Mr. J. G. Reeder Returns (11 page)

“Now, Mr Reeder, you see exactly what has happened, and the bank is leaving everything in your hands. Perhaps it would have been wiser if we’d called you in before.”

Mr Reeder plucked up spirit to say that he thought it might have been.

“Here are the reports,” said the General Manager, pushing a folder full of large, imposing manuscript sheets. “The police have not the slightest idea where he’s gone to, and I confess that I never expect to see Hallaty or the money again.”

Mr Reeder scratched his chin.

“It would be improper in me if I said that I hope I never do,” he sighed. “It’s the Tynedale case all over again, and the Manchester and Oldham Bank case, and the South Devon Bank case – in fact – um – there is here the evidence of a system, sir, if I may venture to suggest such a thing.”

The General Manager frowned.

“A system? You mean all these offences against the banks you have mentioned are organised?”

Mr Reeder nodded.

“I think so, sir,” he said gently. “If you will compare one with the other you will discover, I think, that in every case the Manager has, on one pretext or another, converted large sums of English currency into francs or dollars, that his last operation has been in London, and that he has vanished when the discovery of his defalcations has been made.”

The General Manager shivered, for Reeder was presenting to him the ogre of the banking world – the organised conspirator. Only those who understand banking know just what this means.

“I hadn’t noticed that,” he said; “but undoubtedly it is a fact.”

Other people had observed these sinister happenings. A bankers’ association summoned an urgent meeting, and Mr Reeder, an authority upon bank crimes, was called into consultation. In such moments as these Reeder was very practical, not at all vague. Rather was he definite – and when Mr Reeder was definite he was blood-curdling. He came to a sensational point after a very diffident beginning.

“There are some things – er – gentlemen, to which I am loath to give the authority of my support. Theories which – um – belong to the more sensational press and certainly to no scientific system. Yet I must tell you, gentlemen, that in my opinion we are for the first time face to face with an organised attempt to rob the banks on the grand scale.”

The president of the association looked at him incredulously.

“You don’t mean to suggest, Mr Reeder, that there is a definite co-ordination between these various frauds?”

Mr Reeder nodded solemnly.

“They have that appearance. I would not care to give a definite opinion one way or the other, but I certainly would not rule that out.”

One member of the association shook his white head.

“There are such things as crimes of imitation, Mr Reeder. When some man steals money in a peculiar way, other weak-minded individuals follow suit.”

Mr Reeder smiled broadly.

“I’m afraid that won’t do, sir,” he said with the greatest kindness. “You speak as though the details of the fraud had been published. In three cases out of five the general public know nothing about these crimes. In no case have the particulars been published or have they been available even to the managers of branch banks. And yet in every case the crime has followed along exactly similar lines. In every case there has been a man, holding a responsible position in the bank, who, through gambling on the Stock Exchange or for some other reason or from habits of extravagance, has – I will not say been compelled to rob the bank, because a man is quite – um – a free agent in such matters, but has certainly succeeded in relieving your – er – various institutions of very considerable sums of money. These are the points I make.”

He ticked them off on his fingers.

“First of all, a manager or assistant manager in straitened circumstances. Secondly, a very carefully organised plan to draw, upon one given day, the maximum sum of money which can be drawn from headquarters, the changing over of the money into foreign currency, and the complete disappearance of the bank manager, all within twenty-four hours. It is an unusual kind of fraud, for it does not involve of itself any false bookkeeping. In several cases we have found that a petty fraud, in comparison with the greater offence, has been going on for some time and has been obviously the cause of the greater crime. Gentlemen” – Mr Reeder’s voice was serious – “there is something very big in the way of criminal activity in London, and an organisation is in existence which is not only directing these frauds and profiting by them, but is offering to the men who commit them asylum during their stay here and facilities for getting out of the country without detection. I’m going to deal with the situation from this angle, and my only chance of putting a stop to it is if I am able to catch one of the minor criminals immediately before he brings off the big coup. I want from every bank a list of all their suspected staff, and I want this list before the bank inspectors go in to examine the books, and certainly before anything like an arrest is made.”

