# McClure's Magazine/Volume 20/Number 5/The Scheme of Sutcliffe, Swindler

from McClure's Magazine, 1902-03, pp. 598–605.
THE SCHEME OF SUTCLIFFE, SWINDLER
By WILLIAM HAMILTON OSBORNE
Illustrated by W. D. Stevens
Sutcliffe sat waiting at Steve O'Donnell's, in the little room behind the bar.
Sutcliffe was the man who in 18— sent fifty alleged drummers through the West, and mailed them from the East checks certified by his own private "bank"—checks which they proceeded to cash in hotel offices and bars. The whole thing was manipulated by Sutcliffe and a rubber stamp at this end of the line.
He was the man who, a few years later, in 18—, sold many vacant lots in New York city, owned by absentees and non-residents, and gave his deeds backed by the title policy of his own title guaranty company. This scheme was gigantic. After that they said he was the head of a syndicate of swindlers. But he wasn't. The syndicate consisted of Sutcliffe in the first place, and Sutcliffe's private stock of fine stationery and notarial and corporate seals. It was one man against the world, and nine times out of ten he won.
These are but two instances of the methods he adopted; he had a multitude of others.
He raised his head. A man stood in the doorway. "You're here at last, John Dawson," he exclaimed. "I've been a waitin' for you."
The man nodded his head. He looked tired and dusty. "You expected me then," he said.
"Yep. Your old man wrote me. Did you walk? What, all the way?"
The other assented. "Any money?" queried Sutcliffe.
"None," said the other, "except just enough to feed on the way. The lawyers got all there was to get."
Sutcliffe pulled out a roll of bills and peeled off two. "Take it," he said; "a man feels better with money in his pocket."
"When did he go up State?" he continued.
"Who? Father? Two days ago—in the morning."
"Fourteen year's a long time," sighed Sutcliffe. "I was in for six. That's long enough for me. With the allowance, though," he continued, "he'll be out, say, in ten year. Your dad an' I traveled a-team for many a year, an' say, do you know, I came to him, just as you've come to me, years ago. An' I said to him, 'Buck, you stood by me an' I'll stand by young John,' an' by George, John, I will. Now look-a-here, sittin' here I've been doin' a lot o' thinkin', an' I want to tell you— But say, what's the matter with me? What you want is to eat. Here, it's been waitin' for you. Sit down there an' eat it," he continued, "an' we'll talk afterward. Not a word now. You eat an' I'll smoke."
The one ate, the other smoked, in silence. Sutcliffe gazed long and earnestly on the young man's countenance. He was not a bad-looking fellow. Young—about twenty-five. Good square jaw, and a nose that stood out in the air. Good eyes, but a bit too much shrewdness in them. But stamped upon him, though only in a slight degree, was that strange, indefinable expression of face and manner that was stamped to an extent much greater upon Sutcliffe, and upon all men of that ilk—the innate individuality of crime.
"His face is a fortune to us," thought Sutcliffe. "He's the very man—the very man. Dawson," he said aloud, as the other concluded his meal, "I want to tell you something—something I've been thinking about for a long time. Now, see here, you're in this business to stay. I suppose you've about made up your mind to that. Lord, when I think of your father before you, and your grandfather before him! You're family's a credit to you, young fellow, let me tell you that."
Sutcliffe, swindler
"Now look here," he continued, "I'm goin' to stake you for all you're worth, an' you'll find out before I get through just how I'm goin' to do it. The big thing, Dawson, in our business, as you know, is to get the confidence of the people. It's a great business, but that's the greatest part of it. Once get their confidence, and the rest is dead easy. Now look at me. No man ever saw me dressed up in my life. Rough clothes, rough voice, and rough manner. That's me. An' what's more, I always had a shave the day before yesterday. Why, if I went into a man's office, the first thing he'd think was that I was a tramp. In five minutes he'd begin to understand that I didn't care much what he thought. Say, in a week that man'd be pretty sure that I was a millionaire mine-owner or a cattle king from the West. I looked it, I tell you, and acted it. And there wasn't a time, when I was after big game, that I couldn't put my hand down in my pants pocket and pull out a roll like this, if necessary. Say, in another week that man'd be runnin' after me, seekin' my favor, 'stead of me seekin' his. When I got to that stage of the game, you can place your bottom dollar, Dawson, I could do business with him to my own satisfaction, and have it all my own way. In a couple more weeks or so I had him cleaned out an he knew it. Those were my methods, Dawson, and there wasn't a man before me that ever thought of playing the game as I played it. And those methods—say, where they failed once they won twice. Why, say, you've heard about some of them. Look at that Burlingame affair, an' the way I did young Stevenson. You heard o' them."
