CHAPTER 17
MEET ME IN ST. LOUIS
Fred “The Deacon” Buckminster and I decided to stick together. We both lived in Chicago and were fond of excitement. Either of us could have retired and lived a legitimate life many times, but we craved excitement.
One of our stooges in the faro bank venture owned some Alaskan mining stock. We bought it from him for $500. We found out that it was worthless, though perfectly legitimate, because the mining property actually did exist.
The beautifully engraved certificates gave me an idea which I discussed with Fred. The plan required considerable forethought and it was several months before we were ready. But when we finally did complete the scheme we had something that was to be a gold mine for more than twenty years.
The first concrete step was to have stock certificates printed. We had an ample supply of the most magnificent stock certificates you ever saw. The stock was so beautifully engraved that it looked like money in the bank. The borders were gold leaf.
The certificates were all shares in the nonexistent “Verde-Apex Copper Mining Company” and the equally nonexistent “Verde-Grande Copper Mining Company.”
Gene Boyd, who lived in East Chicago, Indiana, was lined up to “hold the rag,” which means holding a block of worthless stock. John Snadey, the gold-brick specialist and John Strosnider, who was ready to participate in any kind of skin game, also became rag-holders. They were all given detailed instructions.
Jimmy Head, the most dependable man of the lot, completed our organization.
At this time I had become involved with a young woman in Chicago who had taken my attention a little too seriously. I decided that a drive to St. Louis would be good for me.
Buckminster wasn’t doing anything, and accepted my invitation to go along. We drove in my Fiat roadster.
We were approaching Alton, which is not far from St. Louis, when we saw a big, run-down plant. It was not in operation and was in a state of dilapidation. Weeds grew unchecked on the grounds around the building. The fence was falling apart and most of the windows were broken. Across the side of the building was a dirty sign: THE ALTON IRON WORKS.
“That,” I said to Buck, “ought to be a good investment for our European associates.”
“It might,” he agreed. “But I’ll bet it’s in hock.”
“Shall we find out?”
“Sure. It might be a good bet.”
We drove on into Alton and stopped at a hotel dining-room for lunch. I inquired of the waiter, and we received the complete story of the Alton Iron Works.
“It started out big,” he told us. “A lot of people worked there and the whole town was proud of it. But something went wrong. The owner was a man named Gibbons. He was a partner in the Third State Bank. Gibbons went broke and had to borrow money on it. He lost all of that and then he hocked his house. When all the money from that was gone he had to close up. I guess the disappointment killed him.”
“Who owns the plant now?”
“Mrs. Gibbons, I suppose. But there’s a big lien on it and she’ll never get anything out if it.”
“How about the man who holds the lien?”
“He’ll get something out of it,” said the waiter. “I don’t know how, but I bet he will. He was Gibbons’ partner in the Third State Bank but wouldn’t go in the Iron Works. When Gibbons needed money he went to the bank. This fellow - his name is Hoffman - lent him the money - first on the plant and then on the house.”
“What makes you think he won’t lose any money on it?” I asked.
“Him lose money? Mister, he’s the tightest man in the world. He never lost money on anything.”
“Thanks.” I slipped the waiter a five dollar bill and paid the check, and we left for the Third State Bank.
It was a modest building. There was no pretentious lobby, no wasted space. Five tellers’ cages were all on one side. At the end of the room the banker sat on a platform in front of his private office.
This was the man - Marvin Hoffman - whom we had come to see. He was of medium height and build. A frugal man - you could tell that just by looking at him. He wore the cheapest clothes I ever saw on a business man. The suit was plain gray of very coarse material. The coat was ill-fitting and the trousers were baggy. He looked like anything but a banker.
Hoffman had a thick moustache, obviously dyed. My own reaction was that he had used black shoe-polish. On top of his head was a toupee, also black, the most ill-fitting toupee I had ever seen. You could spot it a block away, for it looked like the stuffing out of a cheap mattress.
“Mr. Hoffman?” I approached him.
“Yes.” He stood up and surveyed me with a critical eye.
“I am Dr. Weed and this is my associate, Mr. McFetridge. We represent European capital. To be exact, our principals are important figures in Europe.”
“I’m honored, Dr. Weed,” he said, shaking hands. He beamed at us cordially. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”
“As I said, our principals are important figures in Europe. They are none too sure that Germany and her allies will win the war. If something should go wrong they want to have something to fall back on in this country. They have entrusted us with the task of selecting some worthwhile investments.”
“Can I help you with an investment?” Hoffman inquired.
“Perhaps. I understand that you own the Alton Iron Works.”
The banker’s rotund face lighted up. His dyed moustache almost brushed against his nose as he parted his lips into a smile.
“I don’t own it,” he began. “But I do have a lien on it. And I am empowered to negotiate a sale.”
“Excellent,” I said. “How much do you think the owner would want for it?”
“I believe,” he replied, with a perfectly straight face, “that he would be willing to sell for $500,000.”
“H-mm!” If I had been seriously considering buying the place, I would have laughed in his face. But, very solemnly, I turned to Buck. “What do you think, Mr. McFetridge.”
“That’s about the figure we had in mind,” he replied. “I think it will make a good investment.”
Hoffman looked us over again. I am not very large, but I was well-dressed. My beard was well-groomed. Buckminster’s clothes had been cut by a good tailor. His figure was big and impressive. I looked distinguished and Buck imposing. Hoffman thought he had hit the jackpot. We gave every tangible evidence of being big business in person.
I stroked my beard thoughtfully. “There is another thing we have to consider. It will require some additional capital to get the plant into shape. How much do you think would be required for that?” I asked Hoffman.
“Not so much,” he replied. “Maybe $50,000.”
“We’ll plan on a hundred thousand,” I said. “Suppose you talk to the owner and get the necessary papers ready. We’ll go on into St. Louis and I’ll contact my principals. We’ll see you again next Tuesday - a week from today.”
“I’ll arrange everything,” said the overjoyed Hoffman.
We shook hands and left.
“How much do you expect to get out of him?” asked Buck, as we drove into St. Louis.
“Not much,” I replied. “But we ought to be able to make our expenses.”
“He’s a tightwad if I ever saw one,” said Buck. “We’ll be lucky if we take him for $25,000.”
We registered at the Jefferson Hotel in St. Louis and took a suite with a sitting room and two bedrooms.
The following morning, I read the financial pages of a St. Louis morning paper. One item that interested me particularly was that Bright and Company, a large brokerage house, was going out of business. I called the item to Buck’s attention.
After breakfast we went downtown. The brokerage house of Bright and Company was a beehive of activity. I asked for the manager and was shown into his office.
“Yes,” he affirmed the report, “we’re liquidating this office.”
“I represent the brokerage firm of Farson, Clark, Hamill Company,” I told him. “We plan to open an office in St. Louis. What do you plan to do with your furnishings?”
“Sell them, I suppose,” the manager replied.
“How would you like to rent the whole thing, completely furnished?”
“I think that could be arranged. But it will be two weeks before we’ll be out. Our clerks will be busy until then, getting the books in order.”
“That would be all right,” I said. “I suppose you’d have no objections to our bringing in some of our own clients if you’re not out by the time we’re ready to move in?”
“No, of course not.”
I arranged to lease the place and paid a month’s rent in advance. Then I called Jimmy Head in Chicago and told him to come on to St. Louis.
Buck and I surveyed our new offices with undisguised satisfaction. The place was completely equipped for handling stocks. The board was still in operation. Quotations from the New York Stock Exchanges were coming in as usual. All around us clerks were busy over ledgers. It was agreed that we could have the use of one of the offices until the company closed its affairs.
This settled, Buck and I set about the business of relaxing, which had been our original purpose in coming to St. Louis. We attended a performance of The Passing Show and went to a cabaret.
People have often asked me what I did with all the money that came into my possession. A little impromptu party we gave offers a good example of how the cash melted away. We often entertained on a lavish scale.
Friday night we were in the elevator going up to our room when I noticed a beautiful red-haired girl. I recognized her as the star of The Passing Show.
On an impulse I approached her. “I beg your pardon, Miss, but what are you doing tonight?”
