He took a car to the nearest point and then inquired his way to the office of Flint, Peabody & Co., who controlled three of the elevators.
Their counting-room was in Elevator A.
“I should like to see Mr. Peabody,” he said to a clerk who asked him his business.
“He is busy at present. Take a seat.”
After waiting half an hour he was shown into the private office.
“Mr. Peabody?” asked Vance of a little, white-haired old gentleman seated at a mahogany desk alongside a window overlooking the Missouri river.
“Yes; what can I do for you?”
Vance handed him his card, in one corner of which was printed Jared Whitemore in small type.
“Mr. Thornton, eh?” exclaimed the busy head of the establishment, regarding him with some surprise as he sized him up from head to foot.
“Yes, sir.”