MAGNATES CONFER
A LIMOUSINE stopped in front of a Park Avenue apartment. The chauffeur opened the door, and an elderly man stepped to the sidewalk beneath the awning that formed a protection against the drizzling rain.
He was obviously a man of importance, for he bore himself with an air of dignity. He wore a high silk hat and carried a heavy gold-headed cane. These marks of a bygone era did not seem at all incongruous. They suited the man exactly.
He was evidently an expected visitor, for the doorman ushered him to the elevator with great ceremony. The elderly man was taken to the fifth floor. There he was received by a footman, who was stationed in the anteroom of the large apartment that occupied the entire floor.
The flunky ushered the visitor into a room where several men were seated about a long mahogany table. All rose as the newcomer was announced.
“Welcome, Mr. Wilberton,” said the host, as he shook hands with the visitor. “We have been expecting you. We are glad that you are here.”
“Glad to be here, Griscom,” replied the visitor cordially. He sat down in the large chair at the end of the table, as Griscom drew it out for him.
“We are completing plans for the merger, Mr. Wilberton,” said Griscom. He was a man almost the age of Wilberton. Like the visitor, he was a man of dignity; but he had none of the overbearing manner that characterized the newcomer.
“I hope you have made progress,” replied Wilberton, with a careful pronunciation of each word.
“We have,” declared Griscom. “Our plans simply await your approval.”
“Let me hear them!”
“We have decided upon a merger of the United Theater Corporation with the Cooper-Lowden interests. A smaller group — the Derringer Circuit — will be absorbed by the merger.
“The terms agreed upon are substantially those which I discussed with you. Our attorneys will prepare all the necessary papers during the next few weeks. That is chiefly a matter of detail. In the meantime, we are looking forward to your decision.”
“Will the new organization reach the proportions that you anticipated?”
“It will exceed them! When the merger is completed, we will have theatrical holdings that will place us very close to the largest organizations in the country!”
“And for this you need?”
“A loan of three and one half million dollars, with our holdings as security.”
THERE was a hush in the room as all present looked at the man at the head of the table. Upon Stanley Wilberton depended the hopes that they had nourished.
The elderly man seemed to relish his mastery of the situation. He looked around the group and studied the anxious faces. Then he spoke the momentous words.
“I told Mr. Griscom that I believed it could be arranged,” he said. “I still believe so.”
A buzz of approval followed. Wilberton remained silent, enjoying the effect of his words. Griscom raised his hand warningly, calling for quiet. The hubbub died.
“You can negotiate the entire loan, Mr. Wilberton?” he questioned.
The elderly man nodded.
There was no confusion now. A sense of satisfaction had come over the group.
These men had relied upon Howard Griscom, president of the United Theater Corporation, to use his influence with Stanley Wilberton, banker and financier, in the furthering of their plans.
Even the most optimistic of the group had doubted that it could be done; yet they had agreed that it was their only chance to complete the merger that would make them a power in the theatrical industry. Now their hopes had prospered.
“We are relying on this, Mr. Wilberton,” said Griscom, “and I know that these gentlemen would like to have your positive assurance that the money will be forthcoming. One month from today is the time that we have set for the final deal.
“At present, we are ready to announce the merger. It will have a marked effect upon the values of the various stocks concerned. Without a doubt, our holdings will be considerably more valuable one month from to-day.”
“I agree with you,” replied Wilberton.
His words brought new assurance to the group.
“We may consider it positive, then?” insisted Griscom.
Stanley Wilberton pursed his lips. He looked at the men about him. There was something in his expression that changed their hopes to doubts.
“You say that your holdings will be more valuable a month from to-day,” he said. “I have agreed with you — considering the matter from a normal view. But there are certain elements that pervade the theatrical business to-day that have a very definite bearing upon its financial standing.”
“It’s a stabilized business, to-day, Mr. Wilberton,” interrupted a short, dark man who was sitting at the center of the table. Griscom signaled to him for silence.