Instructions to this effect were immediately issued, and the very next morning Mr Reeder had before him in his bureau at the Public Prosecutor’s office a list of bank officials against whom there was a question mark. It was a very small list, representing a microscopic percentage of the enormous staffs employed in the business of banking. One man had been betting heavily, and attached to his name was a list of his bookmakers and what, to Mr Reeder, was more important, exact details as to the period of time his betting operations covered.

Reeder’s pencil went slowly down the list until it stopped before the name of L G H Reigate. Mr Reigate was twenty-eight, and an assistant branch manager, and his “offence” was that he had been engaged in real estate speculation, had bought on a rising market, and for some time past had vainly endeavoured to get rid of his holdings. His salary was £1,500 a year; he lived with a half-sister in a small flat at Hampstead. He had apparently no other vices, spent most of his evenings at home, did not drink and was a light smoker.

The reports were very thorough. There was not a detail which Mr Reeder did not examine with the greatest care, for on these minor details often hang great issues.

He went through the remaining list and came back to Mr Reigate. Evidently here there was a case which might repay his private and personal investigation. He jotted down the address on a scrap of paper and made a few inquiries in the City. They were entirely satisfactory, for on the third probe he found a Canadian bank which had been asked if it could supply Canadian dollars in exchange for sterling, and if the maximum amount could be so supplied on any average day. The inquiry had come not from this branch, but from a client of the branch. Reeder spread his feelers a little wider, and stumbled on a second inquiry from the same client. He went to the general manager of the head office. Mr Reigate was known as a very conscientious young man and, except for the fact that he had been engaged in real estate speculation, the exact extent of which was unknown, there were no marks, black or red, against him.

“Who is the Branch Manager?” asked Mr Reeder, and was told.

The gentleman in question was a very reliable man, though inclined to be impetuous.

“He is a most excellent fellow, but loses his head at times. As he always loses it on the side of the bank we have no serious complaints against him.”

The name of the manager was Wallat, and that week a strange thing happened to him. He received a letter from a man whose name he did not remember, but who had apparently been an old customer of the bank.

“I wonder if you would care to take a fortnight’s trip to the fjords on a luxury ship? A client of ours has booked two passages but is unable to go, and has asked me to present the passages to any friend of mine who may wish to make the trip. As you were so good to me in the past – I don’t suppose you remember the circumstances or even recall my name – I should be glad to pass them on to you.”

Now, the curious thing was that only a week before the Manager had spoken enviously of a friend of his who was making that very trip. He had always wanted to see Norway and the beauties of Scandinavia, and here out of the blue came an unrivalled opportunity.

His vacation was due; he immediately put in a request to headquarters for leave. The request went before the Assistant General Manager and was granted. The boat was due to leave on the Thursday night, but on the Tuesday the Manager, in a burst of zeal, decided to make a rough examination of certain books.

What he found there put all ideas of holiday out of his mind. On the Wednesday morning he called before him Mr Reigate, and the pale-faced young man listened with growing terror to a recital of the irregularities which had been discovered. At this sign of his guilt the Manager, true to his tradition, lost his head, threatened a prosecution and, in a moment of hysteria, sent for a policeman. It was an irregular act, for prosecutions are initiated by the directors.

Panic engendered panic; Reigate put on his hat, walked from the bank, and was immediately pursued by a bareheaded Manager. The young man, in blind terror, leapt on the back of an ambulance which happened to be passing, and was immediately dragged off by a policeman who had joined in the pursuit. If the Manager had only kept his head the matter could have been corrected. As it was, he charged his assistant with the defalcations. Reigate admitted them and was put into a cell.

Bank headquarters was furious. They had been committed to a prosecution, and, as a sequel, the possibility of an action for damages. Mr Reeder was called in at once, and went into consultation with the bank’s solicitors. He interviewed the young man, and found him incoherent with terror and quite incapable of giving any information. The next morning he was brought before a magistrate and remanded.

