Part 17

“You will readily understand,” the broker hinted, “that under the circumstances we cannot continue to take Mr. Maddox’s orders over the telephone indefinitely. Suppose he should repudiate some of them? Where would we find ourselves?”

Kennedy glanced at the two telephone men, one of whom had straightened up and was watching the other.

“I understand,” he said, simply, a grim smile flickering about his mouth. “Just a moment, sir. Walter――keep Dexter on this wire.”

Below on the street I could hear the babel of voices. I knew what it meant. At both ends of Shelby’s telephone line were traitors. A panic in the stock was not only threatened. It was here.

Maddox Munitions was on the verge of collapse!

XXIV

THE PHANTOM CIRCUIT

I looked at Kennedy in despair. He was not even perturbed. It was for just this moment that he had hurried to New York and had worked so intensely.

Over the telephone that I was holding, Dexter himself politely informed us that he had reached a point where orders from Mr. Maddox to be filled must have some more binding force than word of mouth over the telephone.

“Tell him to wait just a moment,” directed Kennedy, turning to the other broker who had come to us. “Will you, sir, tell Mr. Merrill to step down to the office of Mr. Dexter? I shall be there in a moment myself. Walter,” he added, calmly, “ring Dexter off. Get Shelby Maddox and tell him to use the new wire connections.”

I did as I was told. Even over the telephone I could feel that the strain was telling on Shelby’s shattered strength. His voice was shaky as he inquired thickly for news. I shouted something encouraging back, and urged him to get on the other wire, at which, at our end, Kennedy was already impatiently waiting.

A moment later I heard Kennedy and Shelby exchange a few words. Shelby was evidently much alarmed over the sudden turn of events.

As I waited, I saw Kennedy jam the receiver down on the little metal base. The three prongs, reaching upward, engaged the receiver tightly, fitting closely about it. Then he took the small disk receiver from its hook and placed it to his ear instead of the regular one.

I wondered what it all meant. Craig’s face showed that, whatever it was, it was most important.

“Yes,” I heard him call back, “give whatever orders you want now to me. I will see that they are delivered. Pay no attention to the other telephone. Let it ring――until I tell you. Go ahead.”

Evidently Shelby was giving orders for stock up to the limit of his resources that were available.

For a moment there evidently came a pause in what was being said over the telephone at the Westport end, and Kennedy gazed impatiently about the room.

“What good will that do?” I objected, seeing that Kennedy was not occupied. “Don’t you suppose they’ll hear what is said over this line, too? We know they’ve cut in on the two trunk lines at the Harbor House, and there is every reason to suppose that some one taps the brokers’ wires here――unless the brokers are crooks, too. They’ll know what Shelby is going to do.”

Kennedy shook his head. “No,” he replied, calmly, “no outsider knows a thing about this. You see, I’m not using any ordinary means to prepare against the expert who has brought this situation about. The messages that I am receiving are coming over what we call the ‘phantom circuit.’”

“‘The phantom circuit?’” I repeated, mystified.

“Yes. It seems fantastic at first, I suppose,” he pursued, “but, after all, it is in accordance with the laws of electricity. They know nothing and they cannot cut us off or interfere. You see, I am taking advantage of the fact that additional telephones or so-called phantom lines can be superposed on existing physical lines. It is possible to obtain a third circuit from two similar metallic circuits by using for each side of this third circuit the two wires of each of the other circuits in multiple. All three circuits are independent, too.”

He was growing more and more impatient. Apparently there was some delay at the other end.

“The third telephone current,” he went on, hurriedly, covering up his nervousness by talking about his machine, “enters the wires of the first circuit, as it were, and returns along the wires of the second circuit. There are several ways of doing it. One is to use retardation or choke-coils, bridged across the two metallic circuits at both ends, with taps taken from the middle points of each. But the better method, I think, is the one you have seen me install. I have introduced repeating coils into the circuits at both ends. Technically, the third circuit is then taken off from the mid-points of the secondaries or line windings of these repeating coils. I don’t know what’s the matter,” he added, calling vainly for Shelby Maddox. “Oh, all right. Yes, I’ll wait. But hurry, please.”

I could appreciate Kennedy’s eagerness, for below on the street the tumult was rising.

“It’s working all right,” he reassured. “I suppose you know that the current on a long-distance line is alternating in character, and it passes readily through a repeating coil. The only effect it has on the transmission is slightly reducing the volume. The current passes into the repeating coil, then divides and passes through the two line wires. At the other end, the halves balance, so to speak. Thus currents passing over a phantom circuit don’t set up currents in the terminal apparatus of the side circuits. Consequently, a conversation carried on over the phantom circuit will not be heard on either side circuit, nor does a conversation on one side circuit affect the phantom. You get three messages at once on two sets of wires. We can all talk at once without interfering with one another.”