It was George Ballantyne, secretary of United Theaters, who had spoken. He was an important man in the corporation; but now was no time for an objection on his part.
“I refer,” said Wilberton, apparently not noticing Ballantyne’s interruption, “to the unsettled conditions that now exist throughout New York City.
“A class of pirates have sprung up — men called racketeers — and they have commenced to dominate legitimate enterprises, among them the theatrical business.”
BALLANTYNE was on his feet, pounding the table. Stanley Wilberton looked at him in profound surprise. Griscom was shaking with anxiety. The man could not be stopped.
“There’s no racketeering in our business!” he exclaimed. “We’ve had labor troubles — and some of them have been due to scoundrels who have tried to injure us. But those are minor matters. We have found out how to handle them.
“When stage hands and musicians have tried to put over exorbitant demands, we’ve put in talkies — and they’ve been crying for help ever since. Our enterprises are sound — and there’s no racketeering that has ever touched us.
“Most of our problems have been natural ones. We’ve met fair demands — we’ve fought unfair ones. We’ve smashed anything that looked like extortion, and we’ll continue to do so!”
He looked around among his companions for approval. He saw it there, even though the group was silent. Ballantyne looked squarely at Wilberton.
“Have you finished?” questioned the financier.
“Yes.” Ballantyne sat down.
“What you have said is true, Mr.—”
Wilberton hesitated.
“Ballantyne,” supplied Griscom.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Ballantyne,” resumed Wilberton. “What you have said is quite true. That is the unfortunate part of it all. The theatrical business is not at present subject to racketeering.”
Ballantyne looked at him with a puzzled air.
“With the present growth of racketeering,” continued Wilberton, “it is logical that the theatrical business will soon be imposed upon by these leeches. It will find the situation difficult to combat. It will suffer accordingly.”
“This is too much, Mr. Wilberton,” blurted Ballantyne. “You are assuming too much—”
The financier stared coldly at the irate speaker. Ballantyne settled down. Stanley Wilberton spoke again.
“With me,” he said, “it is a matter of lending money to a sound enterprise. Your merger is an excellent plan. But racketeering seems to be on the upward trend.
“Should demands be made upon you, which you would attempt to resist, your properties would be subject to damage and financial loss. Your merger would no longer be a sound venture; it would become a disaster!”
“I can’t agree with you!” declared Ballantyne.
“I do not ask your agreement,” replied Wilberton coldly. “I am simply stating my own opinion — and upon that I shall base my decision. I have other loans which I can make.
“I tell you, gentlemen, that I would prefer to lend money to a business in which racketeering had taken full hold, than to one which is subject to racketeering that has not commenced!”
“That is preposterous!” cried Ballantyne.
“It is sound business,” replied Wilberton, “and I shall explain my reasons for your benefit” — his voice took on a condescending tone — “because I realize that you need an opinion such as mine.
“Racketeers are parasites. They prey upon legitimate business. But they are wise. They go so far — no further. They, as much as the proprietors, are interested in the welfare of those businesses.
“Who pays? The public. Bread is selling at one cent a loaf more than it should. Milk has gone up one cent a quart more than it should be. The excess is being taken by the racketeers; they are satisfied.”
“ONE moment, Mr. Wilberton!”
The interruption came from a solemn-faced man at the corner of the table. “Those rackets which you mention are losing ground. They are on the wane. Racketeering has passed its peak!”
Stanley Wilberton stared at the interrupter. He was met by a gaze as cold as his own. Two piercing eyes were focused upon him, and the face of the man was fully as remarkable. It was the face of a man comparatively young, yet its masklike expression gave its possessor a weird appearance that was hypnotic in its effect.
Stanley Wilberton shifted in his chair. He could not turn his eyes away from the fascinating power of the other man’s glance. It was only when Howard Griscom spoke that Wilberton managed to free himself from that dynamic gaze.
“Ah, yes,” he said, hearing only the voice of Griscom, “it is true that some rackets have declined. I recall reading that one in particular, was broken during the past week.
