"Certainly."
He unlocked the door and went out, reappearing shortly with a fat brown volume.
T. B. turned the pages of the book with quick, nervous fingers, consulting the list at his side from time to time.
"Thank you," he said at length, pushing the book from him and rising.
"Have you any idea——?" the broker began, and T. B. laughed.
"You nearly said 'clue,'" he smiled; "yes, I've lots of ideas—I'm just going to work one of them out."
He bowed slightly, and the two men left the building together. Van Ingen was burning with curiosity, but he wisely kept silence.
At the corner of Threadneedle Street, Smith bought an evening paper.
"Issued at 4.10," he said, glancing at the "fudge" space, where the result of a race had been printed, "and nothing has happened."
He hailed a passing cab, and the two men got in.