He puffed for a minute or two in silence. "Hut I tell you, young John, I'm out of it. They're on to my methods, and they're on to me, 'specially since I went up. Say, there isn't a dodge from Maine to Texas where I wouldn't be spotted—that is, in anything worth while. But say, there was a time when I would spend as long as a year, or two year even, just layin' the foundation to get into a man's confidence. I did that with old Bently, an' after all I only got about four thousand out o' him. Still it was money. But I been thinkin' your father an' me made a mistake. Sometimes we'd make a strike, but never over five figures, and generally only about three.
He laid down his pipe and touched the other on the arm. "What I ought to have done in the past, and what I intend to do in the future, Dawson," he said impressively, "is to deal with nothin' less than six figures. I'm goin' to make a big strike, or bust, an' ten to one on it I don't bust, either. Look a here." He spread some newspaper clippings on the table. "Here's a fellow got away with over seven hundred thousand dollars—you understand—seven hundred thousand. Here's another got three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Another four hundred and twenty-five—an' so they go. You know who these fellows are as well as I do—they're bank cashiers. But, see here, did any o' these fellows actually get away? No, indeed. Here, this fellow was caught—and this—and this. Say, do you think they'd ever catch me with seven hundred thousand? You know they wouldn't. And where's the money these follows took? Gone—long before they skipped. They'd been takin' it in driblets, long before they went. When they come out, they got nothing to show for it. Now, wait a minute. Dawson," he continued. "What's the thing that makes it possible for these fellows to steal and steal and steal for years? What is it? Why it's because they got the confidence of every mother's son in the bank, an' in the community, and that's what it is. That's the thing. An' why don't they get away with the stuff? I'll tell you why. It's because they're fools, instead of being knaves—that's all. Now d'ye see what I'm drivin' at? Put a man like you or me in a position where we've got the confidence of everybody—everybody, understand—and say, when the time comes to get away with a few hundred thousand, d'ye think they'd get us? I But to do that thing a man's got to make a reputation, an' it takes years to make it.
"Dawson," he said, as he drew his chair nearer, "it'll be ten years afore your old man gets out. I'm goin' to sit down an' wait for him. I got about sixteen thousand saved out o' that last thing—the one I went up for—an' I'm goin' to wait, an' in the meantime I'm goin' to put you in a place where you can build up a reputation an' get the confidence of the community, an' when the old man gets out, if we can't light out o' here with six figures, you can count me out, that's all. There's just one place in the whole world we can go then and be safe."
"And that place?" said the younger man.
Sutcliffe drew his head down and whispered in his ear. The younger man smote the table with his hand. "Great Scott!" he exclaimed, with a note of intense admiration in his voice. "Great Scott! Sutcliffe. I never thought of that."
"First and foremost, Dawson," said the former, "is there anything agin' you? Nothing to live down? Is there anythin' that you been mixed up in?"
"Nothing at all," said Dawson. "The old man kept me out of it until——"
"How about education?" interrupted Sutcliffe.
"Pretty fair," said the other. "It's good enough. As far as that goes, I'll do, all right."
"Then, by George!" exclaimed Sutcliffe. "it's done."
"Now, John Dawson, sit down and listen to me. This is most particular business. Back here across the river is this here town of Monroe. Town? Say, it's a city, or pretty near it. I know that town from one end to the other, and the devil of it all is, the town knows me. There's more money an' more business in that town for its size than there is in any other town in the United States. Now, I'll tell you what I'm goin' to do. I'm goin' to stake you to the tune of about five hundred to start with. You will go and drop down on that town from nowhere in particular. You're goin' to start up a small hardware business in a vacant store at No. 41 Main Street. No matter why. I know what I'm about, an' I know just how to work it. I know who owns the store, but you'll find out that for yourself. You rent that store for a year and pay him cash three months in advance. You inquire around an' pick out a good cheap boardin' place, suited to a man without any money to spare. You'll want to stock up your store. You'll go to a man whose name you'll know when you get there. Don't pay a cent of money except to the owner of the store an' your landlady. Everything else you get in that town you want to get on credit."
