"Yes."
"Let us go there, then."
A few minutes later the eminent financier ushered the eminent scientist into his private office on the Street. The only person there was a young woman—a woman of twenty-six or-seven, perhaps—who turned, saw Grayson, and resumed reading. The financier motioned to a seat. Instead of sitting, however, The Thinking Machine went straight to Miss Winthrop and extended a sealed envelop to her.
"Mr. Ralph Matthews asked me to hand you this," he said.
The young woman glanced up into his face frankly, yet with a certain timidity, took the envelope, and turned it curiously in her hand.
"Mr. Ralph Matthews," she repeated, as if the name was a strange one. "I don't think I know him."
The Thinking Machine stood staring at her aggressively, as she opened the envelope and drew out the sheet of paper. There was no expression save surprise—bewilderment, rather—to be read on her face.
"Why, it's a blank sheet!" she remarked, puzzled.
The scientist turned suddenly toward Grayson, who had witnessed the incident with frank astonishment in his eyes. "Your telephone a moment, please," he requested.
"Certainly; here," replied Grayson.