“I have answered it. What you really wish is a detective story. Suppose we imagine. The only real people are those that live in our minds. Now let us wonder what happened to Garrettson and why he will not tell. Here is an incident that precipitated a slump which had the semblance of a panic--short-lived though it was--that caused mental anguish to his friends, relatives, and associates; and yet that great genius of finance, Wall Street's demigod, says nothing.” “He says he was in his library.” “We know he lies. That makes it more serious. Why does he lie? What compels so powerful and courageous a man as the great Garrettson to lie?” “I don't know.” “You ought to; there is only one thing.” “Do you mean fear of a petticoat scandal?” “No; because Garrettson does not fear that. Being highly intelligent, he protects himself against all possibility of scandal. No. It is something else. It's fear!” “Of the alleged kidnappers?” “No. He doesn't fear men. But he might fear--” He paused. “What?” eagerly asked the newspaper man. “Ridicule!” Kidder aimed what he fondly hoped was a piercing glance at Mr. Robison. He discovered nothing. Mr. Robison had a far-away look in his philosophical eyes. “It's too much for me,” finally confessed Kidder, hoping that the frankness of his admission might induce Mr. Robison to speak on. Robison smiled forgivingly, and said: “You have what I may call the usual type of mind. You look at usual things in the usual way. And yet the application of well-known principles to well-known people seems to benumb your usual mind most unusually. Now what do you gather from the Garrettson episode?” “Nothing, unless it is that you made a lot of money by what seems to be a most unusual succession of coincidences.” “Your voice,” said Robison, with a sort of sedate amusement, “exudes suggestions of the penitentiary. The idea of law and order has become an instinct. The lawful is usual. The unusual, therefore, is unlawful. It puts the blessed era of scientific anarchy as far off as the old maids' millennium--or as the abolition of stupidity among bankers and--” “And newspaper men--what?” Kidder prompted, pleasantly. “Don't mind me. I enjoy it.” “Kidder, you are a nice chap! That's why I asked your Paris man for a letter of introduction to the financial editor of his newspaper. It gave me what I as a stranger needed in Wall Street. It was easy to get. It is an American failing to give such letters promiscuously, because we are an irresponsible people. I have, I suppose, voiced a suspicion of yours about me?” “I did not have it. I have it now, however.”