"How'll I work that?" queried the younger man.
"I'm comin' to that, young fellow. There's just one man there who doesn't dare to refuse to do me a good turn. I did him one—but that's another story. That's the cashier of the First National. You give him this note. Wait a minute."
"Sutcliffe drew his head down and whispered in his ear"
He took out a sheet of paper, and wrote. He tossed the paper upon the table. It read:
Van Slyck:—The man who hands you this is an honest man. When he needs references, give them to him.
Yours, No. 356 x.
"That'll fix it. Deposit your money in his bank. And then——"
"But what's the use of asking credit if I have the money," protested Dawson.
"Confound it. Can't you see that the only way to get a standing in a place is to ask credit? The man that pays cash can't get any credit. You order a small bill of goods on thirty days, an' on the last day, neither sooner or later, you pay for 'em. You give your note for fifty dollars you borrow, and when it's due, not a day sooner or later, pay it back. That's the start. The time comes when you can borrow five, ten, twenty thousand, on the name you've got. The more money you borrow, the more credit you ask, the better standing you'll have. That's the ticket. Now here. I know all about the hardware business, an' I know just why it'll go over there, an' I'll go over the details of the thing with you to-morrow before you start in. You want sleep—that's what you want. But Dawson, see here, let me tell you this, now and for all. Never, under any circumstances, be seen with me. Never write me a letter. Never recognize me on the street. Never mention my name. By George, that's vital. We've got to play this game accordin' to the cards. When you need money you report to me here. You report here every three months anyway, an' we'll talk things over. But outside o' that, never have nothin' to do with me one way or the other. And Dawson," he concluded as he rose, "until the time comes, an' I say the word, don't forget that honesty's the best policy. This is a deep an' wide game we're goin' to play, an' you've got to be as honest as the day is long. Don't forget it, Dawson; don't forget it."
Dawson turned in and slept for sixteen hours.
"This fellow out here," said the salesman to the wholesaler, "wants this small bill of goods on credit. He says he's started up a small place on Main Street. What do you think about it?"
"'How are you, Alderman?'"
"Where is he?" said the proprietor, getting up and looking through the glass partition. "Oh! is that the fellow? Looks honest enough. Any references?"
"Only Cassidy, the owner of the place, and Van Slyck of the First National."
"Call 'em up then, and I'll talk to them."
"Seems to be all right," he said after an interval of five minutes. "I guess he can have them. Don't sell him any more, though, unless you see me about it."
Of course, nobody but the people that Dawson dealt with ever bothered about him. He went on, slowly at first, as was natural.
"You don't borrow enough money," said Sutcliffe, at the end of the first three months, "and buy more goods on credit."
"But," said the younger, "I don't need the money, and I don't want the goods."
"Never you mind," said Sutcliffe. "What you want to do is to borrow. Borrow it and put it in the bank, an' then pay it back. Give your note. Let your paper float around. And people'll begin to know you. That's what you want. But always pay when due. Be sure about that. As for goods, I've found a way to create a demand for those. You go and see the Mayor, an' ask him for some small orders from the town. The man that he'll refer you to will give you an order. See if he don't."
Sutcliffe was right. Whenever Dawson saw that man he got the order. The man himself didn't know why, but his immediate superior did. And Dawson didn't care why, so long as the demand came in.
Five years later John Dawson stepped into the office of the president of the First National.
"How are you, Alderman?" said the latter cordially. "What can I do for you? What is it now, eh?"
"Mr. Breslin," said John Dawson, "I want to enlarge my place over here still more, but this architectural iron business I've got takes a good deal of my money. I need just about thirteen thousand dollars for ninety days. The question is, can you let me have it?"
"Dawson, there isn't a man in town that we'd sooner lend thirteen thousand dollars or any amount of money to, than to you. Of course you can have it."
"I didn't know," replied Dawson uncertainly.
It was the eighth year of the compact between Sutcliffe and Dawson, and in the year of our Lord 18—.
