Neither of the two spoke when the Committee-man finished his recital. He waited a little longer for them to offer some remark, and, finding that neither had any comment to make, he asked, a little impatiently:
"Would you mind telling me the names of the stocks again?" he asked. "The stocks that are being attacked."
"Um!" said the Commissioner thoughtfully. "Industrials, breweries, manufactories--the very shares that enjoyed the boom are now undergoing the slump. Will you give me a Stock Exchange Year-book?"
He unlocked the door and went out, reappearing shortly with a fat brown volume.
T. B. turned the pages of the book with quick, nervous fingers, consulting the list at his side from time to time.
"Thank you," he said at length, pushing the book from him and rising.
"Have you any idea----?" the broker began, and T. B. laughed.
"You nearly said 'clue,'" he smiled; "yes, I've lots of ideas--I'm just going to work one of them out."
He bowed slightly, and the two men left the building together. Van Ingen was burning with curiosity, but he wisely kept silence.
At the corner of Threadneedle Street, Smith bought an evening paper.
"Issued at 4.10," he said, glancing at the "fudge" space, where the result of a race had been printed, "and nothing has happened."
He hailed a passing cab, and the two men got in.
"Bronte's Bank, Holborn," was the direction he gave.
"Like the immortal Mrs. Harris, there ain't no Bronte, as you know," he said. "The head of the business is Sir George Calliper. He's an austere young man of thirty-five or thereabouts. President of philosophical societies and patron of innumerable philanthropies."
"And therefore a little inhuman," commented T. B. "Here we are."
They drew up before the severe façade of Bronte's, and dismissed the cab.
The bank was closed, but there was a side door--if, indeed, such an insignificant title could be applied to the magnificent portal of mahogany and brass--and a bell, which was answered by a uniformed porter.
"The bank is closed, gentlemen," he said when T. B. had stated his errand.
"My business is very urgent," said T. B. imperatively, and the man hesitated.
"I am afraid Sir George has left the building," he said, "but, if you will give me your cards, I will see."