She looked up in surprise. “Why, I’m going to my room.”
“Won’t you join us?” I said. “This gentleman”-I indicated Buckminster - “and I are having a little party. I have five bottles of imported champagne and a feast of English pheasant.”
“Why, I don’t know-”the girl hesitated.
“We expect another young woman to join us,” I added hastily.
“I suppose it would be all right.”
“Excellent. You go along to your room and get ready. We have some preparations to make. We’ll call you as soon as everything is ready.”
The girl got off the elevator and we went on up to our suite.
“What’s the big idea?” Buck demanded, “telling that girl you’ve got a feast. Why, you haven’t even got a bottle of wine.”
“No, but I’ll get it. How about you getting a girl?”
“That’s easy,” Buck replied. “I can get that blonde from Fogarty’s show. And that reminds me. I’m giving a party for Fogarty’s entire show Saturday night. Do you want to come along?”
“Certainly. And maybe I can bring along a few of the cast of The Passing Show.”
“The more the merrier,” said Buck.
I hurried back downstairs and talked to the night clerk. All liquor stores were closed then, as was the hotel dining room. But for a consideration, the clerk got into the dining room and found some roast chicken in the icebox. He also got the keys to the liquor stock room. He returned with three bottles of champagne and a bucket of ice.
Within half an hour I had the feast spread on a table in the sitting room of our suite. Then I called the redhead and she came up. Within a few minutes Buck was there with the blonde from Fogarty’s show.
We had a gay time that lasted well into the morning hours. Before I had parted with the girl I had arranged to take part of her company on our party the following night.
We had selected Saturday night because there was no performance on Sunday. It was well after midnight when we got going. Buck and I hired a dozen cabs to take us to a roadhouse just outside St. Louis. The place was about ready to close, but we persuaded the proprietor to let us in.
A ten - piece band was on the point of leaving. But a little cash, with promise of more, induced them to stay on. There was plenty of food and plenty of wine.
It was probably as merry a party as had ever been staged at that roadhouse. The gayety lasted through Sunday and Sunday night and until late Monday afternoon. We consumed great quantities of food and many gallons of wine. We finally had to call a halt because the players had to get back into St. Louis for their shows.
The band had stuck with us all through the week end, as had the employees of the roadhouse. When it came time to settle the bill Buck and I paid out more than we hoped to take from Hoffman. We made money in large amounts and we spent it that way. We cared for money for only one reason - the fun and the things it would buy.
We were exhausted after the party and went to the hotel to sleep. We slept until Tuesday evening and got up with hangovers. Tuesday was the day we were supposed to go back to see Hoffman. There was nothing we could do now but make it the next day.
Hoffman greeted us effusively when we entered his bank the following morning.
“I’m sorry we were not able to get back on Tuesday,” I told him. “But I was delayed by another matter in which I am extremely interested.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said the banker, obviously relieved that we came back at all.
“Do you have the papers all drawn up?”
“Yes, everything is ready,” he replied. “I have a bill of sale, free of all encumbrances. Did you contact your principals?”
“Yes. They think the site is excellent and are quite ready to complete the transaction at the figure you mentioned. But it will be necessary to take the papers to New York where they can be inspected by the man who will direct the property in America. His name is Hans Luther and he has just arrived in this country from Europe.”
“You mean I have to go to New York?” asked Hoffman.
“Would it be inconvenient?” I countered.
“I’m afraid so,” he replied. “I have nobody to run the bank.”
“Suppose,” I said, “that we let Mr. McFetridge take the papers to New York and close the deal?”
“That’s all right with me,” Hoffman replied.
“An excellent idea,” Buckminster approved. “I ought to be able to get the whole thing settled in a week.”
“Meanwhile I’ll stay here,” I said.
“I’d ask you to stay with me,” frowned Hoffman, “but my house is rather small-”
“I wouldn’t think of it.” I told him. “As a matter of fact I have already engaged a suite at the Alton House.”
Buckminster took the papers and went back to St. Louis, supposedly to take a train for New York. He drove the Fiat, leaving me without transportation. I registered at the Alton House and welcomed the opportunity to get some rest at this quiet hotel.
