The Man Who Knew
Page 6
CHAPTER VI
THE MAN WHO KNEW
Backwell Street, in the City of London, contains one palatial buildingwhich at one time was the headquarters of the South American StockExchange, a superior bucket shop which on its failure had claimed itsfifty thousand victims. The ornate gold lettering on its greatplate-glass window had long since been removed, and the big brass platewhich announced to the passerby that here sat the spider weaving hisgolden web for the multitude of flies, had been replaced by a modest,oxidized scroll bearing the simple legend:
SAUL ARTHUR MANN
What Mr. Mann's business was few people knew. He kept an army of clerks.He had the largest collection of file cabinets possessed by any threebusiness houses in the City, he had an enormous post bag, and both heand his clerks kept regulation business hours. His beginnings, however,were well known.
He had been a stockbroker's clerk, with a passion for collectingclippings mainly dealing with political, geographical, andmeteorological conditions obtaining in those areas wherein the greatJoint Stock Companies of the earth were engaged in operations. He hadgradually built up a service of correspondence all over the world.
The first news of labor trouble on a gold field came to him, and hisbrokers indicated his view upon the situation in that particular area by"bearing" the stock of the affected company.
If his Liverpool agents suddenly descended upon the Cotton Exchange andbegan buying May cotton in enormous quantities, the initiated knew thatSaul Arthur Mann had been awakened from his slumbers by a telegramdescribing storm havoc in the cotton belt of the United States ofAmerica. When a curious blight fell upon the coffee plantations ofCeylon, a six-hundred-word cablegram describing the habits andcharacteristics of the minute insect which caused the blight reachedSaul Arthur Mann at two o'clock in the afternoon, and by three o'clockthe price of coffee had jumped.
When, on another occasion, Senor Almarez, the President of Cacura, hadthrown a glass of wine in the face of his brother-in-law, CaptainVassalaro, Saul Arthur Mann had jumped into the market and beaten downall Cacura stocks, which were fairly high as a result of excellent cropsand secure government. He "beared" them because he knew that Vassalarowas a dead shot, and that the inevitable duel would deprive Cacura ofthe best president it had had for twenty years, and that the way wouldbe open for the election of Sebastian Romelez, who had behind him acertain group of German financiers who desired to exploit the country intheir own peculiar fashion.
He probably built up a very considerable fortune, and it is certainthat he extended the range of his inquiries until the making of money bymeans of his curious information bureau became only a secondaryconsideration. He had a marvelous memory, which was supplemented by hissystem of filing. He would go to work patiently for months, and spendsums of money out of all proportion to the value of the information, todiscover, for example, the reason why a district officer in somefar-away spot in India had been obliged to return to England before histour of duty had ended.
His thirst for facts was insatiable; his grasp of the politics of everycountry in the world, and his extraordinarily accurate informationconcerning the personality of all those who directed those policies, wasthe basis upon which he was able to build up theories of amazingaccuracy.
A man of simple tastes, who lived in a rambling old house in Streatham,his work, his hobby, and his very life was his bureau. He had assistedthe police times without number, and had been so fascinated by thesuccess of this branch of his investigations that he had started a newcriminal record, which had been of the greatest help to the police andhad piqued Scotland Yard to emulation.
John Minute, descending from his cab at the door, looked up at theimposing facia with a frown. Entering the broad vestibule, he handed hiscard to the waiting attendant and took a seat in a well-furnishedwaiting room. Five minutes later he was ushered into the presence of"The Man Who Knew." Mr. Mann, a comical little figure at a very largewriting table, jumped up and went halfway across the big room to meethis visitor. He beamed through his big spectacles as he waved JohnMinute to a deep armchair.
"The chief commissioner sent you, didn't he?" he said, pointing anaccusing finger at the visitor. "I know he did, because he called me upthis morning and asked me about three people who, I happen to know, havebeen bothering you. Now what can I do for you, Mr. Minute?"
John Minute stretched his legs and thrust his hands defiantly into histrousers' pockets.
"You can tell me all you know about me," he said.
Saul Arthur Mann trotted back to his big table and seated himself.
"I haven't time to tell you as much," he said breezily, "but I'll giveyou a few outlines."
He pressed a bell at his desk, opened a big index, and ran his fingerdown.
"Bring me 8874," he said impressively to the clerk who made hisappearance.
To John Minute's surprise, it was not a bulky dossier with which theattendant returned, but a neat little book soberly bound in gray.
"Now," said Mr. Mann, wriggling himself comfortably back in his chair,"I will read a few things to you."
He held up the book.
"There are no names in this book, my friend; not a single, blessedname. Nobody knows who 8874 is except myself."
He patted the big index affectionately.
"The name is there. When I leave this office it will be behind threedepths of steel; when I die it will be burned with me."
He opened the little book again and read. He read steadily for a quarterof an hour in a monotonous, singsong voice, and John Minute slowly sathimself erect and listened with tense face and narrow eyelids to therecord. He did not interrupt until the other had finished.
"Half of your facts are lies," he said harshly. "Some of them are justcommon gossip; some are purely imaginary."
Saul Arthur Mann closed the book and shook his head.
"Everything here," he said, touching the book, "is true. It may not bethe truth as you want it known, but it is the truth. If I thought therewas a single fact in there which was not true my _raison d'etre_ wouldbe lost. That is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,Mr. Minute," he went on, and the good-natured little face was pink withannoyance.
"Suppose it were the truth," interrupted John Minute, "what price wouldyou ask for that record and such documents as you say you have to proveits truth?"
The other leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands meditatively.
"How much do you think you are worth, Mr. Minute?"
"You ought to know," said the other with a sneer.
Saul Arthur Mann inclined his head.
"At the present price of securities, I should say about one million twohundred and seventy thousand pounds," he said, and John Minute openedhis eyes in astonishment.
"Near enough," he reluctantly admitted.
"Well," the little man continued, "if you multiply that by fifty and youbring all that money into my office and place it on that table inten-thousand-pound notes, you could not buy that little book or therecords which support it."
He jumped up.
"I am afraid I am keeping you, Mr. Minute."
"You are not keeping me," said the other roughly. "Before I go I want toknow what use you are going to make of your knowledge."
The little man spread out his hands in deprecation.
"What use? You have seen the use to which I have put it. I have told youwhat no other living soul will know."
"How do you know I am John Minute?" asked the visitor quickly.
"Some twenty-seven photographs of you are included in the folder whichcontains your record, Mr. Minute," said the little investigator calmly."You see, you are quite a prominent personage--one of the two hundredand four really rich men in England. I am not likely to mistake you foranybody else, and, more than this, your history is so interesting a onethat naturally I know much more about you than I should if you had livedthe dull and placid life of a city merchant."
"Tell me one thing before I
go," asked Minute. "Where is the person yourefer to as 'X'?"
Saul Arthur Mann smiled and inclined his head never so slightly.
"That is a question which you have no right to ask," he said. "It isinformation which is available to the police or to any authorized personwho wishes to get into touch with 'X.' I might add," he went on, "thatthere is much more I could tell you, if it were not that it wouldinvolve persons with whom you are acquainted."
John Minute left the bureau looking a little older, a little paler thanwhen he had entered. He drove to his club with one thought in his mind,and that thought revolved about the identity and the whereabouts of theperson referred to in the little man's record as "X."