The Lampasas Daily Leader (Lampasas, Tex.), Vol. 29, No. 28, Ed. 1 Thursday, April 7, 1932 Page: 2 of 4
This newspaper is part of the collection entitled: Lampasas Area Newspaper Collection and was provided to The Portal to Texas History by the Lampasas Public Library.
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THE LAMPASAS LEADER
e Blank Card
Taken from the
Notebook of an Old Detective
by Charles Edmonds Walk
And With Names and Places Hidden Published as a Proof That
Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction
In September, 1913, Felix Hazard
received an urgent summons from the
New York offices of the Sutherland
detective agency to come at once to
that city to assist the local operatives
in unraveling a particularly baffling
case; a case, it may be added, that
still remains one among many of the
©astern metropolis’ unsolved riddles.
The circumstances tended to show
that on the morning of September 2
David Bardeene, master financier and
power in Wall street, had been
stabbed to death by a mysterious
woman who had not as yet been ap-
prehended and whose identity was
unknown to the police. Bardeene’s
widow had enlisted the aid of the
Sutherlands not only to find the worn
an, bfit to clear up an unpleasant
scandal that, since the supposed mur-
der, was beginning to cloud the dead
millionaire's name.
The summons fell In admirably with
Hazard's plans, because his confrere
and friend, Helen Bertel, was spend-
ing her vacation in New York, and
he anticipated some pleasant times in
her company. He reported promptly
at the New York office, where he was
supplied with full details of the case.
Almost at once Hazard was struck
by what lie considered a suggestive
factor; this was the ease with which
the mysterious woman had gained ac-
cess to Bardeene's private office.
Guarded by an army of clerks ‘and
office attendants, the financier was
one of the least accessible of men.
Unless by previous appointment, sel-
dom if ever was anybody admitted to
his presence; strangers were barred
utterly.
The unknown woman, It would
seem, on the presentation of her card,
had been instantly ushered into the
inner sanctum.
And here arose another singular cir-
cumstance. It was no other than the
ohief clerk himself who took the card;
but he could not recall the woman’s
name, and the card itself could not
be found. As for her appearance, she
had been stylishly gowned, she seemed
to be young, or not more than middle-
aged, but her features were concealed
by a heavy veil.
She remained with Bardeene per-
haps thirty minutes altogether. Some-
thing like five minutes before she de-
parted the buzzer rang for George
Destin, the chief clerk, who went at
once into the private office. He reap-
peared in the outer office a minute or
so later pale and trembling—in fact,
so agitated that certain of the office
force noticed his perturbation and
commented among themselves that
“the old man had been giving Destin
a grilling."
He was a much feared “old man."
Then a minute or two later the
veiled woman reappeared and passed
at a normal gait through the outer
room, where the office force was en-
sconced. That was the last seen of
her.
During the next few minutes It was
noticed by his subordinates, that Des-
tin was uneasy and fidgety'.'" He fum-
bled aimlessly and nervously with the
papers at his desk, and by and by he
rose with an air of having steeled
himself to the performance of an un-
pleasant task and went into the pri-
vate office.
Next instant he came reeling back,
white as a sheet and making queer,
incoherent noises in his throat. The
office was thrown into confusion; but
presently the others made out that he
was trying to $ry “Murder!” And
then it was that the fatality was dis-
covered.
paving ascertained all the details
from Heffeman, the New York opera-
tive who had charge of the case for
the Sutherlands, Felix Hazard meant
first to find Helen Bertel and then
devote his attention to the dead finan-
cier’s Wall street offices. He was just
starting for the elevator when an
office boy came up and handed him a
sealed envelope “libaring his name.
Hastily tearing it open, he found, on a
slip of paper, the following typewrit-
ten message:
“David Bardeene met only his just
deserts. If you -value your peace of
mind don’t, from a -mistaken notion
of duty, try to bring retribution upon
the nffserable instrument of vengeance
who killed him. This is not a threat,
but wise counsel."
Hazard wheeled upon the boy.
“Where did you get this?” he sharply
demanded.
“I found it in the letterbox among
the office mail.”