During the ensuing days I spent a great deal of time with Hoffman. He had a Toledo touring car, which I think was the worst automobile I’ve ever been in. He took me to the iron works, and showed me how to make the necessary repairs.
One day while I was waiting for him to go to lunch he left the bank early, saying he wanted to buy a suit. I went along. He first tried the town’s leading haberdashery. But the cheapest suit this store had cost twenty-three dollars and that was more than Hoffman was willing to pay.
We went to several other stores, walking up and down side streets, until Hoffman finally found a suit that he felt he could afford. It was a ghastly color, poorly cut and of the very cheapest material. But the price tag was nine dollars, and that was what appealed to Hoffman. He bought the suit and wore it to church the following Sunday.
On the way to church Hoffman picked me up. While there were curious glances directed my way as we sat in Hoffman’s pew, there were no friendly advances. As far as I could see Hoffman had not a friend in the entire town. I had already seen some of the reasons for this, but as we drove back to town he gave me an even more revealing clue.
He pulled up to the curb in front of a house.
“See this place?”
“Yes.”
I couldn’t have missed it. It was a beautiful home, a two-story house of face brick which stood on a promontory. The lawn surrounding it had been terraced and the grass was very green. A winding driveway led to an arched portico on one side. On the other side was a greenhouse and a summer house. There were several fine trees on the grounds.
“That is the show place of Alton,” said Hoffman, “and I expect to move into it in a few weeks.”
“Did you buy it?” I inquired, very much surprised.
“Yes, in a way,” he replied. “I hold a mortgage on it. It was built by a man named Gibbons. He used to be my partner. Then he built the iron works and our partnership was dissolved. After I lent him the money on the iron works he wasted it all and came to me for more. I lent him $35,000 and took a mortgage on this house.”
“And does he still live there?” I asked, knowing the answer perfectly well.
“No, but his widow does. And she hasn’t been able to raise enough money to pay the mortgage.”
“You mean you’re going to foreclose on the widow?”
“I certainly am.” There was no hint of leniency in Hoffman’s manner - only greed. “It’s not my fault she can’t raise the money.”
“Well, you’ll have a beautiful home, Mr. Hoffman.”
“I sure will. And when I move in, I want you to come and visit me some time, Dr. Weed.”
“That’s a promise,” I agreed. “After you have taken up your residence in that house I promise to come and stay a week!”
And I meant that. For an idea had begun to crystallize. Maybe it was idealistic. I didn’t know Mrs. Gibbons, but I felt that she could not possibly deserve to lose her home at the hands of this miser.
The following day, while we were having lunch, I said to Hoffman: “You remember the mining deal I mentioned to you?”
“Oh, you mean the one that delayed your corning back?”
“Yes. Well, I’m rather concerned about that. I need some advice.”
“Maybe I can help you,” the banker offered. “What is this mining problem.”
“You’ve probably heard of the Verde-Grande Copper Mining Company of Jerome, Arizona?”
“Of course,” he replied. I knew he hadn’t, because no such company existed except on our stock certificates.
“This mine gave promise of being very rich. But suddenly, when the miners got to the boundary of an adjoining mine - owned by the Morgan interests - they found that the vein went over into the next mine and that their own ore had been exhausted. They shut the mine down until they learned of the Law of the Apex.”
“What is the Law of the Apex?” Hoffman asked.
“Just this: the property where the outcropping is of the higher point shall be entitled to all bodies of mineral ores lying therein and boundary lines may be disregarded.”
“What does that mean to the Verde-Grande mine?”
“It means that it is fabulously rich. For the vein that extends across the boundary was higher than the outcroppings in the other mine and it was one of the richest veins ever discovered.”
“What is your idea of a solution to the problem?” Hoffman asked thoughtfully.
“The Morgan interests, knowing that they will lose a great deal if the Verde-Grande stands on its rights, are trying to gain control of the mine before the stockholders find out what happened. Their brokers have asked me to help buy up the stock. They have offered to buy all I can get for two dollars a share.”
“What brokers made you the proposition?”
“Bright and Company.”
