Read Online The Avenger 7 - Stockholders in Death by Kenneth Robeson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kenneth Robeson
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hardest about was a man named Ballandale.
Arthur Ballandale was president of the glass corporation that bore his name. It had occurred to Wayne that, quite possibly, he might know of his father’s secret purchase of Ballandale stock and be able to shed some light on the riddle of its theft.
So he went out to see Arthur Ballandale, even though it was after midnight. He couldn’t wait till morning. He was too excited with his hunch.
He had had to argue a little with Josh and Nellie about getting out. But they had no orders to hold him there; so they’d had to let him go.
At the corner of Bleek Street, he took a cab.
“Madison Avenue at Fifty-fourth Street,” he told the driver “And step on it.”
The cab went away fast. But not too fast for another cab, always at that corner for The Avenger or his aides if they needed it in an emergency, to follow.
At the same time, a man who had been lounging near the corner went into a drugstore and phoned.
He gave the address he’d overheard Wayne give.
Arthur Ballandale, in his big apartment near the intersection given by Wayne to the cab driver, was a late retirer. Wayne had remembered that when deciding to go impulsively to see him at this hour.
He met Wayne at the door, himself. He was a man of sixty or so, with clear health in his cheeks. He was well-kept and looked much younger in dress trousers and smoking jacket.
“Glad to see you, Wayne,” he said cordially. He had known Wayne’s father well. “It’s a little late, but I’m pleased by your visit. I judge something important brings you here?”
“It does,” said Wayne earnestly. “It’s a matter concerning Dad, and Ballandale stock. Did you know that, just before he died, Dad had bought millions of dollars’ worth of stock in your corporation?”
He told of the transactions, in secret names, and of the delivery of the stock to the wrong place—and of its theft.
Ballandale’s face grew more and more puzzled and incredulous.
“That’s a serious charge, Wayne,” he said finally. “Do you realize what it would mean to accuse the directors of a respectable bank of out-and-out theft?”
“Nevertheless, that’s what I do accuse them of,” said Wayne. “And I came to you for help. We can’t trace the stock transactions because Dad was all too successful in buying up blocks of it so that no one would find out who the purchaser was. But surely you, as president of the firm that bears your name, would know of such transactions? Surely you can prove that Dad did buy the stock?”
Ballandale shook his head slowly.
“I’m sorrier than I can say,” he replied, “but I’m not in a position to know anything about it. I’m president of the corporation, yes. I started the old Ballandale Co., and have headed it ever since. But I became a minority stockholder when it was merged with other small companies to become the Ballandale Corp. Now, as the president, I’m only a hired hand, like any other employee. And the stock transactions are in another world. They are in the world of Wall Street and have nothing to do with the actual functioning of the concern. Wayne, I’m a blank to you, I’m afraid.”
Wayne’s shoulders drooped. He was very young and very impulsive. And he’d been very sure he was on a hot trail. He left, after a few more words with Ballandale, and went down to the street again.
He was too depressed to notice that the cab he’d left now sagged on its springs just a little more than it should have done if empty. He gave the driver orders to go back to Bleek Street, and opened the cab door.
A man pointed a gun at him from the cab floor.
“Get in, buddy.”
Wayne got in. The cab drove smoothly off.
Nellie Gray had gone after Wayne, not to spy on him, but to keep guard over him. She hadn’t seen, from a block away, the gunman creep into the street side of Wayne’s waiting cab.
But when she saw the cab turn north instead of south toward Bleek Street, she knew instantly that
Arthur Ballandale was president of the glass corporation that bore his name. It had occurred to Wayne that, quite possibly, he might know of his father’s secret purchase of Ballandale stock and be able to shed some light on the riddle of its theft.
So he went out to see Arthur Ballandale, even though it was after midnight. He couldn’t wait till morning. He was too excited with his hunch.
He had had to argue a little with Josh and Nellie about getting out. But they had no orders to hold him there; so they’d had to let him go.
At the corner of Bleek Street, he took a cab.
“Madison Avenue at Fifty-fourth Street,” he told the driver “And step on it.”
The cab went away fast. But not too fast for another cab, always at that corner for The Avenger or his aides if they needed it in an emergency, to follow.
At the same time, a man who had been lounging near the corner went into a drugstore and phoned.
He gave the address he’d overheard Wayne give.
Arthur Ballandale, in his big apartment near the intersection given by Wayne to the cab driver, was a late retirer. Wayne had remembered that when deciding to go impulsively to see him at this hour.
He met Wayne at the door, himself. He was a man of sixty or so, with clear health in his cheeks. He was well-kept and looked much younger in dress trousers and smoking jacket.
“Glad to see you, Wayne,” he said cordially. He had known Wayne’s father well. “It’s a little late, but I’m pleased by your visit. I judge something important brings you here?”
“It does,” said Wayne earnestly. “It’s a matter concerning Dad, and Ballandale stock. Did you know that, just before he died, Dad had bought millions of dollars’ worth of stock in your corporation?”
He told of the transactions, in secret names, and of the delivery of the stock to the wrong place—and of its theft.
Ballandale’s face grew more and more puzzled and incredulous.
“That’s a serious charge, Wayne,” he said finally. “Do you realize what it would mean to accuse the directors of a respectable bank of out-and-out theft?”
“Nevertheless, that’s what I do accuse them of,” said Wayne. “And I came to you for help. We can’t trace the stock transactions because Dad was all too successful in buying up blocks of it so that no one would find out who the purchaser was. But surely you, as president of the firm that bears your name, would know of such transactions? Surely you can prove that Dad did buy the stock?”
Ballandale shook his head slowly.
“I’m sorrier than I can say,” he replied, “but I’m not in a position to know anything about it. I’m president of the corporation, yes. I started the old Ballandale Co., and have headed it ever since. But I became a minority stockholder when it was merged with other small companies to become the Ballandale Corp. Now, as the president, I’m only a hired hand, like any other employee. And the stock transactions are in another world. They are in the world of Wall Street and have nothing to do with the actual functioning of the concern. Wayne, I’m a blank to you, I’m afraid.”
Wayne’s shoulders drooped. He was very young and very impulsive. And he’d been very sure he was on a hot trail. He left, after a few more words with Ballandale, and went down to the street again.
He was too depressed to notice that the cab he’d left now sagged on its springs just a little more than it should have done if empty. He gave the driver orders to go back to Bleek Street, and opened the cab door.
A man pointed a gun at him from the cab floor.
“Get in, buddy.”
Wayne got in. The cab drove smoothly off.
Nellie Gray had gone after Wayne, not to spy on him, but to keep guard over him. She hadn’t seen, from a block away, the gunman creep into the street side of Wayne’s waiting cab.
But when she saw the cab turn north instead of south toward Bleek Street, she knew instantly that
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