At any other time I should have been more than interested, but just now the delay was galling. “What’s the trouble?” I inquired.

Kennedy shook his head. “Shelby is talking to Winifred about something. I can hear only a word now and then. But he said it was important and asked me to hold the wire. Evidently she wants to do something he doesn’t want her to do. Yes――hello――yes, this is Kennedy. Say, you’ll have to―― Oh, good morning, Miss Walcott. Yes, fine. What? Why――certainly――if he says so, you may. That’s right. Go right ahead. I am attending to everything at this end now.”

A moment later when Craig restored the telephone to its normal condition he looked at me with a smile.

“Winifred Walcott is a trump!” he exclaimed, jumping up.

Just then our other telephone rang, and I answered it. “I’m down here in Mr. Dexter’s office,” called a voice which I took to be that of the other broker. “We have been talking the situation over. Of course, if Mr. Maddox were here himself, you know,” he went on apologetically, “it might be different. We could have him sign his name to orders, but――really――well, you understand, under the circumstances――we feel, both Mr. Dexter and myself, that we have gone about far enough. It’s not that we question Mr. Maddox’s intentions in any way, you understand, but――perhaps if he were on the ground, he might protect us from loss, which he may not be able to do over the telephone. We’re sorry, but――”

“Tell them I’ll be right down,” interjected Kennedy, sensing from my look the tenor of what was being said.

I interrupted the broker at the first opportunity, then turned to Kennedy. He had pulled from a compartment of the metal base a little wax cylinder and dropped it into his pocket carefully.

“Come on,” he cried, dashing for the door and taking the stairs, not even waiting for the elevator to come up.

A moment later we burst into the board room of the broker. Customers were standing about in a high state of excitement, while the boys at the board scurried about, replacing the figures on little bits of green cardboard which fitted under the abbreviated names of the active stocks listed on the board at one end of the room. Others were gathered about the ticker, reading the words that the printed tape was pushing forth. All seemed talking at once.

Kennedy did not pause, however, but walked unceremoniously into the private office of Dexter. There already were several men representing the two brokerage houses. Evidently they had been having a hasty conference on what they should do in view of the situation in Maddox Munitions.

I felt a sort of frigidity in the air as we entered. It was not that anything was either said or done, but I have felt the same thing several times when as a reporter it was my duty to be present at some event that marked the freezing out of some person financially.

“Maddox Munitions,” began Dexter, clearing his throat with dignity, “seems to have occasioned somewhat of a flurry on the market to-day in which it is the chief sufferer itself. Our latest quotation shows that it has declined steadily――two points, for instance since the quotation before, and twenty-five under the opening of the market. I think you will readily appreciate, Mr. Kennedy, our position in the matter.”

Before Kennedy could reply, however, another took up the conversation. “Yes,” he remarked, “we have been observing the trend of events for the last few days. Of course, we can readily appreciate the feeling of Mr. Maddox in the matter, and, indeed, I must say that at the beginning I thought that all that was necessary was a good strong show of buying and that the run would end. Now, however, it begins to look as though there were other factors entering in. You know the newspapers have given a great deal of unpleasant notoriety to the Maddox family and Maddox Munitions. Perhaps the general public does not like it. At least it begins to seem as though even Mr. Shelby Maddox might not have the resources to stem the tide.”

“This is Mr. Merrill, of Merrill & Moore, I believe?” asked Craig, quietly, reminding them that in their suave haste they had forgotten to introduce him.

“Yes,” returned Merrill, flushing a bit, for he was a great stickler for punctilious etiquette, and his failure had betrayed the anxiety he sought to conceal.

It was a ticklish situation and the brokers, always conservative, were making it worse. Nor could one blame them. The case for the stock looked at its darkest, verging rapidly on panic.

Kennedy knew it all just as well as they did. But he kept his coolness admirably and never betrayed that he was doing a thing more than to drive a bargain, whereas another might have given them an impression of merely stalling for time.

As the downward trend continued, I saw that Craig was indeed calculating how far he would let it go, as though one were letting himself down a hill and testing just how little he needed to apply the brakes not to have the car run away from him.

It seemed to nettle the brokers. They wanted to close the whole matter up brusquely. Yet Kennedy’s commanding personality checked them. I felt sure that they would even have ridden rough-shod over Shelby. Kennedy was another matter.

Dexter rose decisively. “This must stop,” he frowned.

“I have orders from Mr. Maddox to buy shares――well, I shall not say what it totals, but the first order is for ten thousand,” cut in Kennedy, quietly.

There was a moment of silence during which the brokers looked at each other, waiting for one to take the initiative.

