CARPENTER TALKS TERMS
FAR from the chaos of the Club Catalina, two men were seated in the living room of a suite in the Hotel Pavilion. Herbert Carpenter and Gifford Morton had not tarried long in the crowded night club. They had left there before the shooting had begun.
On the side of the hotel most distant from the club, these men did not hear the outburst of remote gunshots. They were quietly engaged in conversation, while they sipped mixed drinks from tall glasses.
“An excellent evening, Herbert,” observed Morton.
“Ten thousand dollars is a tidy sum. You were lucky, too, were you not?”
“About fifteen hundred to the good,” returned Carpenter, as he idly lighted a cigarette. “Yes, I agree with you — ten thousand dollars is a good sum of money.”
Gifford Morton shot a quizzical stare at his companion. He changed his expression as Carpenter looked in his direction.
“By the way, Herbert,” said Morton, in an offhand manner, “it was your suggestion that we come here. I prepared for your visit by having the refreshments sent up in advance. Now that we are away from the crowd, I suppose that you have something that you would like to discuss with me?”
“I have,” responded Carpenter.
“Does it involve money?” asked Morton suddenly.
“It does,” said Carpenter coolly.
Morton studied his companion in a speculative manner. He watched Carpenter blow languid puffs of smoke. He waited to hear the news.
“Ten thousand dollars,” remarked Carpenter. “That’s a tidy sum, Gifford. You have been fortunate. However, I go in for larger amounts — away from the roulette table. My game, tonight, is one hundred thousand.”
“One hundred thousand dollars? Where do you expect to get it?”
“From you.”
The friendly look disappeared from Gifford Morton’s countenance. Anger reflected itself. Carpenter saw the change, and smiled in a manner that indicated self-assurance.
“From me, eh?” Morton’s tone was challenging. “You want one hundred thousand dollars? How are you going to get it?”
“You are going to give it to me,” responded Carpenter. “Willingly and with very little fuss. I like people to pay nicely. That applies to you, tonight.”
Gifford Morton was on his feet, fuming. He pointed toward the door, and launched a deluge of furious words at his guest.
“Get out of here, you rat!” he cried. “I don’t know what your game is, and I don’t want to know. Get out!”
“Gladly,” returned Carpenter, rising.
He stood in the center of the room, a smile upon his face. Then he walked quietly toward the door, and stopped with one hand upon the knob.
“You want me to leave?” he quizzed calmly. “Shall I go — before we talk?”
Something in the man’s suave expression made Gifford Morton hesitate. He sensed that Carpenter was playing a game that might have serious consequences. He realized that it would be wise to hear the man out.
“Sit down,” he said gruffly. “Maybe this is a joke. Let’s hear the rest of it.”
“The rest of it,” declared Carpenter, “will cost you ten thousand in addition — the amount of your winnings tonight. That is a penalty — for referring to me as a rat.”
“What’s the game?” demanded Morton sullenly.
CARPENTER took a chair and faced the multimillionaire. He smiled knowingly as he began to speak.
“We have been quite friendly since you arrived in Seaview City,” said Carpenter. “That was due to the fact that my name was mentioned to you by an acquaintance in New York. You were told to look me up when you came here.”
“What of it?”
“I have many acquaintances such as the one you chanced to meet in a business way. Such acquaintances are very convenient. They are men in my employ — paid in advance.”
“For what?”
“For steering such persons as you into my capable hands. I know your history, Morton. I can tell you many things about your private affairs.”
“What, for instance?”
“Well,” said Carpenter, as he flicked his cigarette into an ash tray, “I might mention the divorce suit which your wife had considered instituting against you. You and she have been separated for a long while, you know.”
“What about it? She will never start the divorce—”
“I hope not” — Carpenter’s tone was ironic — “on your account. The settlement would probably run into seven figures. More than a million dollars.”
“Let her try it!” sneered Morton. “She claims that she can name a correspondent. What evidence does she have?”
“Three days ago,” observed Carpenter, in a matter-of-fact tone, “you received a letter from a certain woman. You unwisely kept the letter. You also wrote a reply, which you mailed.”
Morton glowered, puzzled.
“I paid a thousand dollars for the writing of the original letter,” continued Carpenter. “I paid the same sum for the one which you wrote. I have both of the letters in my possession—”
“The one that I received? That’s a lie! I have it here—”
Carpenter laughed as Morton began to fumble in his pockets. He seemed to relish the look of confusion that came over the multimillionaire’s face.
“You left the letter in another suit,” declared Carpenter. “Quite thoughtless of you. I extracted it at a convenient moment.”
Morton’s glower returned. The man clenched his fists and appeared to be on the verge of attacking his oppressor. Carpenter, however, was quite unperturbed.
“If you have the letters,” blurted Morton suddenly, “prove it to me!”
Carpenter brought two sheets of paper from his pocket. Morton snatched them. Carpenter laughed.
“Photostatic copies,” he said. “Simple proofs that the originals are in my possession.”
Gifford Morton paced up and down the room, a wave of changing humors passing over his features. At last, he paused and flung the photostatic prints into Carpenter’s hands.
“Suppose I do not pay you,” demanded Morton. “What do you propose to do with those letters?”
“Mrs. Morton has an excellent attorney,” replied Carpenter. “He would pay well for them.”
“A hundred thousand dollars?”
“More, perhaps — after the settlement of the divorce money.”
“Take them to him, then!” stormed Morton.