“But, gentlemen” — he glanced swiftly about the table, carefully avoiding the gaze of the man in the corner — “I can tell you this! These racketeers will find new outlets when others have been ended, and the theatrical business — your business — will be one of them!”
There was an impressiveness in Wilberton’s statement that had a marked influence upon the men present. Ballantyne was still unconvinced. The man in the corner said nothing. His face was impassive. Howard Griscom noticed him.
“Ah, Mr. Wilberton,” he said. “The gentleman who spoke a few minutes ago is Mr. Lamont Cranston. He has an interest in the Derringer Circuit, the enterprise which will be absorbed in the merger.
“We believed that Mr. Cranston was away from New York. He gave us an agreeable surprise by appearing here unexpectedly.”
“I am glad to have his opinion,” said Wilberton. “Perhaps I am prejudiced, gentlemen; but remember, I am a financier and a banker. You are theatrical men — you may also have your prejudices.”
Howard Griscom nodded. His face wore a worried expression. He looked at the men about him, particularly Ballantyne. He cleared his throat and spoke directly to Stanley Wilberton.
“WE must accept your opinion, Mr. Wilberton,” he said, “and, after all, it is more than justified. I am going to speak frankly with you — as I always do.
“We have encountered a problem with United Theaters that presages what you have mentioned. Mr. Cranston is ignorant of this — for the theaters in which he is interested are not in New York. I do not believe that the Cooper-Lowden interests have had the experience.
“But it is a problem that has confronted United Theaters. In all fairness, I must discuss it now.
“We have been approached by an individual who claims to be a representative of the Theatrical Owners Cooperative Association — an organization entirely unknown to us.
“He has suggested that we join the association — but at a tremendous cost — in order to protect ourselves against dangers which apparently have never existed before: namely, disturbances in theaters, law suits from patrons, and damage to our property!”
“It’s an idle threat!” interrupted Ballantyne. “Pure buncombe! You have no right to mention it!”
“I shall proceed in full,” declared Griscom quietly. “You probably know, Mr. Wilberton, that admission charges have been reduced ten per cent in some of our theaters, and that we have planned a further reduction of ten per cent.
“We have figured that increased patronage would more than offset this — and produce a large profit. This representative of the Cooperative Association has suggested that we maintain the old price level throughout, and turn over ten per cent of our receipts to his organization!
“He claims that we can gain increased attendance without the lowering of admission prices. He knows that the lower admissions are partly a move to meet the competition of smaller, independent theaters.
“He states that those houses will be taken into the association also, and that they will not be allowed to cut prices.”
“How much would this association fee cost?” questioned Wilberton.
“When the merger is completed,” declared Griscom, “it would affect subsidiary houses of the Cooper-Lowden interests. Our payments to the unknown Theatrical Owners Cooperative Association would amount to an average of thirty thousand dollars a week.”
A murmur of astonishment passed around the table. Only two men did not join it; they were Stanley Wilberton, man of millions, and Lamont Cranston, whose expression never changed.
“It is true,” declared Griscom, “that our present revenue might be increased through the plan offered by the Cooperative Association. But to us, the plan seems to be a holdup. It is entirely unlike anything that we have ever before undertaken. We do not like it!”
“We don’t like it,” interjected Ballantyne, “and what’s more, we’ll have nothing to do with it!”
“Gentlemen,” declared Stanley Wilberton, “my apprehensions are not unfounded. Mr. Griscom has told me, in so many words, that your New York holdings — your most important assets — are threatened by the very difficulty which I have foreseen. Under the circumstances, I cannot lend my financial support to your merger!”
“This has got to go through, Mr. Wilberton!” Ballantyne was appealing. “We’ve got to have your support!”
“I cannot give it. I must be assured that your business is on a stabilized basis.”
“Mr. Wilberton,” one of the Cooper-Lowden men was speaking, “you said, a little while ago, that a business that complied with regulations imposed by racketeers might be regarded as a sound one.”
“Very much so,” agreed Wilberton. “Rats are found chiefly in houses where much food is available.”