“That is just the point,” began Merrill, finally. “You see, we have been buying steadily for Mr. Maddox. If he had authorized us by letter――or if he had handed us a check, certified――”

“But he could not well have foreseen this raid this morning,” temporized Kennedy.

“True, no doubt. But it does not protect us. For example, where is your authority, something, anything, that may be binding on him for this new order of ten thousand shares?”

There was an air of triumph about the way he said the words. It was evidently intended to be a poser, to leave Kennedy floored and flat.

“Authority?” repeated Craig, quietly, looking about. “I wonder whether you have one of those dictating machines, a dictaphone, in the office? Perhaps some one in the building has one.”

“We have one,” returned Dexter, still coldly. “I do not see how anything you might dictate to it and which a stenographer might transcribe would have any bearing on the question.”

“It would not,” agreed Kennedy, blithely. “That was not what I intended to do. There is another use I wished to put it to. Ah――I see. May I use this transcribing apparatus? Or better yet, would you gentlemen be so kind as to listen to what I have here?”

He deliberately drew from his pocket the cylinder I had seen him detach from the instrument up-stairs and slid it on in the proper place in the new machine.

As it began to revolve I studied the faces about me, intent on listening to what would be said.

“Is that good enough?” queried Kennedy. “It is a record on an instrument devised for just this purpose with you brokers who wish to hold your customers to an agreement over the telephone.”

The needle of the machine sputtered a bit as Craig added, “It is the telescribe――a recent invention of Edison which records on a specially prepared phonograph cylinder all that is said――both ways――over a telephone wire. As nearly as I can make out some one――unknown――has been playing animated telescribe in this case. Let us see now whether your utmost demands for safety and security cannot be satisfied in this modern way.”

Not a word was said. The novelty of the turn of events seemed to leave them no objection.

In Shelby’s own voice came, clear and distinct, the order to buy ten thousand shares of Maddox Munitions. Then Kennedy stopped the machine.

“Let us see how that works before we go any further,” he said, significantly. “His buying orders seemed forestalled by selling orders when they were given over the regular telephone. Before the next is given perhaps we may find we have stopped part of the leak.”

Kennedy’s calm assurance seemed to have completely changed their attitude. They were not convinced, but at least silent.

Out on the Curb we could hear the shouting as brokers with stock to sell crowded about the man with the order to buy.

Whoever was back of it, it was a well-planned raid. The order for ten thousand scarcely stemmed the flood. Quickly Kennedy let the little cylinder revolve. Another order was placed, and another.

I could not help noticing, however, that each succeeding order was smaller than the rest and it was hard to escape the implication that Shelby was really reaching the limit of his available resources.

Anxiously I listened to the turmoil on the Curb. Now it would abate, only to start up again. I glanced at Craig. What would he do?

Just then word was passed up that another block of stock had suddenly been hurled on the market. The brokers looked skeptically at Kennedy. Would Shelby be able to meet this final assault?

Craig released the revolving cylinder again. I gasped as I listened, remembering the pause over the wire up-stairs, the apparent reluctance of Shelby over something, and Craig’s remark that followed.

Winifred Walcott was placing orders――two of them――one to Dexter, the other to Merrill & Moore. They were large orders, too, a great deal larger than the selling order which had last bombarded the market. I glanced at Kennedy. Not for a moment did he betray the anxiety I know he now felt. For the orders must have involved a large part of Miss Walcott’s own private fortune.

In his abstraction Kennedy had forgotten to stop the telescribe and I heard over it another voice that sounded like Burke’s.

“Oh, say,” he announced. “I’ve got a clue on that store-room in the cellar. I――”

“Never mind now, Burke,” I heard Kennedy answer over the telescribe. “That will keep. Just now there isn’t a minute to spare.”

I heard no more, for Kennedy realized what he was doing and shut the reproducer off, pulling off the recording cylinder.

Would Miss Walcott’s order be enough to turn the scale? The stock was down. Her money would purchase more shares than before. If it did and the stock rose, she stood to win. If it went lower she might lose all.

I jumped to the window again.

The news of the order, two orders, in fact, and large ones, came like a bombshell on the overwrought market. Was the supporting power of Maddox unlimited? One could feel the air tingle with the question. I saw some speculators hold a hasty conference. Though I did not know it at the time, they decided that an interest that could weather such an assault could weather anything, that some one had been buying all the way down, to boost back the stock far above the old high mark. They wanted to share in the upward turn, and were ready to take a gambler’s chance. Others caught the spirit, for if the Curb is anything it is a driven herd.

Slowly the stock began to climb. The speculative public were in it now. Selling orders almost fell off. Up jumped the price.

Kennedy drew a long breath as he pulled a Westport time-table from his pocket, to cover his revulsion of feeling.

Maddox Munitions was saved!

