Evening Star Newspaper, June 22, 1930, Page 88

IHF. SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, JUNE 22, 1930. N the days of Mr. Reeder's youth, which were also the days when hansom cabs plied for hire and no gentleman went abroad without a mosegay in the lapel of his coat, he had ben sent, in company with another young officer, to arrest a youth- ful inventor who earned more than a compe- tence by methods which were displeasing to the Ppolice. Not machines nor ingenious contriv- pnces for saving labor did this young man in- wvent—but stories. And they were not stories in the accepted sense of the word, for they were misstatements designed to extract money from the pockets of simple-minded men and women. Mr. Elter employed no fewer than 25 aliases and as many addresses in the broadcasting of his fiction, and he was on the way to amassing A considerable fortune when a square-toed Nemesis took him by the arm and led him to the seat of justice. An unsympathetic judge sent Mr. Elter to 7 years’ penal servitude, @escribing him as an unconscionable swindler and a menace to society—at which Willie Elter mmiled, for he had a skin beside which the plephant’s was gossamer silk. Mr. Reeder remembered the case chiefly be- bause the prosecuting attorney, commenting ppon the various disguises and subterfuges which the prisoner had adopted, remarked upon & peculiarity which was revealed in every part which the conviet had played—his inability to spell “able,” which he invariably wrote as though he were naming the victim of Cain’s o;vy. “There is this identity to be discovered in every criminal, however ingenious he may be,” he had said. “Whatever his disguise, no mat- ter how cleverly he dissociates one role or pose from another, there is a distinguishable weak- ness common to every character he affects, and especially is this observable in criminals who live by fraud and trickery.” $ IS Mr. Reeder remembered throughout his L% useful life. Pew people knew that he had ever been associated with the district attorney’'s office. He himself evaded any question that was put to him on the subject. It was his amiable trait to pretend that he was the veriesi amateur and that his success in the de- tection of wrongdoing was to be traced to his own evil mind that saw wrong very often where no wrong was. He saw wrong in so many apparently inno- ®ent acts of man that it was well for his repu- tation that those who were acquainted with and pitied him because of his seeming inade- Qquecy and unattractive appearance did not know what dark thoughts filled his mind. There was a very pretty girl who lived at a boarding house in his street. He did not like Mias Margaret Belman because she was pretty, but because she was sensible; two terms which #re as a rule antagonistic. He liked her so well that he often travelled home with her, and they used to discuss the President, the high cost of living, and other tender subjects Wwith great animation. It was from Miss Belman that he learned. about his fellow boarder, Mrs. Carlin, and one evening he travelled home with her—a frail, slim girl with experience in her face and the hint of tragedy in her fine eyes. So it happened that he knew all about Mr. Harry Carlin long before Eastleigh, the million- aire oil man, sent for him, for Mr. Reeder had the gift of evoking confidences by the suggestion rather than the expression of his sympathy. She spoke of her husband without bitterness— but also without regret. She knew him rather well, despite the shortness of their married life. She hinted once, and inadvertently, that there was a rich relation to whose wealth her husband would be heir if he were a normal man. Her son would be the only heir to a great fortune—and penniless. She was at such s to rectify her statement that Mr. Reeder was assured of her sincerity. There came a slack time for the district at- borney’s office, when -it seemed that sin had gone out of the world; and Mr. Reeder sat for & week on end in his little room, twiddling his thumbs or reading the advertisements columns of the Times, or drawing grotesque men upon his blotting pad, varying these performances with the excursions he was in the habit of mak- ing to those parts of New York which very few people choose for their recreation. He loved to poke about the slum areas which lie in the neighborhood of the river front. One morning the district attorney sent for his chief detective, and Mr. Reeder obeyed the summons with a light step and a pleasant sense ot amticipation. “Go and have a talk with Eastleigh,” said $he prosecutor. “He is rather worried about a nephew of his, Harry Carlin. Do you know the pame?” Mr. Reeder shook his head; for the moment he did not associate the pale girl whq typed for her living. “He's