“I will not press you, Mr. Grinnell. Ah! of course, I would hold in the strictest confidence anything you might see fit to tell me.” He smiled. His smile, often, was that of a diplomat at a reception. His attitudes, the absence of nervous gestures, the poise of his head, all bespoke self-control. But he could not always control his eyes. When he was not sure of his expression he half closed his eyelids, and spoke very gently.
Grinnell shook his head. The president, at a loss for words, held out his hand.
“You’ve forgiven me?” said Grinnell smiling, as in relief.
“Mr. Grinnell,” with a mournful shake of the head, “that is unkind of you.”
“Oh, but I mean it! Good-afternoon, Mr. Dawson.”
The president escorted the young man to the door.
“Good-afternoon, Mr. Grinnell. By the way, are we to expect you again soon?”
“Next week, if I live,” and with a final smile that gave his serious face the indeterminately youthful look of people who have a keen sense of humour, Mr. Grinnell left the Metropolitan National Bank, faithfully “shadowed” by Mr. John Croll, formerly one of Pinkerton’s “star” men and general sleuth.
Croll reported daily to his chief, Edward Costello, who in turn submitted a written report to Mr. Dawson. The young man had gone straight to his house, 193 West 38th Street, a four-story-and-basement brown-stone front, purchased by George K. Grinnell on March 8, 1899, from Mary C. Bryan, widow of Mitchell J. Bryan. He had staid indoors all day. In the evening went out for a walk, accompanied by a fox terrier, and returned at ten o’clock. On the following morning at 8:30, accompanied by the same dog, took a long walk in Central Park; returned at ten. Did not leave the house until five o’clock, when he went to the office of Dr. Coster, the well-known eye-specialist. Returned to his house and took the customary walk in the evening. He lived with his sister, very quietly, according to the domestics of the neighbouring houses. They paid no social calls and received none while under observation. The household supplies were purchased from shops in the vicinity, and paid for always in gold. On Monday, at 10 a. m., two heavy trucks owned by William Watson drove to the house and took each a load of bullion bars, painted black to disguise their nature, and weighing about two hundred and fifty pounds each, which the men brought out through the basement entrance, and carried to the Assay Office. Mr. Grinnell drove in a public hansom behind them, accompanied by a powerfully built man-servant, who lived in Mr. Grinnell’s house. A second trip was made. The daily movements of Mr. and Miss Grinnell, of the two women servants and the body-guard then were given in detail. They revealed absolutely nothing. On Thursdays, it had been learned, Mr. Grinnell went to the Assay Office, shortly after midday, and received a check for the gold bullion deposited on the previous Monday. The clerks there had been requested by Mr. Grinnell not to give any information, but Mr. Grinnell’s name—an undecipherable signature—appeared several times on the register of certificates for the payment of bullion deposits. By crediting him with various amounts instead of one lump sum, no comment was excited, nor had the interest of the newspaper reporters been aroused. But they said at the Assay Office it could not go on unnoticed very much longer, unless Mr. Grinnell took bars instead of checks for his gold. They thought it an unusual case; but the employees of the Federal Government are not supposed to have any imagination during business hours. It is against the rules.
On Thursday Mr. Grinnell sent in his card to Mr. Dawson before calling on the receiving teller. He was admitted at once.