Kendall. “These others are rolled in quarter and dime thicknesses. We do all that kind of work here in the plant. Nobody is wise.”

They went back into the room where the stamping machine was pounding out its flow of coinage. Kendall showed Silk bins in which sample coins were in evidence. He picked up a handful of dimes, and pointed to one feature.

“Old dates,” remarked the millionaire. “Not too shiny, either. You found me a prize, Elverton, when you sent this man Barbier here. From now on, the manufacture of silverware will be a joke. Here is the money.”

Silk ginned. The statement was doubly correct. Then the smooth crook pointed to the coins, and put a pointed question.

“You’ve arranged to unload it?” he asked. “You know my idea — to travel around and pass the queer—”

“Later,” interposed Kendall. “We’re going back into the office, Elverton. I’ll tell you everything there.”

The plotters departed. They left Barbier and Cumo at the machine. Tim Mecke was stacking coins at a bench. The throb and pounding of machinery was no longer audible after Kendall and Silk had passed the outer soundproof door.

IN his office, Kendall motioned Silk to a chair. In a quiet tone, the millionaire began to outline the plans as they now stood. His first reference was to the disposition of the men.

“It will be wise,” said Kendall, “for you to make only occasional visits to my home. In fact, it would be best for me to say that you have left New Avalon, but are expecting to return after a short trip about the country.”

Silk Elverton nodded.

“Barbier and Cumo are working at night,” Kendall went on. “They are only two of many employees in my factory. They have a remote house on the outskirts of the little settlement located here.

“Tim Mecke is living there also. He will prove valuable. I have made him one of the men working on the armored car that I use to carry pay rolls. His only duties, however, will be in connection with distribution of silver money.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Silk. “You have the plan all worked out?”

“Yes,” said Kendall. “But before I come to that, let me tell you about our potential output. I was ready to flood the market with Kendallware of low silver content — the alloy which will stand up as Sterling. I have invested thousands of dollars in that material. It will be used exclusively for coinage.”

“Wise,” remarked Silk. “You don’t want any comeback on account of the tableware.”

“I shall produce Sterling silverware,” said Kendall. “It will be priced low enough to uphold the claim that I made to other manufacturers. I can afford to lose some money on tableware, if necessary. The machine is stamping out coins by the bushel.

“Naturally, the output is greater in total value when half dollars are coined. Quarters are effective, also. We are concentrating on them to gain a reserve supply; then we can punch out dimes when we are somewhat ahead of the game.”

“The outlet,” suggested Silk. “What about it?”

“Perfect,” said Kendall. “You will be surprised, Elverton, when I tell you confidentially that this alloy runs only ten cents to the dollar. Such low cost is possible, due to the present decline of the silver market, which has enabled me to purchase an oversupply.

“I intend to send out one thousand dollars in silver to each of the Kendall Theaters, every Monday morning. The larger houses can be given additional funds. Therefore, I estimate an outlet of twenty thousand dollars. Costing us two thousand, the net profit is eighteen thousand dollars a week.”

Silk Elverton whistled.

“Can the machine keep up with it?” he questioned.

“I intend to install a second machine,” stated Kendall. “Furthermore, I have other forms of outlet. The company stores, various enterprises with which I am associated; these can use silver money. I shall be conservative with them, however. The theaters offer the sure outlet. Through them we will loose a scourge of silver that will spread throughout the country!”

“We can net a million a year,” exclaimed Silk.

“Far more than that,” asserted Kendall, “when I have developed other outlets. The present plan will do for a time, however. I have acted wisely, Elverton. All money from the theaters is to be brought in here in paper. Monday mornings, the theaters will be supplied with silver from my armored truck.

“Presumably, I shall be attending to extensive bank deposits, and receiving silver coins by special order. Actually, the paper money will be deposited in different banks — much of it in other cities. Tim Mecke will superintend the moving of boxes filled with silver coins into my counting rooms here at the plant. Girls will bundle the money into round packages for shipment to the theaters.

“It is very simple. An endless chain which appears quite natural. No one but ourselves will know that the coins themselves come from within the plant. There will be one break in the chain; that break will never be suspected.”

“It sounds perfect,” declared Silk. “It’s so big, though, that it takes my breath away. This is the greatest racket I ever heard of. It’s so good that I’m afraid something can queer it.”

“A wise thought,” observed Kendall.

“Some of your stockholders,” suggested Silk. “Like this Doctor Guyon I met at your house last night—”

“Do not fear upon that score,” smiled Kendall. “There are many stockholders in my enterprises; but they are well scattered. Conrad Guyon is an exception. He has various holdings; but he also has absolute confidence in my business ability. I can take care of Guyon. Do not worry.”

Silk laughed.

“Nevertheless,” resumed Kendall, “there is a danger — one that you have not observed. It involves another man whom you met last night.”

“Which one?”

“Clayton Landow. The governor’s son.”

“How does he figure?”