“R’m! Then anybody could have
dropped it there at any time.” He
handed the slip to Heffernan. “Some-
body wants us to keep hands off; as
far as you went, did you run against
ing bit of paper
head.
“Regardless of
this is a threat
f t^i
e disclaimer that
e commented, “it
is, nevertheless, nothing else. Before
you go much further I bet you’ll re-
ceive another more to the point.”
“I believe you,” agreed Hazard.
“The case promises to be interesting.
.Well, £ must be off.”
! An hour later he and Helen Bertel
were happily facing each other across
a restaurant table. He told her what
had brought him to New York, laying
the Bardeene case before her circum-
stantially.
“Here,” said she, “endeth my vaca-
tion; for I suppose you want me to
help you.”
“My dear girl,” Hazard protested,
“all I ask of you is to be a patient
listener and then give me the benefit
of your luminous, clear-thinking brain.
I have to talk to someone to get
my own ideas in order; I’d rather it
would be you than anybody else.”
“For that, dear Felix,” she smiled
at him, “I’ll point the way for you to
begin.” She pretended to go into a
trance. “My control suggests George
•Destin, the chief clerk.”
Hazard’s eyes sparkled, because the
pretty girl opposite him had arrived
at a conclusion identical with his own.
Still, to make the advice more posi-
tive and concrete, he asked her for
her reasons. Said she:
“I haven’t many definite reasons for
looking askance at the chief clerk; it
is mostly intuition that prompts me;
but it sticks in my mind as being
queer that he can neither recall the
woman’s name nor find the card.
That doesn’t indicate a careful office
man, such as would hold a responsi-
ble position in David Bardeene’s ex-
acting employ. Therefore, if he sup-
pressed the card and the woman’s
name, if anything occurred in the in-
ner office that he has not told, then
he knows the woman and there is col-
lusion between "them.”
Hazard nodded his head in full
agreement; then, after arranging for
a meeting with Helen for that same
evening, he reluctantly left her and
made nis way to Bardeene’s offices in
Wall street.
As a result of the guiding spirit’s
removal from the midst of his many
activities, the place was dull jand
spiritless. George Destin was alone,
discharging such duties as ordinarily
fell to him.
The detective scrutinized the chief
clerk keenly before making himself
known. He beheld a good-looking, well
set up man of thirty or thereabouts
with black hair and a closely clipped
black mustache. The pallor that
marked his face might have followed
naturally upon the shock and worry
caused by his employer’s tragic death,
and the man’s state of mind could
not fairly be taken as evidence of
guilty knowledge.
In a few moments Hazard intro-
duced himself and stated the object
of his visit.
“But I don’t see what I can do, Mr.
Hazard. I am stunned; my mind
can’t grasp the terrible happening;
but it seems to me the police have
been a bit overzealous in suspecting
me.”
Hazard gave him a sharp glance:
he was not a little taken aback by
the man’s unexpected candor.
“Why do they suspect you?” he
asked.
“Because I did not know the lady’s
name—that is to say, I could not re-
call it—and because the card has not
been found. But how could I be ex-
pected to remember a name that I
never saw or heard?”
“You had her card,” the detective
reminded him.
“Ah, yes—to be sure—her card.”
Destin lapsed into meditation. Then
resolution came to him; he met Haz-
ard’s steady look with eyes that re-
vealed nothing. He pursued:
“As you are working in Mrs. Bar-
deene’s interests, I do not mind con-
fiding to you something that I hesi-
tated telling the police; I felt that I
would not be believed.
“The explanation of my ignorance
respecting the woman is quite simple.
It is very rarely that a woman comes
to these offices, and less 'than an
hour before the tragedy Mr. Bardeene
informed me that he was expecting a
lady caller and for me to show her
in the instant she arrived. So when
this woman came, naturally I took it
for granted that she was the one he
was expecting, and I showed her im-
mediately into the private office. She
did not tell me her name; as a mat-
ter of fact, I did not hear her utter
a word.”
“But the card,” Hazard again re-
minded him, “surely you saw her
name on that.”
The man looked at him queerly.
After a pause—
“No, I did not,” he 'said slowly.
“The card was blank.”
“Blank!” Hazard ejaculated. “Why,
nobody would send in a blank card
to a man like Mr. Bardeene!”
