T. B.'s face wore a frown, and he twirled a paper-knife irritably.
"Elk," he said, without any preliminary, "the market has gone to the devil."
"Again?" said Elk politely, having knowledge without interest.
"Again," said T. B. emphatically, "for the fourth time this year. I've just seen one of the Stock Exchange Committee, and he's in a terrible state of mind. Stocks and shares are nothing to me," the Commissioner went on, seeing the patient boredom on the other's face, "and I know there is a fairly well-defined law that governs the condition of the Stock Exchange. Prices go see-sawing up and down, and that is part of the day's work, but for the fourth time, and for no apparent reason, the market is broken. Consols are down to 84."
"I once had some shares in an American copper mine," reflected Elk, "and a disinterested stock-jobber advised me to hold on to them; I'm still holding, but it never occurred to me—I lost £500—that it was a matter for police investigation."
The Commissioner stopped in his walk and looked at the detective.
"There's little romance in finance," he mused, "but there is something behind all this; do you remember the break of January 4?"
Elk nodded; he saw there was a police side to this slump, and grew alert and knowledgeable.
"Yankees and gilt-edged American stock came tumbling down as though their financial foundations had been dug away. What was the cause?"
Elk thought.