XXV

THE ADVENTURESS

There was no use in our staying longer in New York, for the turn in the market had come, and it was able to take care of itself.

Up in our little office, Kennedy began hastily to pack up what of the stuff he wanted to save, and was just finishing when the telephone rang.

It was Hastings, who had been trying to locate us all the morning. The flurry in the market had very much excited him, and the final upward turn had not served to decrease his excitement.

“There don’t seem to be many trains to Westport in the middle of the day,” I heard Kennedy consider over the wire. “Your car is here? Well, can you go back there with us? Yes――right away.”

As he hung up he turned to me. “Poor old Hastings hasn’t been able to practise his profession for the last few days,” Craig smiled. “He wants me to hurry up the case. We’ll see what we can do. He’s coming for us in his car, and then we’ll shoot out to Westport.”

It was a beautiful day, but none of us appreciated it much as we slid along the splendid roads from the city. There was only one subject uppermost in my mind, at least. Whence had come this new stock-market attack? Who was back of the series of violent deeds which had taken place in less than a week? Above all, where were the precious telautomaton plans?

At least it was some relief, when we swung into Westport, to know that we were back again at the main scene of action, and I felt that now events would develop rapidly.

Burke was waiting impatiently at the Lodge, though it did not seem as though our arrival was the only thing he had on his mind.

“What was it you found in the little store-room in the cellar?” demanded Kennedy, jumping from the car as we pulled up at the Lodge porte-cochère.

Without comment, Burke pulled a crumpled bit of paper from his pocket and handed it to Craig. We crowded around and read:

If a hair of her head is harmed I will have revenge, though it sends me to prison for life.

We looked at the Secret Service man inquiringly.

“Not a soul has been near the store-room since we began to watch it this morning,” he explained, hurriedly. “It must have been left there before we got up――just tucked under the telephone instrument. Paquita’s disappeared!”

“Disappeared?” we exclaimed, almost together, as Burke blurted out his startling budget of news.

“Yes――and not a trace of her. She must have got away before you fellows were up.”

I looked again at the crumpled bit of paper. What did it mean? Was it that some one had actually kicked over the traces in working for one higher up?

To whom did it refer? Instantly there flashed through my mind the picture of Winifred as we had seen her borne off by the abductors whom we had foiled. Could it be she?

Taught by Kennedy, I did not allow a first impression to rule. Might it be any one else? I thought of Irene Maddox, of Frances Walcott. It did not seem to fit them.

Paquita? Perhaps the note referred to her. If so, who would have sent it? Sanchez? And if from Sanchez, to whom was it sent?

“How about Sanchez?” I queried.

“As much surprised at her disappearance as the rest of us,” replied Burke.

“How was that?”

“I picked him up and had him shadowed. I know that her disappearance mystified him, for he had no idea he was observed, at the time. He got away again, though. If we are ever to pick that girl up again, shadowing Sanchez may be the best way. I have had Riley out――”

“Not the same hand that wrote the cipher,” interrupted Kennedy, studying the note. “I beg pardon. What of Riley? Any word?”

“I should say,” burst out Burke. “Down in the cove――Little Neck they call it――in a deserted barn we’ve found a racer――answers the description of the one seen in New York the morning of the robbery and on the road out here. It’s my dope that you made the little garage here untenable, Kennedy, and that whoever it was took the car to the cove to hide it.”

He paused, but not for want of something to say. Before we could urge him he added, “And that scout cruiser, too. She’s been scuttled, out past the point, at the entrance to the cove. Whoever it is, he’s been wiping out all the evidence against him that he can.”

“No word of Paquita or Sanchez?” inquired Kennedy again.

Burke shook his head.

“How is Shelby Maddox?”

“Much better. I was in the room during the flurry. You should have seen him when the turn came. We could hardly keep him in bed. He was frantic.”

Kennedy had continued studying the anonymous note very carefully as we talked.

“It squares with my theory,” he mused, more to himself than to us. “Yes――it is time to act. And we must act quickly. Burke, can you get all the Maddoxes up to Shelby’s room――right away? Perhaps by that time we may have word from Riley. At any rate, we shall be ready.”

Shelby was propped up in bed with pillows, quite reconciled now to being an invalid, when we entered.

“The best little nurse ever,” he greeted us, scarcely taking his eyes from Winifred. “And a financier, too,” he added, with a laugh; “a power in the market.”

“You mustn’t forget Professor Kennedy’s machine,” put in Winifred, welcoming us with a smile that covered the trace of a blush which glowed through the pretty tan of her cheeks.

Shelby grasped Craig’s hand. “You said you wouldn’t work for me,” he grinned, “but you certainly didn’t work against me. Just let me get on my feet again. You won’t regret, old man, that you――”

A knock on the door cut him short. It was Frances and Johnson Walcott.