Destin shrugged his shoulders.
“This lady did, at any rate. You see
now why I was reluctant to tell, all
any opposition?”
Heffernan studied the unpqippromis^J, thjjSJ tp^-the police; it sounds rather
and slowly shook his Iprepbsterous.
“I may add, though, that occasion-
ally people had appointments with
Mr. Bardeene, who made their pres-
ence known by a sign or a password
of some sort, people whose identities
it was not advisable to disclose even
to the office staff. I concluded- that
the blank card was some such open
sesame. Mr. Bardeene was strange-
ly agitated when I handed it to him.
and he told me to show her in at
once.”
Felix Hazard was rapidly acquiring
a curious jumble of irreconcilable
conclusions. David Bardeene, who
had time and inclination to consider
only matters of huge emprise, had an
appointment with a mysterious veiled
woman who made herself known Dy
means of a blank visiting card; he
immediately dropped all other busi-
ness and gave her his attention; dur-
ing the course of a 30-minute inter-
view she had, it would seem, stabbed
him to death with his own paper-
knife, and then departed as quietly
and unhurriedly and mysteriously as
she had come.
All at once he remembered the
scandal that had gathered about the
dead man’s name and which it was a
part of his duty to hush. It struck
him now that the scandal, if there
were any basis for it, must be opened
up and aired instead of suppressed, if
justice were to be done.
“Mr. Destin,” he went off on a new
track, “you were probably as close to
David Bardeene as any man, were you
not?"
The chief clerk reflected, then
thoughtfully replied:
“No man was what you might call
intimate with Mr. Bardeene; nobody
could get close to him; he was a
reserved, self-contained man; but in
a business way I suppose I had as
much of his confidence as any one.
Socially, though—well, do you know
Maxwell Howe, the engineer?”
The name was indeed familiar to
Felix Hazard. He thought of the
man whose splendid genius was sul-
lied by the character of a Dionysius;
at once a creator of magnificent struc-
tures and a satyr, a genius in whom
glowed the divine spark and a selfish
hedonist and libertine.
"Yes, I know him,” he returned.
“Well,” came the quiet addendum,
“Mr. Bardeene was much in his com-
pany out of office hours.”
If this were true, once more the
case resolved itself into simple if sor-
did elements. But Destin was not
the best source of information for
this angle; it was a factor that Hef-
ferman could attend to.
“When the buzzer summoned you,
while the woman was with Mr. Bar-
deene, what occurred that agitated
you?” Hazard asked.
For the first time George Destin
betrayed uneasiness. He stirred un-
comfortably and darted a disturbed
glance at his inquisitor before reply-
ing.
“He reprimanded me for wffiat he
considered a dereliction on my part,”
Destin explained in a dropped voice;
“a matter that had nothing to do with
the lady’s call—or at least I suppose
it hadn’t.”
That the incident rankled would ac-
count for the chief clerk’s constraint;
but for some reason Hazard regarded
him with suspicion. However he
didn’t press his interrogations; it oc-
curred to him that a dossier of both
Bardeene’s and Destin’s mode of life
would be more informative than any-
thing the chief clerk would be of a
mind to tell him. So after a minute
or two of desultory conversation he
took his leave.
No sooner had he emerged upon thp
sidewalk than a seedy-looking individ-
ual accosted him and asked whether
his name was Felix Hazard. He eyed
the man shrewdly, and swiftly made
up his mind that he was not a factor
to reckon with. When he replied in
the affirmative the seedy man handed
him a bethumbed, sealed envelope up-
on which was his typewritten name.
The messenger started to slouch
away, but Hazard arrested his steps
with a curt command to wait.
The second message, like the first,
was typewritten on a narrow slip of
paper; but unlike the other, the men-
ace of its purport was unmistakable/
Hazard read:
“You choose to disregard friendly
counsel—very well. Beware the con-
sequences. To clear the mystery sur-
rounding David Bardeene’s death will
not serve the ends of justice, but will
entail irreparable injury for people
who are innocent of any wrongdoing.
So stop before it is too late.”
Hazard bore down sternly upon the
shabby messenger, who promptly be-
came frightened and anxious to be
gone.
