This is positively the last row of dots. Let us take advantage of them to jump forward another month. It was October 1st, 19—. (If that was a Sunday, then it was October 2nd. Anyhow, it was October.)
Mr. Felix Mountenay was sleeping in his office. For once that iron brain relaxed. He had made a little over three million in the last month, and the strain was too much for him. But a knock at the door restored him instantly to his own cool self.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said his secretary, "but somebody is selling zinc."
The word "zinc" touched a chord in Mr. Mountenay's brain which had lain dormant for years. Zinc! Why did zinc remind him of Leo Abraham?
"Fetch the Encyclopedia Britannica, quick!" he cried.
The secretary, a man of herculean build, returned with some of it. With the luck which proverbially attends rich men, Mr. Mountenay picked up the "Z" volume at once. As he read the Zinc article it all came back to him. Leo Abraham had owned an empty zinc-mine! Was his enemy in his clutches at last?
"Buy!" he said briefly.
In a fortnight the secretary had returned.
"Well," said Mr. Mountenay, "have you bought all the zinc there is?"
"Yes, sir," said the secretary. "And a lot that there isn't," he added.