Chapter VIII: Under the Surface

It was not a sudden inspirational suspicion, no inexplicable intuitive conviction, that had caused Nick Carter to snatch a disguise from the face of Jack Conroy, so called, and unmask the treacherous scoundrel chiefly responsible for the abduction of Amy Madden.

Nick Carter had dug out this possibility from under the superficial facts and circumstances before leaving his business office that afternoon. He had asked himself numerous pertinent questions leading up to it.

Why had Kate Crandall, surely one of the abductors, lately left her position with Madden, Mellen & Mack? What reason could she have had for giving up a remunerative situation?

Why did it really happen that, instead of dealing directly with the father of the stolen child, the abductors had selected to negotiate with his junior partner, David Mack? What was the true reason for that? Were there secret relations existing between these two, Kate Crandall and David Mack?

If so, and Nick recalled the downfall of Cyrus Darling, had Mack also lost his head for this handsome, fascinating, yet thoroughly unscrupulous woman? If so, again, might not he and her very intimate friend, Jack Conroy, be one and the same?

Going a step farther, might not David Mack have still other motives for the crime? Consider the size of the ransom demanded. Who so likely to demand half a million for the restoration of a six-year-old child, as a banker accustomed to handling millions?

This was the process of reasoning, or part of it, that had started Nick in search of Patsy Garvan, to see what more he had learned and to give him additional instructions.

This was the new idea, moreover, that he had imparted to Chick Carter before leaving his office, as already stated, together with instructions to his chief assistant.

Resulting from all this, Chick Carter was doing some lively flying around while Nick was engaged as described.

Chick’s first moves on the criminal chessboard were hurried visits to several banking and brokerage houses, where he finally obtained the information he was seeking--that a man named Jack Conroy dealt extensively with certain stock-market brokers, with whom he carried heavy margin accounts, and whose names the detective finally obtained.

Chick then visited these brokers one after another, and he learned that the said Jack Conroy was carrying margin accounts aggregating more than half a million dollars, so distributed that neither broker had felt any misgivings, though comparatively little was known about the man.

It was after four o’clock when Chick had gathered all of these facts, and he then made a bee line for the offices of Madden, Mellen & Mack. He found Madden and Mellen in the room in which Nick had conferred with them that morning, and Chick at once came down to business.

“Is Mr. Mack absent?” he inquired, after evasively informing Mr. Madden that no definite clews had been discovered, much to the banker’s disappointment.

“Yes, he has gone for the day,” said Mr. Mellen, replying.

“He is to meet that infernal scoundrel, Redlaw, this evening,” Mr. Madden bitterly added. “Nick has told you, of course, about the rascal’s telephone communication to Mack?”

“I know all about that,” Chick replied. “How long has Mr. Mack been gone?”

“Since two o’clock. The assistant cashier is handling his work.”

“Mack is cashier for this firm, then, I take it.”

“Yes.”

“Is he a wealthy man, Mr. Madden?”

“No, not very,” said Madden, while both bankers appeared to wonder at the question.

“Is he worth a million?” asked Chick carelessly.

“Nothing like it.”

“Half a million?”

“No, nor half of that,” said Mr. Mellen. “He has only a small interest in this firm. His wife, who died a year ago, was a terrible spendthrift. I doubt that Mack could raise a hundred thousand dollars, to say nothing of half a million. His place up in Westchester County may be worth twenty thousand.”

“Does he live there?”

“Not since his wife died. He employs a man to care for the place, however, and goes out there occasionally. He lives in a suite in town.”

“I see,” said Chick, with eyes shining. “I suppose Mack acts as your treasurer, as well as cashier, doesn’t he?”

“He has charge of all of our securities, of course, if that is what you mean,” said Mr. Madden. “But what of all this? What are you driving at, Mr. Carter?”

“I will tell you presently,” Chick replied. “Are your clerks still at work in the outer office?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“How often is your balance sheet made up and your securities examined and checked off?”

“Once a month,” said Mellen, gazing.

“Does Mack attend to all that?”

“Yes, always.”

“Where are the securities kept?”

“In a compartment in our vault,” said Mellen. “Mack has one of the two keys. I carry the other.”

“Call in one of your clerks, Mr. Madden,” said Chick. “Let’s have a look at your last balance sheet, and compare it with the securities now in your vault.”

“Good heavens!” cried Mr. Madden, aghast. “You don’t suspect David Mack of embezzlement, do you?”

“Well, to be perfectly frank, that is precisely what I suspect,” Chick declared, more forcibly.

“But----”

“Let’s lose no time in speculating upon it, however, for time is valuable. We can quickly learn the truth. Have the balance sheet brought in, Mr. Madden, while you, Mr. Mellen, bring the securities from the vault. We can conduct these investigations quietly and without informing your clerks. That must be avoided for the present.”

Chick Carter’s instructions now were hurriedly followed. The result of the examination, moreover, fully confirmed his suspicions.

