They found nobody in Suite D. Mr. Garrettson had vanished! But they found on the bureau a long lavender automobile veil. Jenkins and Dr. Pierson stared at each other in perplexity. At length Jenkins, red and uncomfortable, said to Dr. Pierson: “I came up as soon as I got your telephone message; and--” “I never telephoned you!” interrupted Dr. Pierson. “Why, you said--” “I didn't say it. I came up here because I got a message from the hotel--or so the voice said--to see Mr. Garrettson, who had been taken suddenly ill in Suite D. His companion, a young lady, was with him.” “Damn!” said Jenkins, with ah uneasy look. He bethought him of the office, hastened to the telephone and told Walter Johnson all about the fake messages and Dr. Pierson's story. “That was to throw us off the scent. Con. Steel has broken ten points, and--” “It's a bear raid then!” “Yes. But have the bears got W. H. Garrettson? If so, where? Hurry down!” Meantime in the office of Richards & Tuttle Mr. Robison was carefully following the course of the stock-market. The lower Steel went the higher Robison rose in the estimation of the firm, the customers, and the office-boys. In one of the interludes between the slumps George B. Richards asked in a voice which one might say sweated respect: “What do you think now, Mr. Robison?” The office had been doing a great business and the big room with the quotation-board that took one side was crowded with customers. These customers, with eyes that shone greedily, drew near and frankly listened to the colloquy. They were all happy because they were all short of Steel, and they were all short of Steel because a mysterious stranger had scented a strange mystery ten minutes ahead of Wall Street. “Yes?” said Mr. Robison, absently. “What do you think now?” “What do I think now?” repeated Mr. Robison, mechanically. “Yes, sir,” said George B. Richards, in the tone of voice of an office-boy about to ask for a day off. Robison stared unseeingly at the broker. Then, with a little start, he said so distinctly that every listening customer heard very plainly: “I have not changed my opinion. When I do I'll let you know.” “It looks to me,” persisted Richards, fishing for information, “that they can't keep on going down forever.” “No--not forever,” assented Mr. Robison, calmly. “Maybe the bottom is not far off.” “Maybe not.” “If a man bought now he might do well.” “Then buy 'em.” “Still, until we know just what is back of this break it isn't safe to go long.” “In that case,” said Mr. Robison, with a polite nod of the head, “don't buy 'em.” Richards did not persist, and with an effort subdued the desire to say “Thank you!” in a most sarcastic tone of voice. The disappointed customers drifted away. To be told when to begin making money is great, but any experienced stock speculator will tell you that it is even more important to be told when to stop making it. The tale of the Untaken Profit is the jeremiad of the ticker-fiend.