Hamilton Craigie - The Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 2, No. 2 — November 1920)

“In accordance with the promise made to you three days ago, at exactly twelve o’clock to-day the tower on the northeast corner of your office will be blown up. I have no desire to shed innocent blood and ask you to see that the vicinity is kept clear of workmen at that hour.

“You will realise that I am under considerable expense and must insist that you reimburse me for the time lost while waiting for you to come to my terms. You will, therefore, add ten thousand dollars to the original sum of fifty thousand dollars asked for, for each Week the amount demanded is unpaid.

“Three days from today at the hour of twelve, noon, your office will be demolished unless you grant my demands. Later, we will discuss the question of destroying your entire factory. Let today’s explosion be a warning to you that I do not indulge in idle threats.

“THE MAN IN THE BLACK MASK”

John Grimes, the peppery little president of the Elkhorn Chemical Company, laid the letter on the table before him, removed his glasses, wiped them carefully, then glared at the other members of the board of directors seated before him.

“That is the latest sample of what I have been getting for the past two weeks, Mr. Larson,” he said quietly.

“We have postponed action until you arrived because, in my estimation, the threats are so different from those of the ordinary blackmailer that they warrant a more than superficial investigation.”

“Twaddle!” interrupted weather-beaten old Slocum, the senior member of the board, with an angry snort.

“The work of a crank,” declared Innis, the company attorney, suavely. “It is a waste of time to read his letters.”

Grimes ignored the interruptions. Waiting a second for the others, none of whom seemed to care to venture an opinion: “Probably no other company in the world has guarded the interests of its employees as has this one,” he went on. “For that reason we have never had labor troubles of any kind. Seemingly, our workmen are all satisfied and I cannot bring myself to believe that it is one of them. My fellow directors do not agree with me, but I want your opinion.”

I chewed my cigar reflectively for a second. “I doubt if my advice will be worth much to you until I have gone deeper into the matter, Mr. Grimes,” I responded. “Remember, I arrived less than an hour ago and know absolutely nothing about conditions except what you have told me. As I understand it, you received your first communication from this mysterious blackmailer—what did you say he calls himself?”

“ ‘The Man in the Black Mask,’ ” answered Grimes.

“His first letter came several days ago, as I understand it, warning you of what to expect. Three days ago you received a second communication demanding the sum of fifty thousand dollars, payment to be made in a manner to be designated later. If you agreed, you were to run up a small, white flag on the flag pole. If not, the factory was to be slightly damaged as a proof that he is able to carry out his threats. Am I right so far?”

The gray-haired president nodded.

“I take it that you have all racked your brains thinking of some one who has been injured—or fancied himself injured—in the past. That you were unsuccessful is self-evident, for you have mentioned no such person. That practically eliminates covering that part of the field again. Not having raised the white flag, your mysterious enemy sends you the letter you have just read. Have there been any other communications?”

Grimes snorted. “Letters! Communications! My God! I’ve been bombarded with them. This one came by mail. When I awoke this morning I found one on my dresser. I find them in my coat pockets and pinned to the door of my room; All along the same line, but shorter. All typewritten.”

I raised my eyebrows inquiringly. “It looks like collusion on the part of some one in your own home, if you will pardon the insinuation. Have you questioned your servants?”

The little president motioned towards the big man in uniform at the foot of the table.

“Chief Backus has had them both on the carpet,” he responded.

The policeman spoke for the first time.

“It beats me,” he rumbled. “The cook’s been with him ever since Mrs. Grimes died—twelve years ago. The chauffeur and man of all work entered his service five years ago. I took no chances, though, and gave ’em both the third degree. I’d gamble my life on it that neither of them knows a thing about the thing.

“The only other member of the household is Mrs. Casey, Mr. Grime’s sister—and she’s a semi-invalid. Of course there’s Miss Joan, his niece—but one might as well suspect Grimes, himself, as a kid like her. Crank or no crank, Mr. Larson, the man who wrote those letters is a smooth proposition or he couldn’t have planted them as he did, right under the noses of everybody. Take my advice and do as I do—suspect everybody.”

Having thus delivered himself, he settled back in his chair and puffed with noisy energy at his cigar.

Innis laughed good-humoredly.

“The chief really takes the matter seriously, too,” he declared. “He’s even stationed men around the factory entrances to keep the crowd back at the noon hour, and he’s placed a man at the foot of the ladder leading up to the tower, to keep anyone from getting up there and planting explosives.”

“Taking no chances,” growled Backus.

“No chance of explosives being already placed in the tower, is there?” I inquired. “I mean a bomb of some kind that could be set off by electricity?”

“I’ve gone over it with a fine tooth comb.”

Slocum snarled like an angry terrior. In fact, he reminded me for all the world of a white-haired, snapping, little spitz. “I’ll tell you it’s foolishness to pay any more attention to these communications! All foolishness, I say! Let’s get down to business. Grimes has allowed the thing to get on his nerves. He forgets that he, like myself, is getting along towards his dotage. Ten years ago he would have thrown them into the waste basket. I’ll not vote to pay the expenses of getting this detective here. Not a cent! Not a single copper! If Grimes wants him, he can have him—and pay him, too.”

There was a general nodding of heads around the table. Decidedly the atmosphere into which I had stepped at the request of President Grimes was inclined to be frigid, to say the least — if not openly hostile.

Innis, diplomatic and suave, arose with an apologetic smile to pour oil on the troubled waters. “Mr. Grimes is probably justified in his worry, in that he feels a sense of responsibility, as president and general manager, in protecting the company’s interests. On the other hand we, as directors, should vote to give him a clearance if anything happens—and we are all of us confident that nothing will.”

President Grimes shrugged his shoulders and turned to me as if to ask my advice.

“I would suggest that you hold off your decision for a few seconds,” I answered to his implied question. “If your mysterious blackmailer is as prompt as he claims to be we will have but a short time to wait developments. In just thirty seconds it will be twelve o’clock.”

Instantly the gathering was hushed. The smile died on Innis’ lips. Slocum looked up, his lips skinned back angrily, then thought better of it and merely stared at Backus, who shifted his big frame uneasily in his chair. Grimes straightened up with a jerk and gazed into vacancy. There was a general scraping of feet and a nervous clearing of throats.