"And is it actively traded in on the Exchange?" the New Yorker continued.
"No. Odd lots mainly, from time to time. But the price is remarkably steady. It is regarded about as safe as a bond."
Smith returned to the seated group.
"Gentlemen," he said, "banks do strange things at times, but they are usually grateful for information when it is of value. They have probably never taken the trouble to find out whether the Massachusetts Light, Heat, and Traction was properly protected against a fire—by which I mean a big fire; they probably have assumed that it was. If it were to become known in financial circles that their insurance fund was forty thousand dollars and that they stood to lose one million dollars if there were a big fire in Pemberton Street to-night, how many of those borrowers do you think would be asked by the banks to reduce their loans or to substitute in part other collateral of a less speculative sort? It might even affect the price of the stock on the Exchange rather unfortunately. Some of those directors might have an unpleasant half-hour."
He paused. Wilkinson's face expressed the most eager attention.
"And I want to say to you, gentlemen, that a general fire in the congested section of this city is in my opinion not so improbable a thing as you Bostonians imagine. The conflagration hazard in Boston's congested district is not a thing one can exactly calculate, but it would be difficult to overestimate its gravity. . . . There's your grenade, Mr. Wilkinson."
Wilkinson leaped to his feet.
"I see it," he cried. "Leave it to me. It's as good as done. It's merely a question of time."
"What are you going to do?" asked Cole, curiously.
Wilkinson made for the door.