"Well, take this last case," said the financier earnestly. "Briefly, without technicalities, I had planned to unload the securities of the P., Q. & X. Railway, protecting myself through brokers, and force the outstanding stock down to a price where other brokers, acting for me, could buy far below the actual value. In this way I intended to get complete control of the stock. But my plans became known, and when I began to unload everything was snapped up by the opposition, with the result that instead of gaining control of the road I lost heavily. This same thing has happened, with variations, half a dozen times."
"I presume that is strictly honest?" inquired the scientist mildly.
"Honest?" repeated Grayson. "Certainly – of course."
"I shall not pretend to understand all that," said The Thinking Machine curtly. "It doesn't seem to matter, anyway. You want to know where the leak is. Is that right?"
"Precisely."
"Well, who is in your confidence?"
"No one, except my stenographer."
"Who is he, please?"
"It's a woman – Miss Evelyn Winthrop. She has been in my employ for six years in the same capacity – more than five years before this leak appeared. I trust her absolutely."
"No man knows your business?"
"No," replied the financier grimly. "I learned years ago that no one could keep my secrets as well as I do – there are too many temptations. Therefore, I never mention my plans to anyone – never – to anyone!"
"Except your stenographer," corrected the scientist.
"I work for days, weeks, sometimes months, perfecting plans, and it's all in my head, not on paper – not a scratch of it," explained Grayson. "When I say that she is in my confidence, I mean that she knows my plans only half an hour or less before the machinery is put into motion. For instance, I planned this P., Q. & X. deal. My brokers didn't know of it; Miss Winthrop never heard of it until twenty minutes before the Stock Exchange opened for business. Then I dictated to her, as I always do, some short letters of instructions to my agents. That is all she knew of it."
"You outlined the plan in those letters?"
"No; they merely told my brokers what to do."
"But a shrewd person, knowing the contents of all those letters, could have learned what you intended to do?"
"Yes; but no one person knew the contents of all the letters. No one broker knew what was in the other letters. Miss Winthrop and I were the only two human beings who knew all that was in them."
The Thinking Machine sat silent for so long that Grayson began to fidget in his chair. "Who was in the room besides you and Miss Winthrop before the letters were sent?" he asked at last.
"No one," responded Grayson emphatically. "For an hour before I dictated those letters, until at least an hour afterward, after my plans had gone to smash, no one entered that room. Only she and I work there."
"But when she finished the letters, she went out?" insisted The Thinking Machine.
"No," declared the financier, "she didn't even leave her desk."
"Or perhaps sent something out – carbon copies of the letters?"
"No."
"Or called up a friend on the telephone?" continued The Thinking Machine quietly.
"Nor that," retorted Grayson.
"Or signaled to someone through the window?"
"No," said the financier again. "She finished the letters, then remained quietly at her desk, reading a book. She hardly moved for two hours."
The Thinking Machine lowered his eyes and glared straight into those of the financier. "Someone listened at the window?" he went on after a moment.
"No. It is sixteen stories up, fronting the street, and there is no fire escape."
"Or the door?"
"If you knew the arrangement of my offices, you would see how utterly impossible that would be, because – "
"Nothing is impossible, Mr. Grayson," snapped the scientist abruptly. "It might be improbable, but not impossible. Don't say that – it annoys me exceedingly." He was silent for a moment. Grayson stared at him blankly. "Did either you or she answer a call on the 'phone?"
"No one called; we called no one."
"Any apertures – holes or cracks – in your flooring or walls or ceilings?" demanded the scientist.
"Private detectives whom I had employed looked for such an opening, and there was none," replied Grayson.
Again The Thinking Machine was silent for a long time. Grayson lighted a fresh cigar and settled back in his chair patiently. Faint cobwebby lines began to appear on the dome-like brow of the scientist, and slowly the squint eyes were narrowing.
"The letters you wrote were intercepted?" he suggested at last.
"No," exclaimed Grayson flatly. "Those letters were sent direct to the brokers by a dozen different methods, and every one of them had been delivered by five minutes of ten o'clock, when 'Change begins business. The last one left me at ten minutes of ten."
"Dear me! Dear me!" The Thinking Machine rose and paced the length of the room.
"You don't give me credit for the extraordinary precautions I have taken, particularly in this last P., Q. & X. deal," Grayson continued. "I left positively nothing undone to insure absolute secrecy. And Miss Winthrop, I know, is innocent of any connection with the affair. The private detectives suspected her at first, as you do, and she was watched in and out of my office for weeks. When she was not under my eyes, she was under the eyes of men to whom I had promised an extravagant sum of money if they found the leak. She didn't know it then, and doesn't know it now. I am heartily ashamed of it all, because the investigation proved her absolute loyalty to me. On this last day she was directly under my eyes for two hours; and she didn't make one movement that I didn't note, because the thing meant millions to me. That proved beyond all question that it was no fault of hers. What could I do?"