“Why, they have an office in St. Louis,” the banker exclaimed.
“Yes. As a matter of fact that’s where I expect to sell the stock if I can get somebody to help me buy it up.”
“Do you know who has the stock?”
“I have one or two leads. And from what I have heard I think I can get the stock for ten cents a share.”
“And sell it for two dollars?” There was a greedy gleam In the banker’s eye.
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you let me help you?”
“I will. But first there is the deal for the iron works. As soon as I have closed that, then I’ll let you help me.”
“Why wait on that? It may be a week before your friend will get back from New York. And in the meantime the stockholders might get wind of what’s happened and then maybe you can’t get their stock so cheap.”
“But you don’t know me very well, Mr. Hoffman. I -”
“Ha!” he broke in. “I know you maybe better than you think. I say let’s go get that stock while we can.”
Reluctantly I acquiesced. The next morning we set out for East Chicago, Indiana, where Gene Boyd was waiting with 12,500 shares of Verde-Grande stock. The Toledo sputtered every mile of the way. We were beset with engine trouble and numerous flat tires.
We found Gene Boyd’s home - he was an East Chicago policeman - and inquired about his stock.
“It’s no good,” he said disgustedly. “You can have it for anything you want to pay.”
“We’ll give you ten cents a share,” I offered.
“It’s a deal.”
I counted out $1,250 and handed it over to him. Gene slipped $1,000 of it back to me before we left, keeping $250 for his services.
We proceeded at once to St. Louis. Jimmy Head had installed himself in the one office that we were to use until Bright and Company had finished their business.
I led the way into this office and introduced Head as manager of Bright and Company. Hoffman never doubted it. He looked about him and saw the clerks busy at their ledgers. Quotations from the New York Stock Exchange were coming in and Hoffman didn’t miss that either. It was one of the largest and busiest financial offices he had ever seen.
“I’m glad to see you, Dr. Weed,” said Jimmy, shaking hands. “Did you have any luck?”
“Some,” I replied. “I picked up 12,500 shares.”
“That’s only a drop in the bucket,” Head remarked. “But I’ll buy it from you at two dollars a share, as agreed.” I handed the stock over and he counted out $25,000. Hoffman’s greedy eyes glistened as he watched me making money so fast.
“I have another prospect,” I said, pocketing the money. “I understand he has 250,000 shares.”
“Just bring it in, Dr. Weed,” Jimmy said, smiling expansively. “We’ll have the money ready for you.” He turned to Hoffman. “I’m very glad to have had the opportunity to meet you, Mr. Hoffman. You say you’re in Alton? Maybe we can get together later on a stock transaction.”
We left and Hoffman walked as if his head were in the clouds. I could tell that he was overwhelmed.
“When do we see that fellow with the big block?” he asked.
“Well, you have to get back to Alton, don’t you?”
“I’ll run in there tonight and we can start tomorrow morning.”
“All right, Mr. Hoffman. I think I’ll stay overnight in St. Louis. I’ll meet you tomorrow morning at the Jefferson Hotel.”
Buckminster was waiting for me at the hotel. With him was a big, bluff, red-faced fellow to act as Hans Luther. This fellow participated in dozens of swindles but was never touched by the law.
The next day Hoffman and I drove to Logansport, Indiana. I directed him to the livery barns of the O’Donnell Transfer Company, owned and operated by John O’Donnell.
O’Donnell wasn’t in his office, as I knew quite well. But John Strosnider was there. One look and I could tell that he had a hangover.
“I beg your pardon,” I said. “Are you Mr. O’Donnell?”
“Yeah. What do you want?”
“Do you own some stock in the Verde-Grande Copper Company?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I am Dr. Walter H. Weed,” I said. “I happen to know that you hold 250,000 shares.”
“Well, what if I do?”
“I am prepared to buy the entire lot,” I removed my gloves, laid them on the desk, and took out the $25,000 I had received from Jimmy Head. “I’ll give you $25,000 for your holdings.”
“$25,000?” Strosnider spat viciously. “Get out of here. I won’t even talk to you for that. The stock cost me a dollar a share.”