Apparently the magistrate took a serious view, for although Reigate, who was now a little calmer, asked for bail, that bail was put at a prohibitive sum. The young man was taken to prison.

That afternoon, however, there appeared before the magistrate Sir George Polkley, who offered himself as surety. The name apparently was a famous one. Sir George was a well-known north country shipbuilder. He was accompanied at the police court by a gentleman who gave the name of an eminent firm of Newcastle solicitors. The surety was accepted, and Reigate was released from Brixton prison that afternoon.

At seven o’clock that night Scotland Yard rang up Mr Reeder.

“You know Reigate was bailed out this afternoon?”

“Yes, I saw it in the newspapers,” said Mr Reeder. “Sir George Polkley stood surety – how on earth did he know Sir George?”

“We’ve just had a wire from Polkley’s solicitors in Newcastle. They know nothing whatever about it. Sir George is in the south of France, and his solicitors have sent nobody to London to represent them. What is more, they have never heard of Reigate.”

Mr Reeder, lounging in his chair, sat bolt upright.

“Then the bail was a fake? Where is Reigate?”

“He can’t be found. He drove away from Brixton in a taxi, accompanied by the alleged solicitor, and he has not been seen since.”

Here was a problem for Mr Reeder, and one after his own heart. Who had gone to all that trouble to get Reigate released – and why? His frauds, if they were provable, did not involve more than three or four hundred pounds. Who wanted him released on bail – immediately released? There was no question at all that, high as the bail was, the necessary sureties would have been forthcoming in twenty-four hours. But somebody was very anxious to get Reigate out of prison with the least possible delay.

Mr Reeder interviewed the Public Prosecutor.

“It’s all very, very odd,” he said, running his fingers through his thin hair. “I suppose it is susceptible of a very simple explanation, but unfortunately I’ve got the mind of a criminal.”

The Public Prosecutor smiled.

“And how does your criminal mind interpret this happening?” he asked.

Mr Reeder shook his head.

“Rather badly, I’m afraid. I – um – should not like to be Mr Reigate!”

He had sent for the cowed and agitated Manager. He was a pompous little man, rotund of figure and round of face, and he perspired very easily. For half an hour he sat on the edge of a chair, facing Mr Reeder, and he spent most of that half-hour mopping his brow and his neck with a large white handkerchief.

“Headquarters have been most unkind to me, Mr Reeder,” he quavered. “After all the years of faithful service… The worst they can say about me is that I was misled through my zeal for the bank. I suppose it was wrong of me to have this young man arrested, but I was so shocked, so – if I may use the expression – devastated.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” murmured Mr Reeder. “You were going on vacation, you tell me? That is news to me.”

It was now that he learned for the first time about the two passages for the fjords. Fortunately the Manager had the letter with him. Mr Reeder read it quickly, reached for his telephone and put through an inquiry.

“I seem to remember the address,” he said as he hung up the ’phone. “It has a familiar sound to it. I think you will find it is an accommodation address, and the gentleman who wrote to you has in fact no existence.”

“But he sent the tickets! They’re made out in my name,” said the Manager triumphantly, and then his face fell. “I shan’t be able to go now, of course.”

Mr Reeder looked at him, and in his eyes there was pained reproach.

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to go now, and I’m quite satisfied in my mind that you would have been very sorry if you had gone! Those tickets were intended to serve one purpose – to get you out of the bank and out of England, and to give young Mr Reigate an opportunity of bringing home the beans – if you’ll excuse that vulgarity.”

Mr Reeder was both puzzled and enlightened. Here was another typical bank case, planned on exactly the same lines as the others, and revealing, beyond any question of doubt, the operation of a mastermind.

As soon as he got rid of the Bank Manager he took a cab and drove to Hampstead. Miss Jean Reigate had just returned from work when he arrived. She had read of her brother’s misfortune in the evening newspaper on her way back from her office, and it struck Mr Reeder that she was not as agitated by the news as the world would expect her to be. She was a pretty girl, a slim brunette, and looked much younger than her twenty-four years.