It was in the fall of the year, and the town of Monroe was in the throes of a mighty pre-election contest.
"Gentlemen—fellow citizens," shouted the chairman of the meeting in the Town Hall, "there's not a man or woman within the sound of my voice—there's not a man or woman in this town that cannot say with me to-night, in all sincerity and truth, with the absolute conviction that he or she is everlastingly right—there's not a man or woman that cannot say with me to-night—Honest John Dawson."
"Hooray" yelled the crowd.
"Hooray" yelled Sutcliffe with the crowd.
"I say, is there one?—in the whole wide world is there one such man or woman?"
"No! No! No!" yelled the crowd. And "No! No! No!" yelled Sutcliffe.
"'I introduce to you, ladies and gentlemen, the man known here, there, and everywhere ... as John Dawson the Honest Man'"
"Ladies and gentlemen," continued the chairman, "it is my privilege, and I have the honor to introduce to you, the citizens of the old, old town of Monroe—now the glorious new city of Monroe—I introduce to you to-night the man who, by the grace of God, and the votes of the Republican party, shall be and must be the next treasurer of the great city of Monroe. I introduce to you, ladies and gentlemen, the man known here, there, and everywhere, in town and county, as John Dawson, the Honest Man!"
"Hi! Hi! Hi! 'Ray! 'Ray!' Ray!" yelled the crowd.
"Three cheers for the Honest Man," yelled Sutcliffe, and pandemonium broke loose.
"Two more years," said Sutcliffe to himself that night. Two years more. And then——"
The city of Monroe was upon the top wave of prosperity. It had wakened up from a conservative business town of the old style into a great city of modern enterprise. New public buildings were being built, public parks were being laid out, bonds were being issued. Enormous sums of money were being poured into the city's treasury, more than ever before; far beyond the amount of the treasurer's bond. The money was lying there to meet the vast public improvements that were being made.
"It's a good thing," the people said, "that we've got John Dawson in charge of all that pile. He's honest as the day is long. He's the right man in the right place. That's clear!"
"Dawson," said Sutcliffe, "in three months' time the old man'll be out. In three months. I've got everything—everything, mind, down to the smallest detail—arranged and in order. We'll leave on a Saturday night for you know where, and that'll give us thirty-six hours start. Hell itself can't catch us with that start. Now, as far as you're concerned. In three months' time—I've estimated that in about three months from now you can lay your hands on something over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
"Sutcliffe," said Dawson, with a grim smile, "in three months from now I can lay hands on eight hundred thousand dollars, and not a cent less."
"By George!" said Sutcliffe with a fierce joy. "By George! we've struck it. I didn't think you had it in you, Dawson," he said with a glance of admiration. "Honest, now, I didn't."
Three months later, Sutcliffe, the swindler, sat waiting in the little room behind the bar, at Steve O'Donnell's.
He raised his head. A man stood in the doorway.
"Here at last, Honest John Dawson," he exclaimed. "I've been awaitin' for you. Come in. Have you got it?"
"'Sutcliffe ... look here I can't do this thing'"
"I have," said Dawson as he laid down a bulky package on the table. He remained standing. Suddenly he addressed the other man.
"Sutcliffe," he said earnestly, "look here, I can't do this thing. I've got to back out. There isn't a man, woman, or child in Monroe that doesn't trust me to the end. I know," he said simply, "that it isn't right or fair to you to take this stand, but, Sutcliffe, you've taught me to be an honest man, you've built up a reputation for me, and I can't go back on it. I can't do it. There's no use. I'd do this thing if I could, Sutcliffe, but I can't, so help me God!"
The elder man stood silent for an instant; then he stretched out his hand.
"Shake!" he exclaimed.
"John Dawson," he said huskily, "there's more than that to it, and its just this. You've made an honest man of me. By God, you have!"
They stood there for some minutes. Suddenly Sutcliffe roused himself.
"Say, Dawson, the old man'll be here in a minute. He's due here now. What'll we do with him, I wonder."
"We'll have to make an honest man of him, too," said Dawson; "that's all there's left for us to do."
"Lord!" exclaimed Sutcliffe with a grim and retrospective smile, "it'll be a sure enough tough job, but I guess we've got to do it, after all."
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1930.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1942, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 82 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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