pound and look-the-whole-world-in-the-face man could afford to be boorish. And Mr Hallaty was undoubtedly boorish.
He was, as he claimed, the Manager of the Gunnersbury branch of the London and Orient Bank, and was a man of style and importance. He had a flat in Albemarle Street, drove his own car, had a chauffeur, a valet and quite a nice circle of reliable friends. He had also a very humble flat in Hammersmith, and this was his official address.
The Gunnersbury branch of the L and O was in its way rather important. It carried the accounts of half a dozen big plants on the Great West Road, The Kelson Gas Works, and the Brite-Lites Manufacturing Corporation, and was therefore responsible for very heavy payrolls.
About a month after the teashop talk Mr Hallaty called at the London office of the Ninth Avenue Bank on Lombard Street, and said that he had had a request from the most important of his customers for a large supply of American currency. The customer in question was an Anglo-American concern, and in order to celebrate some new amalgamation the directors had decided to pay a big bonus in dollars. Could the Ninth Avenue Bank supply the necessary greenbacks – fifty-seven thousand dollars, no less?
The American bank, after the way of American banks, was obliging. It undertook to sell dollars to the required amount, and on the Friday afternoon at two o’clock Hallaty called and exchanged English currency for American.
At the headquarters of the L and O Bank there was rather an urgent conference of general and assistant general managers that afternoon.
“I’m worried about this man Hallaty,” said the chief. “One of our secret service people has discovered that he is living at the rate of ten thousand a year.”
“What is his salary?” somebody asked.
“Two thousand five hundred.”
There was a little silence.
“He is a very careful man,” said one. “He may have some very good investments.”
The question became instantly urgent, for at that moment came an official with a telephone message from yet another American bank – the Dyers Bank of New York. Mr Hallaty had just purchased a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of American currency. He had negotiated the purchase in the morning, giving as a reason the requirements of the Brite-Lite Corporation. The Dyers Bank had certain misgivings after the departure of Mr Hallaty with a thousand notes for one hundred dollars tucked away in a briefcase, and those misgivings were caused by a glimpse which one of the commissionaires had of the contents of the briefcase – already half-full of American notes.
The bank detectives sped to Gunnersbury – Mr Hallaty was not there. He had the key of the vault, but the detectives had taken with them a duplicate key from the safe at the head office.
There should have been, in preparation for the next day’s pay-out, some £72,000 in the vaults. In point of fact, there were a few odd bundles of ten-shilling and pound notes.
Mr Hallaty was not at the flat where he was supposed to live, nor at the flat in Albemarle Street, where he actually lived. His valet was there, and his chauffeur.
The Axford airport had a clue to give. Mr Hallaty had arrived that afternoon, seemingly with the intention of flying the small aeroplane which he kept there. He was well known as an amateur flyer and was a skilled pilot. When the aeroplane was removed from the hangar it was discovered that the wings had been slashed and other damage done which made the machine unusable. How it had happened was a mystery which nobody could explain.
Mr Hallaty, on seeing the damage, had turned deathly pale and had re-entered his car and driven away, carrying with him his two suitcases.
From that moment Mr Hallaty was not seen. He vanished into London and was lost.
If the losses to the bank had been £72,000 only, it would have been serious enough. Unfortunately, Hallaty was a very ingenious man, with a very complete knowledge of the English banking
He was, as he claimed, the Manager of the Gunnersbury branch of the London and Orient Bank, and was a man of style and importance. He had a flat in Albemarle Street, drove his own car, had a chauffeur, a valet and quite a nice circle of reliable friends. He had also a very humble flat in Hammersmith, and this was his official address.
The Gunnersbury branch of the L and O was in its way rather important. It carried the accounts of half a dozen big plants on the Great West Road, The Kelson Gas Works, and the Brite-Lites Manufacturing Corporation, and was therefore responsible for very heavy payrolls.
About a month after the teashop talk Mr Hallaty called at the London office of the Ninth Avenue Bank on Lombard Street, and said that he had had a request from the most important of his customers for a large supply of American currency. The customer in question was an Anglo-American concern, and in order to celebrate some new amalgamation the directors had decided to pay a big bonus in dollars. Could the Ninth Avenue Bank supply the necessary greenbacks – fifty-seven thousand dollars, no less?
The American bank, after the way of American banks, was obliging. It undertook to sell dollars to the required amount, and on the Friday afternoon at two o’clock Hallaty called and exchanged English currency for American.
At the headquarters of the L and O Bank there was rather an urgent conference of general and assistant general managers that afternoon.
“I’m worried about this man Hallaty,” said the chief. “One of our secret service people has discovered that he is living at the rate of ten thousand a year.”
“What is his salary?” somebody asked.
“Two thousand five hundred.”
There was a little silence.
“He is a very careful man,” said one. “He may have some very good investments.”
The question became instantly urgent, for at that moment came an official with a telephone message from yet another American bank – the Dyers Bank of New York. Mr Hallaty had just purchased a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of American currency. He had negotiated the purchase in the morning, giving as a reason the requirements of the Brite-Lite Corporation. The Dyers Bank had certain misgivings after the departure of Mr Hallaty with a thousand notes for one hundred dollars tucked away in a briefcase, and those misgivings were caused by a glimpse which one of the commissionaires had of the contents of the briefcase – already half-full of American notes.
The bank detectives sped to Gunnersbury – Mr Hallaty was not there. He had the key of the vault, but the detectives had taken with them a duplicate key from the safe at the head office.
There should have been, in preparation for the next day’s pay-out, some £72,000 in the vaults. In point of fact, there were a few odd bundles of ten-shilling and pound notes.
Mr Hallaty was not at the flat where he was supposed to live, nor at the flat in Albemarle Street, where he actually lived. His valet was there, and his chauffeur.
The Axford airport had a clue to give. Mr Hallaty had arrived that afternoon, seemingly with the intention of flying the small aeroplane which he kept there. He was well known as an amateur flyer and was a skilled pilot. When the aeroplane was removed from the hangar it was discovered that the wings had been slashed and other damage done which made the machine unusable. How it had happened was a mystery which nobody could explain.
Mr Hallaty, on seeing the damage, had turned deathly pale and had re-entered his car and driven away, carrying with him his two suitcases.
From that moment Mr Hallaty was not seen. He vanished into London and was lost.
If the losses to the bank had been £72,000 only, it would have been serious enough. Unfortunately, Hallaty was a very ingenious man, with a very complete knowledge of the English banking
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