David Mack was found to be short in his accounts precisely--half a million dollars.

Numerous packages of securities, or supposed to contain them, tied up and sealed and labeled with Mack’s own handwriting, contained only worthless papers and useless old documents.

David Mack was short precisely the amount of the demanded ransom.

“My Lord!” Mr. Madden groaned, when the full truth was learned. “My Lord, who could have believed it? Are disasters never to end? What on earth does this mean, Mr. Carter?”

Chick waved both dismayed bankers to their seats.

“What it means, gentlemen, may be very briefly stated,” he now said gravely. “David Mack has been speculating heavily in an assumed character and under the name of Jack Conroy. He has margin accounts with half a score of brokers, and is involved more than half a million dollars, with absolutely no prospect of recovery in the present declining market.”

“Recovery! Good heavens, I should say not!” cried Mellen, throwing up his hands.

“Mack has been secretly using your securities, gentlemen, to carry these numerous accounts,” Chick continued. “He evidently realized lately that his situation was a hopeless one. To pull himself out of the hole and square himself here, therefore, he has resorted to another crime.”

“You mean----”

“I mean, gentlemen, that David Mack conspired with your stenographer and other confederates to abduct the Madden child--knowing very well that you, Mr. Madden, would pay even half a million dollars for her safe return.”

“Good heavens!”

John Madden sank back in his chair as if completely nonplused.

“That is the story in a nutshell, gentlemen, and that is why David Mack was appointed to conduct negotiations with a fictitious Redlaw. Observe, Mr. Madden, how easy that would make it for him to take your money and restore your missing child.”

Mellen banged the table with both fists, crying angrily:

“By Heaven, that scoundrel shall pay for this. I will have his life. I will----”

“On the contrary, Mr. Mellen, you will be wise and let the law inflict the penalty,” Chick Carter interrupted. “Nick already is at work along these lines. We shall, I think, have Mack and all of his confederates in custody before midnight--and the stolen child safe in her own home.”

“Heaven grant it!” cried Madden fervently.

“If the time should be longer, however, you must be patient,” Chick quickly added. “If Mack should return before we have succeeded in rounding him up, you must have him arrested immediately, and allow him no communication with persons outside. I do not think that will occur, however, if my suspicions are correct. Now, Mr. Madden, give me precise directions for reaching Mack’s house in Westchester.”

“Is there where you expect to find my child?”

“I certainly do.”

“By Heaven, then, I will go with you.”

“And I, also,” cried Mellen. “I want one crack at that miscreant.”

Chick checked them with a gesture.

“On the contrary, gentlemen, you must do absolutely nothing in this matter,” he firmly insisted.

“Nothing?”

“It is out of your line, gentlemen. It is one for men of my vocation to handle. An indiscreet step on your part might ruin all that we have accomplished. Be patient, I repeat, until we have finished our work.”

Both bankers now saw the wisdom of his advice, and they readily yielded to it. Five minutes later, having obtained the directions he required, Chick left their office and hastened home.

Nick Carter had not returned.

No word had been received from Patsy Garvan.

It then was nearly six o’clock.

Chick rang for Danny Maloney and the touring car, then telephoned to police headquarters.

More than an hour later, just as the dusk of evening was deepening to darkness, Chick alighted from the car with two plain-clothes men in a rural road amid the wooded hills of Westchester County, and cautiously approached a fine old wooden residence half hidden among trees in the near distance.

The three detectives still were outside of the private grounds, when, emerging from some shrubbery flanking one side of the extensive estate, a quick, athletic figure hurried toward them.

“Great Scott!” Chick quietly exclaimed. “Is it you, Patsy?”

“You bet, Chick, and I’m mighty glad you have showed up,” said Patsy expressively.

“Something doing, eh?”

“Surest thing you know.”

“Where is Nick?”

“Well, I have a hunch, now, that he is in that house,” said Patsy, pointing.

“David Mack’s house.”

“That is?”

“Surely. He is the man we want, the chief crook of the bunch.”

Patsy looked puzzled. He did not then know what Nick Carter had dug from under the surface.

“Gee! that beats me,” he muttered. Then, more hurriedly: “I followed Duffy’s wife and boy out here, and have been watching ever since and waiting for darkness. Less than half an hour ago a big touring car came out, containing a veiled woman and three men. They now are in the house. One of them is Jack Conroy, I reckon, for he answers the description and wears a figured vest.”

“Jack Conroy and David Mack are one and the same.”

“The devil you say!”

“Devil is right, I guess,” chuckled Chick. “What more? Why do you think Nick is in the house?”

“Because they stopped the car at the side door, that one under the porte-cochère, and the three men lugged in a big burden wrapped in the robes. It looked like the figure of a man, but I couldn’t be sure of it. If----”

“There will be no ifs, Patsy, in about five minutes,” Chick interrupted. “The darkness now will cover our approach. Come on, all hands! We’ll find out why the milk is in the coconut--even if we have to break a nut or two.”