“As general manager of the theatrical enterprise. He is already puzzled because of my new arrangements in handling the funds.”

“He is going to marry your niece.”

“Exactly. That is why he holds his present job. Nevertheless, young Landow is too honest and too observant. I cannot remove him, and his present position will enable him to cause us trouble.”

“What can you do about it?”

Foulkrod Kendall continued to wear his knowing smile. He tapped the desk thoughtfully as he eyed Silk Elverton. Then, with a motion from his pocket he tossed a key across to Silk.

“What’s this?” questioned the crook.

“I assume, Elverton,” said Kendall, “that you are a man of many capabilities. Did you ever experiment in the craft of forgery?”

Silk grinned and nodded.

“Your task, then,” resumed Kendall, “will be an easy one. Here” — the millionaire produced a slip of paper — “is the combination of the safe in young Landow’s offices. In that safe are books — Landow’s own records, also old books given him by the theater managers.

“Work on the old books. Raise the amount of any entries that seem lower than usual. Leave the totals as they are; but fix them so they appear to be amounts inscribed over erasures. You get my point?”

“I get it,” grinned Silk. “We’ll have the goods on Landow. It will look as though he faked the totals before entering them in his book.”

“Exactly,” returned Kendall. “But when the books are checked, there will be several thousand dollars missing. The theft of that cash can be pinned on Landow.”

“Which will keep him quiet.”

Foulkrod Kendall arose.

“I am going home,” he said. “Clayton Landow will be at my house. You go to his office. Get to work. When he leaves, I shall call you there. He frequently visits the office late at night. My call will give you time to make a get-away.”

THE plotters left by the side door. Foulkrod Kendall went one way; Silk Elverton another. It was precisely ten o’clock when the millionaire reached his mansion to find his niece and Clayton Landow talking in the living room.

Kendall chatted for a while, then went into an adjoining room, where he had a desk. Carefully leaving the door ajar, Kendall could hear Landow’s voice talking to the girl.

There was a window in this ground-floor room. The shade was not drawn; the pane, facing the dark lawn, was nothing more than a black rectangle. Slowly, the window sash began to move upward until a small crack was visible at the bottom. Through that space, keen eyes were peering, hidden ears were listening.

The Shadow had arrived!

Eleven o’clock struck. Kendall heard something from the other room. He arose and opened the door. He spoke to Clayton Landow.

“You’re not leaving, are you, Clayton?” he questioned.

“Very soon,” returned the governor’s son. “I was just telling Miriam that I must stop down at the office tonight.”

“Come in and see me a few minutes before you go,” suggested Kendall.

This time, the millionaire actually closed the door behind him. He seized the telephone and called a number. He heard Silk Elverton’s cautious voice across the line.

“How goes it?” questioned Kendall. “Ah! Excellent… Will fifteen minutes do? Good… He is coming to the office… I can keep him here for a quarter of an hour… Good… I’m glad you can finish it in this one trip…”

Kendall smiled as he hung up the receiver. He arose to go back to the living room to make sure that Landow was remaining. The millionaire noticed a draft; before he could turn to see where it came from, the blackened window sash slid noiselessly into place. The Shadow was gone.

FIFTEEN minutes later, a phantom shape appeared upon the street in front of the building where Clayton Landow’s office was located. The figure of The Shadow came momentarily into view. It turned toward the blackened door of the building, then merged with darkness.

A man was sneaking out from the building. He passed by the spot where The Shadow was standing. Satisfied that no one was in view, the man walked into a patch of light.

His shrewd, handsome face was fully visible. The Shadow knew his identity. The prowler was Silk Elverton. There could be no doubt of that fact.

Elverton strolled along to a spot where a cab was standing. He spoke to the driver. Listening from darkness, The Shadow heard his words.

“I want to go to a town near here,” announced Silk. “A place called Hempstead — I’m stopping at the Palace Hotel there. You know the place?”

“Sure,” said the driver.

The cab rolled away. The Shadow remained in darkness. A few minutes later, a coupe pulled up. A man alighted and entered the building from which Silk had come. The new arrival was Clayton Landow.

Again, The Shadow stood upon the silent, deserted street. A soft laugh rippled from his hidden lips. Its mocking tones betokened understanding.

Clayton Landow was being made the victim of some plot. Silk Elverton, located in another town, was working with Foulkrod Kendall in New Avalon. Clearly, with Harry Vincent’s report in mind, The Shadow pieced together important details.

This could be but a side issue in a greater scheme. The contemplated crime that had brought Kendall and Elverton together was probably some gigantic swindle that was now reaching important stages of development. The Shadow could divine the truth; he could see that Clayton Landow was to be made a cat’s-paw.

The chilling tones of The Shadow’s laugh died in the night air. When Clayton Landow returned to his coupe a short while later, the street was actually deserted.

Plotters had worked tonight. The Shadow, although not in time to spy upon their secret conference, had gained an inkling of the aftermath.

The Shadow knew; and The Shadow had departed.