“But you know it’s worthless now-”
“If it’s worthless, why are you so anxious to buy it?” he demanded. “There must be something up. I don’t want to sell.”
“All right,” I said, “I’ll give you $25,000 for a forty-eight-hour option to buy it for twenty cents a share.”
“I won’t sell for twenty cents. And why should I give you an option? Nobody gave me an option when I paid a dollar a share for it.”
“Would you sell it for a dollar a share?”
“I tell you I don’t want to sell. But if I did, I wouldn’t consider less than a dollar.”
“I’ll give you a dollar,” I said. “But I’ll need time to raise the money.”
“Nobody gave me time to raise the money when I bought the stock,” he said irritably. “I had to put cash on the line.”
“But I’m willing to put this $25,000 down-”
“Get out!” he barked. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Hoffman and I returned to the car. His spirits were very low. He got in and I was about to follow when I noticed that I had left my gloves behind. Hoffman said he would wait while I went back for them.
I stayed fifteen minutes and when I returned my manner was jubilant.
“I talked him into selling,” I told Hoffman. “He has agreed to give me an option for $50,000. I gave him the $25,000 I had and he agreed to wait until this afternoon for the other $25,000.”
“I wouldn’t take that old drunk’s word for anything,” Hoffman said. “Where are you going to get the $25,000?”
“I’m going to wire my principals. Please drive me to the Western Union office.”
He drove me to the telegraph office and parked in front while I went in. I sent a fake message to Buckminster, then came back out and told Hoffman there would be a wait of about an hour until I got a reply. I went back in the Western Union office and engaged the manager in conversation, telling him I was going to build a factory in Logansport. After conversing for a while I induced him to accompany me to a near-by bank. Hoffman saw this, though he didn’t know what it was about. The Western Union manager introduced me to the president of the bank, to whom I told the same story. The whole thing was just to fool Hoffman into believing we had gone to the bank to get money.
I returned to the car and showed Hoffman $25,000. It was the same $25,000 I had supposedly given O’Donnell on the option. But he didn’t know that; he thought I’d got it by wire.
We went back to the O’Donnell place and gave the $25,000 to Strosnider. He wrote out an option to buy his stock for $200,000 balance if purchased within forty-eight hours. Then he managed to slip the money back to me.
We started driving back to St. Louis.
“I can raise $140,000,” I told Hoffman. “But I need your permission.”
“Why my permission?” he asked.
“It’s part of the money that will go into the iron works. It was entrusted to me by my employers. I know that there is no risk, but I can’t use the money without your sanction.
“You remember Mr. McFetridge went to New York to see a man named Hans Luther? Well, Mr. Luther is going to be the managing director of the iron works. He will need a home near the plant. He comes from an aristocratic German family. They always lived in a castle and he will require a pretentious home in America.”
“How soon do you think you could make the deal?”
“I don’t know, but we haven’t much time. You drive me by the hotel and I’ll stop and see if there is any word from McFetridge.”
In St. Louis Hoffman drove me to the Jefferson. I went up to our suite, where I found Buck and the stooge who was taking the part of Hans Luther.
I told them what was up. The stooge practiced a little on his accent until it was heavy enough. Then we went down and met Hoffman.
I introduced him to Hans Luther, who acknowledged in English, with a heavy German accent that was quite convincing.
“Yah, I think I would like that house,” he replied, when I had explained the proposition to him in Hoffman’s presence. “Could I see it maybe?”
“Certainly,” said Hoffman.
“Fine,” I cut in. “You go ahead, Mr. Hoffman. We’ll drive out later and take a look at the house.”
This was agreed. Hoffman drove off and the three of us went to dinner.
Now it seemed reasonable that Hoffman should have asked about the deal for the iron works since Hans Luther was the man we were waiting for to close it. But Hoffman was like all the others who fell for my stock scheme. The fever of speculation had hit him so hard he seemed to have forgotten all about the original deal.
Later that evening we drove out to Alton and I took Buck and the stooge to see the house. Then we called on Hoffman. Hans Luther agreed to pay $25,000 for the house, but demanded that the title be free of encumbrance.
