The Thinking Machine bowed gravely.
"May I ask your son's address?" he repeated.
Mr. Meredith considered the matter at some length and finally arrived at the conclusion that he might ask.
"He is in South America at present—Buenos Ayres," he replied.
"What?" exclaimed The Thinking Machine so suddenly that both Hatch and Mr. Meredith started a little. "What?" he repeated, and wrinkles suddenly appeared in the domelike brow.
"I said he was in South America—Buenos Ayres," repeated Mr. Meredith stiffly, but a little awed. "A letter or cable to him in care of the American Consul at Buenos Ayres will reach him promptly."
The Thinking Machine's narrow eyes were screwed down to the disappearing point, the slender white fingers were twiddled jerkily, the corrugations remained in his brow.
"How long has Mr. Meredith been there?" he asked at last.
"Three months."
"Do you know he is there?"