a pretty bad lot,” explained the, prose- dutor, “and unfortunately he's Eastleigh’s heir. I rather imagine the old gentleman wanty you to confirm his view.” | “Dear me!” said Mr. Reeder and stole forth. Eastleigh was a bachelor and an immensely rich man. Heavy investments in oil lands had made him many times a millionaire. He was & philanthropist, gave liberally to institutions wilevoted to the care of young children: he was the founder of the Eastleight Children’s Home, and subscribed liberally to other similar insti- tutions. A thin, rather sour-faced man, he glared up under his shaggy eyebrows as Mr. Reeder sidled apologetically into his room “So you're Reeder, eh?” he grumbled, and was evidenily not very much impressed by his visitor. “Sit down, sit down,” he said testily, walked to the door as though he were not cer- tajn that Mr. Reeder had closed it, and came back and flopped into his chair on the other side of the table. “I have sent for you in pref- erence to notifying the police,” he said. “The @istrict attorney speaks of you, Mr. Reeder, as gentleman of discretion.” & Mr. Reeder bowed slightly, and there followed E CAS E—By Edear 77 allace Another of a Series of Complete Detec= tive Stories Written by a Master in This Particular Field of Fiction—.And, Natu= rally, This Story Deals With the Strange Adventures of That Quaint Character, Mr. Reeder. a long and awkward pause, which Eastleigh ended in an abrupt, irritable way. “I have a nephew—Harry Carlin. Do you know him?” “I know of him,” said Mr. Reeder truthfully; in his walk to the millionaire’s office he had remembered the deserted wife. “Then you know nothing good of him!"” ex- ploded Mr. Eastleigh. “The man is a black- guard, a waster, a disgrace to the name he bears! If he were not my brother’s son, I would have him under lock and key tonight— the scoundrel! I have four checks in my pos- session——" He stopped himself, pulled open a drawer savagely, took out a letter and slammed it on the table. MR. REEDER pulled his glasses a littie far- ther up his nose (he always held them very tight when he was really using them) and perused the message. It was headed “The East- leigh Home for Children,” and was a brief re- quest for $25,000, which the writer said he would send for that evening, and was signed “Arthur Lassard”™ “You know Lassard, of course?” said his lordship. “He is the gentleman associated with me in my philanthropic work. Certain moneys were due for land which we purchased adjein- ing the home. A5 you probably know, there are lawyers who never accept checks for prop- erties they sell on behalf of their clients, and I had the money ready and left it with my secretary, and one of Lassard’s people was call- ing for it. That it was called for, I need hardly tell you,” said Mr. Eastleigh grimly. “Whoever planned the coup planned it well. They knew I would be speaking at a banquet last night; they also knew that I had recently changed my secretary and had engaged a gentleman to whom most of my associates are strangers. A bearded man come for the money at half past 6, produced a note from Mr. Lassard, and that was the end of the money. Of course, both letters were forged; Lassard never signed either and made no demand whatever for the money, which was not needed for another week.” “Did anybody know about this transaction?” asked Mr. Reeder. Mr. Eastleigh nodded slowly. “My nephew knew. He came to my house two days ago to borrow money. He has a small income from his late mother’s estate, but in- sufficient to support him in his reckless ex- travagance. He admitted frankly to me that he had come bock from Europe broke. How long he had been in New York I am unable to tell you, but he was in my library when my secretary came in with the money which I had drawn from the bank in preparation for paying the bill when it became due. Very fool=- ishly I explained why I had so much cash im the house and why I was unable to oblige him with the $5,000 which he wanted to borrow,” he added dourly. Mr. Reeder scratched his chin. “What am I to do?” he asked. “I want you to find Carlin,” Mr. Eastleigh almost snarled. “But most I want that money back—you understand, Reeder? You're to tell him that unless he repays—"" Mr. Reeder was gazing steadily at the cornice molding. “It almost sounds as if I am being asked to compound a felony,” he said quietly. “But I realize. in the peculiar circumstances, we must adopt peculiar methods. The black-bearded gentleman who called for the money would ap- pear to have been—he hesitated—'disguised?’ “Of course he was disguised,” said the other irritably. “One reads of such things,” said Mr. Reeder wtih a sigh, “but so seldom does the bearded stranger appear in real life! Will you be good enough to tell me your nephew’s address?” Mr. Eastleigh took a card from his pocket and threw it across the table. It fell to the floor, but he did not apologize. He was not that kind of a man. “I will see what can be done,” said Mr. Reeder as he rose. Mr. Eastleigh grunted something which might have been a tender farewell, but prob- ably was not. The Jermyn, the address on the card, is a very small, narrow-fronted building and, as M:r Reeder knew—and he knew a great deal— was g small hotel run by an ex-butler who was also the lessee of the establishment. By great gooq; fortune, as he afterward learned, Harry Caitin was at home, and in a few minutes Re-der was ushered into a shabby drawing rorm that overlooked the street. A tall young man stood by the window, look- tog disconsolately into the narrow and lively thoroughfare, and turned as Mr. Reeder was apnounced. Thin faced, narrow headed, small eged, if he possessed any of the family traits and failings, the most marked was perhaps his too-ready irritation. R. REEDER saw through an open door a very untidy bed room, caught a glimpse of a battered trunk covered with continental iabels. “Well, what the devil do you want?” de- manded Mr. Carlin. Yet, in spite of his tone, there was an undercurrent of disquiet which Mr. Reeder detected. “May I sit down?” said the detective, and “But I haven't touched his beastly money '™ the young man almost screamed. “I don't want his money——" “On the contrary, sir,” said Reeder gently, "“you want it very badly. You left the Hotel Continental without paying your bill; you owe some $3,000 to various gentlemen from whom you borrowed that amount; there is a warrant out for you in France for passing checks which are usually described by the vulgar as—er—‘dud.’ Indeed”—again Mr. Reeder scratched his chin and looked out of the window—*“indeed, I know of no gentleman in New York who is so badly in need of money as your own good self.” Carlin would have stopped him, but the mid- die-aged man went on remorselessly. “You left New York rather hurriedly to avoid —er—proceedings of an unpleasant character. ‘Checks,’ I think you said? You are known to have been the associate of people with whom the police are a little better acquainted than they are with Mr. Carlin. You were also asso- ciated with a race-course fraud of a peculiarly unpleasant character. And amongst your minor delinquencies there is—er—a deserted young wife, at present engaged in a business office as typist, and a small boy for whom you have never provided.” Carlin licked his dry lips. “Is that all?” he asked with an attempt at a sneer, though his voice shook and his trembling hands betrayed his agitation, Reeder nodded. “Well, I'll tell you something. I want to do A glimpse of the prostrate figure told them they were too late. “That has saved the country the cost of a murder trial,” the inspector said. “I think not,” replied Mr. Reeder, gently. without waiting for an invitation pulled a chair from the wall and sat down gingerly. His self-possession, the hint of authority he carried in his voice increased Mr. Harry Car- lin's uneasiness, and when Mr. Reeder plunged straight into the object of his visit, he saw the man go pale. It is a difficult subject to open,” said Mr. Reeder, carefully smoothing his knees, “and when I find myself in that predicament I usu- ally employ the plainest language.” And plain language he employed with a vengeance. Half-way through, Carlin sat down with a gasp. “What—what!” he stammered. “Does that old brute dare——! I thought you came about the checks—I mean——" “I mean,” said Mr. Reeder carefully, “that if you have had a little fun with your relative, I think that jest has gone far enough. Mr, Eastleigh is prepared, on the money being re- funded, to regard the whole thing as an over- elaborate practical joke on your part—* the right thing by my wife. I admit I haven't played square with her, but I've never had the money to play square. That old devil has al- ways been rolling in it, curse him! I'm the only relation he has, and what has he done? Left every bean to these damned children's hemes of his! If somebody has caught him for $25,000, I'm glad! I shouldn't have the nerve to do it myself, but I'm glad if they did—whoever they may be. Left every penny to a lot of squalling, sticky-faced brats, and not a bean to me!” Mr. Reeder let him rave on without inter= ruption, until at last, almost exhausted by his effort, he dropped down into a deep chair and glared at his visitor. > “Tell him that,” he said breathlessly; “tell him that!™ Mr. Reeder made time to call at the office wherein was housed the headquarters of Mr, Eastleigh’s various philanthropic enterprises, Mr. Arthur Lassard had evidently been in com- munication with his noble patron, for no sooner