“I can fix that up all right,” Hoffman promised, his eyes shining.
“Good,” I told him. “You get that done as early as you can in the morning. Then meet us at the Jefferson in St. Louis.”
“It may take all day to get it,” said Hoffman. “But I can meet you the next day.”
“That will be fine. Make it ten o’clock.”
“I’ll be there,” he agreed.
He was there. He had a court title to the house. This was possible because eighteen months had elapsed since the mortgage was due.
Hans Luther was there, too, and so was a very good lawyer. He is now a federal judge in Missouri. He represented Mrs. Gibbons, but Hoffman didn’t know that.
Luther had a draft on a New York bank to pay for the property. I volunteered to go to the bank and have it cashed while the lawyer and Hoffman were completing the transaction. This was agreed to by Hoffman.
I got him to one side to prevent the others from hearing.
“Come over to the Boatman’s National Bank as soon as you’re through,” I whispered. “We’ve got to get to Logansport before that option expires. I’ll draw out my money and we’ll drive over to Logansport and pick up the stock.”
“I understand,” he whispered. “I’ll be there.”
An hour later when he walked into the Boatman’s National Bank I was waiting with a bag. I opened it and showed him several neat piles of money.
“There it is,” I said. “$175,000 in cash. Have you got your $25,000?”
“Yes.” He patted his pocket.
“Good. We’d better be going. We’ve only a few hours until that option expires.”
We set out for Logansport in the Toledo touring car. We arrived there early in the afternoon. As we approached the O’Donnell Transfer Company, Hoffman stopped the car.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
He reached in his pocket. “Here,” he said, “you might as well take all the money and put it together.” He counted out five $5,000 notes and handed them to me.
I put them in the bag with the rest of the money. Hoffman made a perfunctory inspection of the contents of the bag. The currency was mostly boodle, with good money on the top and bottom. Each bundle was neatly wrapped with money wrappers from the Boatman’s National Bank. There was a date on each and the initials of the tellers who supposedly had counted the money. It all looked genuine enough, even to a banker.
We went up to the O’Donnell livery barns and again found Strosnider on hand. He endorsed the stock and turned it over to me and I gave him the bag containing the boodle - and Hoffman’s $25,000.
I insisted I was hungry, and we stopped to have a late lunch, thereby delaying our return to St. Louis. Hoffman didn’t eat very much. He was elated over the success of our mission and was anxious to get back to St. Louis so we could dispose of the stock and he could collect his $60,000 profit.
When we did get back to St. Louis it was after dark. Bright and Company was closed. This had been fully planned. I had purposely delayed our return.
If Hoffman had been a less frugal man he would have stayed in St. Louis overnight, attended a show, and had a good time. He would also have been on hand the next morning to collect his money. But that would have cost him too much, so he returned to Alton, thereby relieving me of the problem of getting rid of him.
“Suppose you take this stock with you for safekeeping,” I suggested, though I had no intention of turning it over to him. “I’ll meet you here in the morning.”
“No,” said Hoffman. “It’s a lonely road from here to Alton and I might get held up. Can’t you have ’em put it in the hotel safe overnight?”
“Why, yes, I can do that.”
I arranged to meet him at the hotel the next morning, and Hoffman drove off. That was the last I ever saw of him.
I might add here that I never let a victim keep a single one of the fake stock certificates. That would have been evidence, and I didn’t want any evidence outstanding against me.
Buck was waiting at the hotel.
“What luck?” he asked.
“Just as I figured,” I replied. “What about you?”
“The lawyer and I went to Alton while you were gone. We transferred ownership of the house to Mrs. Gibbons, and the lawyer had it recorded at the court house. He turned the deed over to the widow. He says that the transaction is airtight. Hoffman won’t be able to get the house back from her, no matter what happens.”
“Fine. I’m glad to see the good woman get her house back. I am sure she is most deserving of it.”
Strosnider came in from Logansport later that evening and turned the boodle and the money over to me. I paid him $1,000 for his services and Buck and I split the balance. Our net profit was less than we had spent, but we had no regrets. We had had a lot of fun, besides doing a good deed on the side.