“With pleasure,” retorted Carpenter. “It was my desire to give you a real opportunity, Morton. I figure that you are good for a hundred thousand — plus the ten I mentioned — and I intend to get it from you. So, after I make arrangements with the lawyer, on this proposition, I shall return to you with another proposal.”
MORTON’S mouth opened wide.
“In my possession,” continued Carpenter, “I have letters that tell of your transactions with the Colondora Power Company. It was quite clever — the way you organized that corporation; then deliberately crowded out the subsidiaries.
“If those facts were known, I think the value of the stock you hold would drop at least ten dollars a share. You have approximately twelve thousand shares, I understand. That would mean a loss of one hundred and twenty thousand dollars, to say nothing of the injury it would do to your prestige and your future negotiations—”
“One moment — one moment — ” Morton’s interruption was a hasty one. “Let me talk to you. I want to ask you some questions—”
The multimillionaire was excited. He was trembling as he made his plea. Carpenter ceased speaking, settled back in his chair, and lighted another cigarette.
Morton walked to the window, turned and faced the man who was threatening him. He gradually regained his calm.
“Let me study your proposal,” said Morton slowly. “You want me to pay you one hundred and ten thousand dollars.”
“Correct.”
“That is a demand—”
“Exactly.”
“In return for this money,” added Morton, “you will give me certain letters which are in your possession. You paid money to a certain person to write the first letter, did you not?”
“I did.”
“And you stole it from me after I received it—”
“I stole it.”
“And you paid a thousand dollars for the letter which I wrote—”
“One thousand dollars.”
Carpenter was smiling as he baited the millionaire. Morton rubbed his hand across his forehead as though in deep despair. He picked up the photostatic papers that Carpenter had laid on the table beside him.
“You had these copies made,” said Morton slowly. “Made from letters which you obtained through the woman whose name appears upon them. It was a conspiracy—”
“It was a conspiracy,” repeated Carpenter.
“More than that,” declared Morton, “at present you are trying to blackmail me. Do you understand that? This is blackmail!”
“Of course it is,” retorted Carpenter curtly. “I’m glad it has dawned upon you. I am blackmailing you, Morton. Blackmail is my game. Now come across!”
Morton fished in his pocket and removed a wad of bills. He counted the money in a shaky hand. He extended it to Carpenter.
“Here is the ten thousand that we spoke about,” he said, “and ten thousand more. As for the other ninety thousand—”
“Colondora stock will be satisfactory to me,” rejoined Carpenter. “You have more than ninety thousand dollars’ worth of it here. You were planning to unload it. I can do that as well as you—”
Gifford Morton spread his hands in the manner of a man who admits defeat. He smiled weakly, and walked with unsteady tread toward the door of an inner room.
“This is blackmail, Carpenter,” he said.
“Certainly it’s blackmail,” declared Carpenter.
Morton’s smile became grim as he placed his hand upon the knob of the door and slowly turned it.
“I’m glad you admitted that,” he said, in a firm voice. “Blackmail is your game. Carpenter — and the game is ended!”
With that, Gifford Morton opened the door. Two grinning men stepped forth, each holding a stubby revolver. Behind them followed a young man in a Tuxedo, carrying a notebook.
“Two detectives, Carpenter,” explained Morton, with a broad grin. “The other is my secretary, Gorman. You were oversure of yourself when you stole that letter. When I discovered that it was gone, I prepared for an affair like this one.”
A look of consternation spread over Herbert Carpenter’s face. He sat, unmoving, in the chair, covered by the weapons of the private detectives. It was Gifford Morton’s turn to be triumphant.
“They’ve tried to blackmail me before,” declared Morton. “I’ll give you credit, Carpenter — you’re the smoothest of the lot. But not smooth enough. You have all the notes, Gorman?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the secretary.
“They will be useful,” said Morton, “particularly as the final portion of our conversation is peculiarly incriminating. Gorman is an unusually good stenographer. With three witnesses to verify our discussion, your chances are quite thin, Carpenter.”
Morton finished his speech by walking over to Carpenter’s chair. He whisked the money from the blackmailer’s hand and placed it in his own pocket.
“It’s time this racket was ended,” he declared. “I guess you have found easy money here at Seaview City. Well, that’s ended now!”
Herbert Carpenter had regained his composure. He knew that he was in a bad spot, and he was prepared to work his way out, if possible.
“We are even, Morton,” he said quickly. “I am willing to call it quits—”
“You are willing!” snorted Morton. “Of course! You have enough nerve — I’ll grant you that. But it won’t help you out this time! When I say your game is ended, I mean it. You can’t touch me, Carpenter! When I’m through with you, you will be behind the bars. You crook!”
Herbert Carpenter made no response to the final impeachment. With an air of resignation, he settled back in his chair. The difficulties of his present situation did not seem to worry him.
“Think I’m going to feel softhearted?” questioned Morton. “You will have a long time to wait. When I testify, enough will come to light to convict you — but not enough to injure me.”
“The letters,” remarked Carpenter, in an easy tone. “Keep them!” defied Morton. “Whoever brings them to light will be incriminated with you. Those letters are dynamite in any hands other than mine.”
Wheeling, Morton turned to his secretary. Gorman blinked through tortoise-shell glasses as he awaited his employer’s bidding.
“Call the police!” ordered Morton.
Gorman went to the telephone. He clicked for the hotel operator. Gifford Morton chuckled with satisfaction.
Herbert Carpenter waited patiently. He had the air of a man who expected something to happen.