“Thanks, Mr. Dawson,” he nodded, smilingly, but Mr. Dawson felt non-committally. Mr. Dawson thereupon became serious-He could not help it, try as he might. He drew the self-possessed young man aside.
“My dear Mr. Grinnell, it is a great deal of money to have idle and, naturally, it is impossible for me to think it businesslike. If you contemplate employing it in the near future, of course, it alters matters. But, if we are to allow you interest on it, why—”
“Mr. Dawson, pardon me for interrupting you. As I said to you before, I have not the slightest intention of disturbing this account for some time to come. I am not bothering about investments. They can wait. And I am willing to waive the interest. This may be unbusinesslike, but I am engaged in—ah—other matters, of greater importance.”
“Yes?” with an inviting inflection.
“Yes; I am in love.”
Both laughed. Then the discomfited president said jovially: “I don’t blame you, then. Love before business, by all means.” And with a final warm hand-shake, he passed on. But he resented what he considered the jocular evasion of the young man.
On the following Thursday, Mr. George K. Grinnell deposited two and a half millions—an Assay Office check in payment of gold bars weighing 120,543 ounces three pennyweights.
The president was disturbed. It was one thing to mystify the Street, and quite another to be himself mystified. He did not love such mysteries. They might be dangerous if left unsolved. He sent for the bank’s chief detective, a man of much experience and ingenuity; really a confidential agent.
“Costello, on Thursday there will probably come to deposit some money with us a young man by the name of George K. Grinnell. He lives uptown somewhere. Ask Mr. Williams for his address. Learn all you can about him. Stay here all day Thursday. I’ll come out and talk to him. Report at once whatever you may learn.”
“Yes, sir. For the preliminary work I’ll put John Croll on the case. Then I’ll take it up myself. Have you any reason to suspect anything wrong, sir?”