“Who gave you this?” he demanded
“I—I—d-d-don’t know the gent,”
chattered the other. “He points you
out to me when you goes into the
building and he gives me a bone to
wait and hand you this letter when
you comes out. He beats it, and I
earns my money—that’s all."
“Describe him.”
The seedy individual did so as well
as he was able in his rattled state;
but the description told Hazard noth-
ing—it was of somebody whom he
could not identify.
After a final word of warning the
detective dismissed the messenger,
who scuttled away.
Felix Hazard was not disposed to
treat the warning lightly, and he ap-
prehended trouble before he got much
farther into the Bardeene case. He
knew that big interests were affected,
and that a man’s life in New York
could be purchased for a trifling sum
of money; the notorious gun-men were
not a myth—murder was their trade.
But Who, he wondered, could be so
eager to dissuade him from clearing
up the mystery? >
On his way back to the Sutherland
office he pondered this question deep-
ly, but could find no satisfactory an-
swer.
Heffernan promised to obtain com-
plete records of both Bardeene and
Destin by the next afternoon, and cau-
tioned his associate from the western
city to be constantly on his guard.
“Those typewritten threats have an
ugly look to me,” he added, “and if
the author of them is as unscrupulous
as the circumstances seem to indicate
he will make no bones about having
you fixed.”
But this aspect of the affair did not
in the least abate Felix Hazard’s en-
joyment of a popular Broadway musi-
cal revue and a supper later on at one
of the more subdued of that street’s
garish lobster palaces; for Helen Ber-
tel was with him and all business
troubles and worries were for the
time being laid aside.
It was not until he and Helen
emerged upon the sidewalk that the
typewritten threats were brought for-
cibly to mind. He guided Helen
through the throng of pedestrians to
the curb, where the starter already
had summoned a taxi.
And here Hazard abruptly halted:
the conveyance was not the same one
they had used earlier in the evening,
not the one in which they had come
to the restaurant from the theater and
whose driver he had instructed to
wait.
He had no more than paused in his
progress toward the vehicle wrhen
there came a sudden surging among
the pedestrians surrounding him. The
cab door flew open and at the same
instant he was* seized by powerful
hands and roughly hustled toward it.
Helen was separated from him, and
at once he lost sight of her. As usual,
when such events are precipitated,
not a policeman was in sight.
Now those who have followed this
series will recall that Miss Bertel was
an active, athletic girl and a coura-
geous one into the bargain. Moreover
she was quick-witted and prompt to
when one of the roughs seized Helen
to hurl her away from the door sev-
eral of the spectators awakened, and
in a moment that individual was re-
ceiving the roughest handling of his
life.
Then the cab glided away and the
thugs tried to lose themselves in the
crowd. All succeeded save one. The
instant that Hazard’s right arm was
free he was upon the fellow at his left
and bore him to the walk in a flasV
The man lay face downward, and Haz-
ard twisted his right arm back until
he cried out with pain.
Helen, her fine gray eyes shining
and her face glowing with excitement,
stood watching. To her Hazard said
quietly:
“Get an officer; I think I can use
this chap.”
But just then a bluecoat forced his
way through the crowd. Explanations
were quickly made, the tliug was led
away to the nearest patrol box, Haz-
ard and Helen hurried into another
taxi, and the episode was over.
At police headquarters, some time
later, after Hazard had seen Helen
safely to her hotel, the detective was
afforded an insight into New York po-
lice conditions where protected inter-
ests are involved. The captain of po-
lice was anxious to conciliate a man
of Felix Hazard’s reputation and
standing, he knew he could not de-
ceive him, and he also knew that any
true confession from the captured
thug would lead him back to a dead
wall of helplessness.
“There’s no chance of getting to the
man higher up through this guy,”
averred the captain; “at best we can
only lay our hands upon some ward
man who perhaps got his orders from
the swell who sat next to you at the
show tonight or at the next table to
you at the Broadway restaurant where
you dined, and by the time wre’d
worked our way to him—if we could—
we’d be in hot water up to our necks.
We can do you no good, but can get
ourselves in bad.”
