Tycoon of Crime: Phantom Detective Saga. Robert Wallace
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second newcomer, Charles Jenson, secretary of the railway company, a thin-haired, bespectacled man with a mild, timid manner, also joined the gathering.
And if these two high railway officials seemed almost like aliens in the conclave of scientists, the third man who had entered at their heels was out of place with both groups.
He stood alone near the door—a big, broad man with grizzled, grey-peppered hair. A man who gave the impression of dominant strength.
"Oh, sit down, Mr. Harvey!" Strickland said to him, gesturing as if just remembering the amenities. "You gentlemen must know Mr. Andrew Harvey, president of the Harvey Airlines!"
Tensing again, the eyes of the six scientists swiveled to the visitor.
He grinned—a hard, tight grin—meeting their glances levelly.
"I'll stand," he said in a booming voice. "What I have to say won't take long. I'm here on business—cold, plain business! I'm here to make a cash offer for this railway! While Strickland and Jenson have given me little encouragement, I thought I might find the rest of you more interested!"
No electric shock could have caused a more startled reaction. Their eyes widening, for a moment the six scientists seemed speechless.
Then Strickland spoke, as if for the startled men.
"This is most irregular, Mr. Harvey! In the absence of the line's president, Mr. Garrison, who as you know, is in St. Louis—"
"I'll deal with Garrison when he gets back!" Andrew Harvey snapped. "Right now I'm dealing with all of you here. That's enough!"
A mirthless smile curved Talbert's lips beneath his mustache. "You seem to be laboring under a misconception, Mr. Harvey," he said. "We are merely technicians working for the Empire and Southwest Railway."
Harvey's laugh was harsh, contemptuous. "You're wasting your breath! I know you're the chief stockholders of this railroad, all of you! You've all acquired big blocks of shares! And I'm here to buy you out—to take those shares at better than their present market value!"
The silence was ominous. The six men, rigid now, turned fierce glances to Strickland and Jenson. Strickland blurted something. The mild Jenson spoke in a meek voice.
"I'm sure Mr. Harvey didn't learn that from us." The secretary's tone was conciliating. "These things leak out, you know."
"I make it my business to know such things!" Harvey said shortly. "And I know you men, with your technical skill, are trying to put this railway on its feet! But it isn't worth the effort. The only use for it now is if it can be run in conjunction, as an auxiliary, to my own airline! That's why I want it. If you think you can run it in competition, you're sadly mistaken!" His eyes narrowed to slits, his face grew grim. "Even the sabotaging of my new Chicago transport plane isn't going to cripple my growing airline!"
There was a gasped intake of breath; and indignant scrape of chairs.
Joseph Sprague, the wiry surveyor, was on his feet then, his shock of grey hair dancing.
"Are you daring to insinuate that we had any connection with that plane disaster?" he demanded shrilly.
"Take it that way if you want," said the blunt Harvey. His lips curled. "Of course, all of you will begin to produce alibis showing you were in New York City at the time of the disaster; but you men do get around, don't you? And there are more ways than one of cooking a goose, especially if you're a technician!"
Talbert leaped up. "If this is a joke, Harvey," he said with cold fury, "it's in pretty bad taste."
Sprague leaned forward, fuming.
"It's outrageous! I refuse to listen to it! You can have my answer to your offer right now, Mr. Harvey! I'll see you in Hell before I'll make any deal with you!"
For a moment it seemed he would spring bodily upon the weathered-faced airline president, smaller though he was. Instead, however, he pushed back his chair and, his face flaming, strode out of the conference room, slamming the door behind him.
Strickland's eyes showed haggard worry. "You shouldn't have said that, Harvey! After all, a knife can have two edges. Sprague was a close friend of both Truesdale and Garth—also of our company, and passengers on that plane. Truesdale and Garth were valuable men," he added significantly, "very valuable men."
"And also," Joseph Ware put in grimly, "don't forget that there has been a lot of sabotage of the railway itself. Especially in the Southwest."
It was the airline man's turn to stiffen indignantly. Glaring, he seemed about to voice an angry retort when Vincent Brooks, the gaunt electric wizard, suddenly rose to his feet, pointing at the clock—whose hands were converging to midnight!
"It's time for the new electric sign to go on!" Brooks announced. "Inasmuch as I constructed it, I'd like to be out there to see it!"
Strickland nodded hastily. "Of course. We all want to see it." He turned to Harvey. "You'll join us, Mr. Harvey? You noticed the preliminaries as you came in. Perhaps you'll be interested to see how modern we, too, can be in our methods."
The whole group were hurriedly rising. With a scowling Harvey accompanying them, they passed through an anteroom, emerged upon a gallery, then descended marble-bannistered steps which led them directly upon the immense, dome-ceilinged concourse.
An unusually large throng milled on the floor; a throng much larger than the usual flow of travelers who always streamed through the big terminal. Huge banners, all proclaiming A New Era in Railroading, gave the huge place a festive air.
Over the noise of the crowds sounded the blare of trumpeting music. A band composed of dusky Pullman porters in gaudy uniforms, led by a busby-hatted drum-major, was playing "Casey Jones."
"What is this anyhow?" Harvey snorted. "A circus in a railroad station?"
Strickland glared at him, but the mild-eyed secretary, Jensen, said, in an explanatory tone:
"In just one minute now, you will see that sign go on." With a moving forefinger he signified a continuous dark oblong strip of metal, dotted with electric bulbs, which ran around the four walls of the great concourse. "In St. Louis, Mr. Garrison, our president, will press a button. The impulse will be carried over our own wires to the device on the gallery which operates the sign."
"Very elaborate!" sneered Harvey. "But nothing can put this line on its feet, I'm warning you."
Nevertheless, he displayed interest as the Pullman band ended its number with a martial roll of drums. An expectant hush fell over the crowd. All eyes went to the strip of dark bulbs.
A second went by, then—
Abruptly, a flickering blaze of light leaped into life at the beginning of the strip, coursed jaggedly along the sign, forming bold letters—words:
GREETINGS TO THE PUBLIC—WE TAKE PLEASURE IN ANNOUNCING OUR MODERNIZED RAILROAD POLICY—OUR MANY NEW INNOVATIONS—
The words, with their smooth advertising, continued. The crowd watched.
—AND NOW IT IS TIME FOR THE MESSAGE OF THE TYCOON OF CRIME—
So smoothly did these words follow on the wake of the others that at first their utter strangeness was unnoticed by the crowd. But instantly sharply indrawn breaths of amazement issued from the group of men who had rushed down from the executive offices. Their eyes bulged as they followed those bold words, carried unerringly around the strip of bulbs.
—THE TYCOON OF CRIME HEREBY WARNS ALL THOSE WHO HAVE FLOUTED HIM—
The crowd had begun to murmur, to laugh as if believing this some deliberately humorous part of the ballyhoo, not yet understood.
"What's the meaning of those crazy words?" Strickland burst out.
"Meaning?" screamed a voice. "Good Lord, don't you realize? The Tycoon! The criminal we all laughed at!"
No one had noticed that Leland Sprague, the shock-haired surveyor who had so angrily left