“Do you think that is—”
“I think nothing! I cited it as one of fourteen—indeed, twenty—possible ways,” said Robison, quietly.
“It's funny—I mean it is a curious coincidence that on the one day you had sold Steel short—”
“My young friend,” interrupted Robison, gravely, “I sold after Garrettson was late! Wisdom is always accused of unfairness. A man whose mind enables him to win steadily at cards is invariably suspected of marking them. I had planned to buy Con. Steel provided Garrettson's health, state of mind, and trade conditions satisfied me! Instead I sold a little because of his delay. Why, man, we did that in London once—Cecil Rhodes and I—when Barney Barnato, at the height of the Kaffir craze, suddenly decided—”
“Wait till I get a piece of paper,” said Amos Kidder. He saw a big story. But Robison said:
“I'll tell you all you wish to know—if you promise not to use names—in Richards's office later, when Garrettson's disappearance is officially admitted. You should hang round Garrettson's office. Don't lose sight of it for one minute! Your office will keep in touch—”
“Yes; they are sending three men down to work under me.”
“Keep me posted, will you? I am going to Richards's office and watch the market.”
Kidder nodded and hurried to the Wills Building. Robison went to the office of his brokers, stopping previously at a telephone pay-station to telephone to the city editors of the Evening World and the Evening Journal. This was his message:
The Evening Planet is getting out an extra about the disappearance of W. H. Garrettson. Send your men to Garrettson's office and also his residence. Hurry!