Hazard understood and took the
matter philosophically. “Let the fel-
low go,” he said; “I dare say I can
take care of myself. Next time,
though,” he warned, “I’ll be more
watchful—I’m pretty handy with a
gun.”
“If you can get any o’ them guys
“Harken, Maxwell Howe. Even Now, You Can Hear the Ctank of Chains
and the Echo of the Warden’s Tread.’*
act, else she could not have held the
position of trust and confidence she
did with the Sutherlands. Although
forcibly separated from her escort,
she instantly divined what was hap-
pening, and a swift survey of the scene
gave her all the details of the strata-
gem by which at least seven men were
trying to kidnap Hazard. Each of his
arms was grasped by a man and a
third was lifting and pushing the de-
tective from behind. Hazard was help-
less, and regardless of the brightly
lighted and crowded street the plot
would have succeeded by its very
boldness and audacity—had it not
been for Helen Bertel.
She also observed that four other
husky individuals were plunging this
way and that among the crowd, hurl-
ing the nearest ones away from the
immediate vicinity and keeping the
space about the cab door clear.
Helen pressed forward, cautiously
alert. A huge, evil-visaged man lunged
violently directly at her—and next in-
stant he went sprawling to the walk.
She had neatly tripped him. Then
rushing to the cab dpor, she slammed
it shut and crouched against it with
all her strength, for she knew not
what might come through the open
window.
The plot depended for its success up-
on the rapidity with which it could be
accomplished. Without check or hin-
drance Hazard might have been bun-
dled into the cab and the cab speeding
away all within the space of a few
seconds. But Helen’s unforeseen op-
position provided the brief delay ne-
cessary to frustrate the maneuver.
The men holding Hazard became
panic-stricken and released him, and
that way,” the captain earnestly as-
sured him, “I’m with you. You'll save
us police a lot o’ trouble.”
The next afternoon Heffernan hand-
ed Hazard two closely typewritten
sheets; they were the records of Da-
vid Bardeene and George Destin.
Terse and unemotional in their phrase-
ology, they were nevertheless revela-
tions—Bardeene’s of a deliberately
chosen life of gross sensualism upon
which, fortunately, this chronicle need
touch only in a cursory way; while
George • Destin’s was commonplace
save for one circumstance which will
be brought out presently.
The name of Maxwell Howe was so
frequently linked with Bardeene's
that they may be said to have been
partners in a systematic career of evil.
There were descriptions of Eleusinian
revels in apartments which the volup-
tuous imagination of Howe had trans-
formed into bowers of rich and ele-
gant luxury, and in connection with
these appeared the name of—Idabelle
Valette.
Idabelle Valette, the record showed,
was twenty; she had lived with her
widowed mother at a given address
in Harlem and had worked at one of
the larger down-town department
stores until January, 1913. Thence-
forward her name was so closely as-
sociated with Bardeene’s and Howe’s
that the appended details of her fate
were mere redundancy.
The significant details of George
Destin’s record was that for two years
he had “kept company” with Idabelle
Valette, and it was generally believed
by their acquaintances that they were
engaged to be married.
The perusal of these two sheets had [
a magical effect upon Felix. Fir3t of
all he sought out Helen Berte*.
“I shall have to use you after all,"
he excused himself; “what I want you
to do only a woman can.” He laid
the whole v#gly story before her and
gave her an address.
“That is where Mrs. Hubert Valette,
Idabelle’s mother, lives; she was the
veiled woman. Unquestionably you
will find her greatly distressed, and it
will require a woman’s sympathy, in-
sight and tact to get her to yield up
her story. I can guess it pretty ac-
curately, but I want it from her own
lips.
“While you are gone I mean to pay
my respects to one of New York's
honored citizens; I want to let him
know just how he stands in the opin-
ion of all decent men.”
“And women,” added Helen. “But
he won’t see you.”
Hazard smiled grimly. “He will,
though,” he averred with quiet assur-
ance.
His up-town journey ended at the
imposing and busy office of Maxwell
Howe, and after he had sent in his
card, as Helen had foretold, the fa-
mous engineer refused to see him.
“Give me a sheet of paper and an
envelope,” the detective demanded of
the stenographer in a tone that
brooked no denial. He wrote:
“If you don’t grant me an immedi-
ate audience, every afternoon paper
in New York shall ring with the story
of Idabelle Valette.”
This he sealed in the envelope and
sent in to Howe. By way of reply
he was shown into the latter’s private
office.
The detective wasted no time in
getting down to the object of his call.
His manner was stern and compelling,
and the large, impressive-looking man
who watched him with filmed eyes re-
mained silent and impassive.
. “Mr. Howe, I have not come here to
preach you a sermon,” Hazard began;
“but to make my meaning clear and
unmistakable, there are a few things
I mean to tell you.
“God has given you a great gift, and
that you have seen fit to debase it
and drag it through the muck and
mire does not in the least concern me
where you alone are affected. But
you are a beast unchained and so con-
stitute a deadly peril to all within
the sphere of your influence. Contact
with you is poisonous, fatal. I want
to impress upon your mind that you
are now chained so that you will not
bring utter ruin upon the heads of
your innocent family. In the office
of the Sutherland detective agency ig
a complete detailed statement of what
I suppose you are pleased to call your
amusements and recreations, covering
a period of the last three years; with
that statement are the names of scores
of witnesses whose testimony can not
be refuted. Try only once again to
bring ruin to an innocent girl, to wreck
the life of an earnest, hard-working
young man, and that statement will
be given to the world. Not even your
power and influence can save you from
disgrace, humiliation and prison
walls.”
Hazard took a step forward and
shook a finger in the other’s face.
“Harken, Maxwell Howe,” he sol-
emnly concluded, “even now you can
hear the clank of chains and the echo
of the warden’s tread. May they ring
constantly in your ears as a remind-
er of what I have told you today.”
Still the man sat as if petrified. Fe-
lix Hazard moved over to the door,
where he paused for a parting shot.
“Just a final word of counsel, Mr.
Howe,” he said meaningly. “Don’t
make any more attempts to kidnap
me; the result will only spell disaster
to yourself. Call your dogs off.”
Not many minutes later Hazard and
Helen Bartel were comparing notes.
Mrs. Valette she had found utterly
broken and prostrated; but excepting
that she confirmed all the facts now in
Hazard’s possession, Helen’s mission
had not been altogether successful.
“I could not persuade her to talk
about what happened in Bardeene’s
private office,” said Helen. “She sol-
emnly declared that that episode is
between her and God, and wild horses
couldn’t drag it from her.
“As for the rest, she talked freely
enough. Idabelle is dead; she died in
an Elizabethtown sanitarium five
weeks ago. David Bardeene, if he were
alive, would be liable on a serious.crim-
inal charge. He knew it, and when
Mrs. Valette wrote him threatening
letters he -was simply terrified—he lost
his head.
“In one of her letters Mrs. Valette en-
closed a blank calling card. She told
him; ‘Unless you make reparation,
your life shall become as this card—a
blank!’ He knew the significance of
the card that George Destin brought
him on the fatal day.”
Hazard thoughtfully nodded his
head. “I know all that I need know.
Mrs. Valette did not slay Bardeene;
if she had she -would have told you.”
The talk that Hazard had with
George Destin was a long one, and dur-
ing its course the young man’s heart
and soul lay naked under the scalpel
of Hazard’s searching analysis of the
tragedy.
“It is lucky for you, Destin, that I
am not a police officer. My duty has
been observed, my obligations dis-
charged. It was Mrs. Valette who
rang the buzzer on that fatal day. It
was the signal for you to act. You
did.
“It is not for me to judge the right
or wrong of what you did. I do know
that you had great provocation. But
whether or not you were justified in
taking a human life I shall leave to
your conscience. The secret of David
Bardeene’s death is locked in my
bosom.”
And thus it came about that the
Bardeen case remained among the un-
solved mysteries in police annals.
(Copyright, 1915, by W. G. Chapman.) f
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The Lampasas Daily Leader (Lampasas, Tex.), Vol. 29, No. 28, Ed. 1 Thursday, April 7, 1932, newspaper, April 7, 1932; Lampasas, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth894863/m1/2/: accessed April 26, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Lampasas Public Library.