The Leak

  Produced by David Starner, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  The Leak

  By Jacques Futrelle

  "Really great criminals are never found out, for the simple reason thatthe greatest crimes--their crimes--are never discovered," remarkedProfessor Augustus S. F. X. Van Dusen positively. "There is genius inthe perpetration of crime, Mr. Grayson, just as there must be in itsdetection, unless it is the shallow work of a bungler. In this lattercase there have been instances where even the police have uncovered thetruth. But the expert criminal, the man of genius--the professional, Imay say--regards as perfect only that crime which does not and cannot bemade to appear a crime at all; therefore one that can never under anycircumstances involve him, or anyone else."

  The financier, J. Morgan Grayson, regarded this wizened little man ofscience--The Thinking Machine--thoughtfully, through the smoke of hiscigar.

  "It is a strange psychological fact that the casual criminal glories inhis crime beforehand, and from one to ten minutes afterward," TheThinking Machine continued. "For instance, the man who kills for revengewants the world to know it is his work; but at the end of ten minutescomes fear, and then paradoxically enough, he will seek to hide hiscrime and protect himself. With fear comes panic, with panicirresponsibility, and then he makes the mistake--hews a pathway whichthe trained mind follows from motive to a prison cell."

  "These are the men who are found out. But there are men of genius, Mr.Grayson, professionally engaged in crime. We never hear of them becausethey are never caught, and we never even suspect them because they makeno mistake. Imagine the great brains of history turned to crime. Well,there are today brains as great as any of those of history; there ismurder and theft and robbery under our noses that we never dream of. IfI, for instance, should become an active criminal----" He paused.

  Grayson, with a queer expression on his face, puffed steadily at hiscigar.

  "I could kill you now, here in this room," The Thinking Machine went oncalmly, "and no one would ever know, never even suspect. Why? Because Iwould make no mistake."

  It was not a boast as he said it; it was merely a statement of fact.Grayson appeared to be a little startled. Where there had been onlyimpatient interest in his manner, there was now fascination.

  "How would you kill me, for instance?" he inquired curiously.

  "With any one of a dozen poisons, with virulent germs, or even with aknife or revolver," replied the scientist placidly. "You see, I know howto use poisons; I know how to inoculate with germs; I know how toproduce a suicidal appearance perfectly with either a revolver or knife.And I never make mistakes, Mr. Grayson. In the sciences we must beexact--not approximately so, but absolutely so. We must know. It isn'tlike carpentry. A carpenter may make a trivial mistake in a joint, andit will not weaken his house; but if the scientist makes one mistake,the whole structure tumbles down. We must know. Knowledge is progress.We gain knowledge through observation and logic--inevitable logic. Andlogic tells us that two and two make four--not sometimes but all thetime."

  Grayson flicked the ashes off his cigar thoughtfully, and littlewrinkles appeared about his eyes as he stared into the drawn,inscrutable face of the scientist. The enormous, straw-yellow head wascushioned against the chair, the squinting, watery blue eyes turnedupward, and the slender white fingers at rest, tip to tip. The financierdrew a long breath. "I have been informed that you were a remarkableman," he said at last slowly. "I believe it. Quinton Frazer, the bankerwho gave me the letter of introduction to you, told me how you oncesolved a remarkable mystery in which----"

  "Yes, yes," interrupted the scientist shortly, "the Ralston Bankburglary--I remember."

  "So I came to you to enlist your aid in something which is moreinexplicable than that," Grayson went on hesitatingly. "I know that nofee I might offer would influence you; yet it is a case which----"

  "State it," interrupted The Thinking Machine again.

  "It isn't a crime--that is, a crime that can be reached by law," Graysonhurried on, "but it has cost me millions, and----"

  For one instant The Thinking Machine lowered his squint eyes to those ofhis visitor, then raised them again. "Millions!" he repeated. "Howmany?"

  "Six, eight, perhaps ten," was the reply. "Briefly, there is a leak inmy office. My plans become known to others almost by the time I haveperfected them. My plans are large; I have millions at stake; and thegreatest secrecy is absolutely essential. For years I have been able topreserve this secrecy; but half a dozen times in the last eight weeks myplans have become known, and I have been caught. Unless you know theStreet, you can't imagine what a tremendous disadvantage it is to havesomeone know your next move to the minutest detail and, knowing it,defeat you at every turn."

  "No, I don't know your world of finance, Mr. Grayson," remarked TheThinking Machine. "Give me an instance."

  "Well, take this last case," said the financier earnestly. "Briefly,without technicalities, I had planned to unload the securities of theP., Q. & X. Railway, protecting myself through brokers, and force theoutstanding stock down to a price where other brokers, acting for me,could buy far below the actual value. In this way I intended to getcomplete control of the stock. But my plans became known, and when Ibegan to unload everything was snapped up by the opposition, with theresult that instead of gaining control of the road I lost heavily. Thissame thing has happened, with variations, half a dozen times."

  "I presume that is strictly honest?" inquired the scientist mildly.

  "Honest?" repeated Grayson. "Certainly--of course."

  "I shall not pretend to understand all that," said The Thinking Machinecurtly. "It doesn't seem to matter, anyway. You want to know where theleak is. Is that right?"

  "Precisely."

  "Well, who is in your confidence?"

  "No one, except my stenographer."

  "Who is he, please?"

  "It's a woman--Miss Evelyn Winthrop. She has been in my employ for sixyears in the same capacity--more than five years before this leakappeared. I trust her absolutely."

  "No man knows your business?"

  "No," replied the financier grimly. "I learned years ago that no onecould keep my secrets as well as I do--there are too many temptations.Therefore, I never mention my plans to anyone--never--to anyone!"

  "Except your stenographer," corrected the scientist.

  "I work for days, weeks, sometimes months, perfecting plans, and it'sall in my head, not on paper--not a scratch of it," explained Grayson."When I say that she is in my confidence, I mean that she knows my plansonly half an hour or less before the machinery is put into motion. Forinstance, I planned this P., Q. & X. deal. My brokers didn't know of it;Miss Winthrop never heard of it until twenty minutes before the StockExchange opened for business. Then I dictated to her, as I always do,some short letters of instructions to my agents. That is all she knew ofit."

  "You outlined the plan in those letters?"

  "No; they merely told my brokers what to do."

  "But a shrewd person, knowing the contents of all those letters, couldhave learned what you intended to do?"

  "Yes; but no one person knew the contents of all the letters. No onebroker knew what was in the other letters. Miss Winthrop and I were theonly two human beings who knew all that was in them."

  The Thinking Machine sat silent for so long that Grayson began to fidgetin his chair. "Who was in the room besides you and Miss Winthrop beforethe letters were sent?" he asked at last.

  "No one," responded Grayson emphatically. "For an hour before I dictatedthose letters, until at least an hour afterward, after my plans had goneto smash, no one entered that room. Only she and I work there."

  "But when she finished the letters
, she went out?" insisted The ThinkingMachine.

  "No," declared the financier, "she didn't even leave her desk."

  "Or perhaps sent something out--carbon copies of the letters?"

  "No."

  "Or called up a friend on the telephone?" continued The Thinking Machinequietly.

  "Nor that," retorted Grayson.

  "Or signaled to someone through the window?"

  "No," said the financier again. "She finished the letters, then remainedquietly at her desk, reading a book. She hardly moved for two hours."

  The Thinking Machine lowered