“Suppose,” said the speaker, “that United Theaters should tie up with this Cooperative Association. How would that influence your decision?”
“I have just one wish,” declared the financier. “I must know that your combined business is going to be free from any artificial menace.
“I do not care what your expenditures may be, so long as a reasonable profit is shown. But I will not risk my capital in an enterprise which is threatened by an unnatural hazard. That, gentlemen, is final!”
STANLEY WILBERTON arose and walked to the door. Griscom accompanied him from the room.
Ballantyne began to expostulate, arguing with the Cooper-Lowden man. Lamont Cranston watched them with unchanging expression.
Howard Griscom returned. He looked at George Ballantyne. The secretary of the United Theater Corporation arose and faced the gathering.
“There are two men,” he said, “who hold the key to this merger. I am one. Howard Griscom is the other. We represent United Theaters, and it is we who are threatened.
“I, for one, will not pay tribute! I will fight the racket! While I live, gentlemen, the merger will not go through under such conditions, if I can help it! What do you say, Howard?”
There was a pathetic expression upon Griscom’s face. The man had become older.
He knew that, with Ballantyne, he was the only one who could block the path of the merger. His dreams of many years had seemed on the point of realization. Even now, a word from him, and Ballantyne could be overruled.
But Howard Griscom did not speak that word. Instead, he reached across the table and shook Ballantyne’s hand.
“All right,” the leader of the Cooper-Lowden interests interposed. “I don’t agree with you two, but I admire your stand.
“We’re ready for the merger, and we’re willing to let the public pay for what we may have to hand to racketeers. We’ll go through with it any time you say the word!”
The conference was ended. Howard Griscom saw his guests leave the room. He thought for a moment that he was alone with George Ballantyne; then he noticed that Lamont Cranston was still seated at the corner of the table.
The man spoke as Griscom looked in his direction.
“I expressed no opinion after Wilberton was gone,” he said. “The Derringer Circuit is small. It is for sale at any time you choose to buy it.
“In the meantime, I should like to have all the information you can give me regarding the so-called Theater Owners Cooperative Association.”
“My office is always open to you, Mr. Cranston,” returned Griscom. “You are a welcome visitor at any time.”
The door opened and a charming young woman entered. From her manner, one might have placed her age at thirty; her face appeared much younger — almost girlish.
She made a beautiful picture as she stood against the dim background of the doorway, exquisitely gowned. She was evidently returning from a party.
“Come in, Arline,” said Howard Griscom, as the girl hesitated. “Arline, you know Mr. Ballantyne. This gentleman is Mr. Cranston.”
The girl extended her hand. Lamont Cranston received the clasp, and his keen eyes stared steadily into hers.
Arline seemed solemn as she returned the gaze. There was something in those eyes that fascinated her. Their keenness made her think of eyes that she had seen long ago — the eyes of another man — a man whom she had tried to forget.
As Cranston released her hand, Arline crossed the room and kissed Howard Griscom. The theater owner smiled as he saw Cranston watching them from the door.
“My only daughter,” he said. “My only child, now. I had a son once. He died — some years ago. Arline is everything to me — now.” His smile faded for an instant; then it returned as he bade his friend good night.
As Lamont Cranston stepped from the Park Avenue apartment, he stood, momentarily, beneath the protecting awning. The fog and the drizzling rain formed an impenetrable cloak through which the lights of passing automobiles moved dim and forlorn.
Cranston was wearing a black cloak about his shoulders. A broad-brimmed hat was on his head. He drew down the hat and raised the collar of his cloak. Instantly, his face was obscured. He stepped from beneath the protecting awning, and in a few short strides he disappeared miraculously into the foggy blackness of the night.
From the spot where he had vanished came a strange sound — a low, creepy laugh, that seemed to swirl amidst the fog. It was a strange, mirthless laugh — a sinister laugh that seemed to express an understanding of facts that were unknown.
The doorman shuddered as he stood at the open doorway in front of the apartment house.
He had heard the laugh of The Shadow!