“I am certain the gold doesn’t come from any mine on this earth.”
“He may have accumulated it.” The richest man in the world said this without conviction.
“Who gave him the money to pay for it?” asked Dawson, in an intentionally controversial tone, because he vaguely feared his friend’s doubts at this late hour. “And if somebody gave it to him, from whom did the giver buy it? Not from any smelter, or mine or dealer in the last five years. That is certain too.”
“Yes, yes; that’s it,” said Mellen irritably, because the answer would not come. “Is he under surveillance still?”
“Costello returned from the Pacific Coast Tuesday night, and I told him not to lose sight of Grinnell for one instant.” The president approached the ticker.
“Hm!” he said. “Quite a rally in bonds.” From force of habit the richest man in the world drew near. He passed the tape through his fingers slowly; then he told Dawson:
“I think we’d better help stocks go down.” Seeing a doubtful look in the president’s eyes, he added: “Oh, we’ll get them back cheaper.”
The door opened and Costello entered—he had instructions to walk into Mr. Dawson’s private office without being announced, no matter who might be there with the president. Dawson merely looked inquiringly at the detective but the richest man in the world walked up to him quickly and asked: “What is it, Costello?”
“Did you see Mr. Grinnell’s marriage announcement in the Herald, sir?” He looked first at Mellen, then at his chief. “It’s among the ads. in the front page.”
“No,” answered Mellen, turning toward the table, but Dawson had already picked up the Herald. He read aloud, Mellen looking over his shoulder: