THE MAN WHO KNEW
Backwell Street, in the City of London, contains one palatial building
which at one time was the headquarters of the South American Stock
Exchange, a superior bucket shop which on its failure had claimed its
fifty thousand victims. The ornate gold lettering on its great
plate-glass window had long since been removed, and the big brass plate
which announced to the passerby that here sat the spider weaving his
golden web for the multitude of flies, had been replaced by a modest,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 three
business houses in the City, he had an enormous post bag, and both he
and his clerks kept regulation business hours. His beginnings, however,
were well known.
He had been a stockbroker's clerk, with a passion for collecting
clippings mainly dealing with political, geographical, and
meteorological conditions obtaining in those areas wherein the great
Joint Stock Companies of the earth were engaged in operations. He had
gradually built up a service of correspondence all over the world.
The first news of labor trouble on a gold field came to him, and his
brokers 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 and
began buying May cotton in enormous quantities, the initiated knew that
Saul Arthur Mann had been awakened from his slumbers by a telegram
describing storm havoc in the cotton belt of the United States of
America. When a curious blight fell upon the coffee plantations of
Ceylon, a six-hundred-word cablegram describing the habits and
characteristics of the minute insect which caused the blight reached
Saul Arthur Mann at two o'clock in the afternoon, and by three o'clock
the price of coffee had jumped.
When, on another occasion, Senor Almarez, the President of Cacura, had
thrown a glass of wine in the face of his brother-in-law, Captain
Vassalaro, Saul Arthur Mann had jumped into the market and beaten down
all Cacura stocks, which were fairly high as a result of excellent crops
and secure government. He "beared" them because he knew that Vassalaro
was a dead shot, and that the inevitable duel would deprive Cacura of
the best president it had had for twenty years, and that the way would
be open for the election of Sebastian Romelez, who had behind him a
certain group of German financiers who desired to exploit the country in
their own peculiar fashion.
He probably built up a very considerable fortune, and it is certain
that he extended the range of his inquiries until the making of money by
means of his curious information bureau became only a secondary
consideration. He had a marvelous memory, which was supplemented by his
system of filing. He would go to work patiently for months, and spend
sums of money out of all proportion to the value of the information, to
discover, for example, the reason why a district officer in some
far-away spot in India had been obliged to return to England before his
tour of duty had ended.
His thirst for facts was insatiable; his grasp of the politics of every
country in the world, and his extraordinarily accurate information
concerning the personality of all those who directed those policies, was
the basis upon which he was able to build up theories of amazing
accuracy.
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 assisted
the police times without number, and had been so fascinated by the
success of this branch of his investigations that he had started a new
criminal record, which had been of the greatest help to the police and
had piqued Scotland Yard to emulation.
John Minute, descending from his cab at the door, looked up at the
imposing facia with a frown. Entering the broad vestibule, he handed his
card to the waiting attendant and took a seat in a well-furnished
waiting room. Five minutes later he was ushered into the presence of
"The Man Who Knew." Mr. Mann, a comical little figure at a very large
writing table, jumped up and went halfway across the big room to meet
his visitor. He beamed through his big spectacles as he waved John
Minute to a deep armchair.
"The chief commissioner sent you, didn't he?" he said, pointing an
accusing finger at the visitor. "I know he did, because he called me up
this morning and asked me about three people who, I happen to know, have
been bothering you. Now what can I do for you, Mr. Minute?"
John Minute stretched his legs and thrust his hands defiantly into his
trousers' 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 give
you a few outlines."
He pressed a bell at his desk, opened a big index, and ran his finger
down.
"Bring me 8874," he said impressively to the clerk who made his
appearance.
To John Minute's surprise, it was not a bulky dossier with which the
attendant 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, blessed
name. 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 three
depths of steel; when I die it will be burned with me."
He opened the little book again and read. He read steadily for a quarter
of an hour in a monotonous, singsong voice, and John Minute slowly sat
himself erect and listened with tense face and narrow eyelids to the
record. He did not interrupt until the other had finished.
"Half of your facts are lies," he said harshly. "Some of them are just
common 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 be
the truth as you want it known, but it is the truth. If I thought there
was a single fact in there which was not true my _raison d'etre_ would
be 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 with
annoyance.
"Suppose it were the truth," interrupted John Minute, "what price would
you ask for that record and such documents as you say you have to prove
its 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 two
hundred and seventy thousand pounds," he said, and John Minute opened
his eyes in astonishment.
"Near enough," he reluctantly admitted.
"Well," the little man continued, "if you multiply that by fifty and you
bring all that money into my office and place it on that table in
ten-thousand-pound notes, you could not buy that little book or the
records 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 to
know 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 you
what 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 which
contains your record, Mr. Minute," said the little investigator calmly.
"You see, you are quite a prominent personage--one of the two hundred
and four really rich men in England. I am not likely to mistake you for
anybody else, and, more than this, your history is so interesting a one
that naturally I know much more about you than I should if you had lived
the dull and placid life of a city merchant."
"Tell me one thing before I go," asked Minute. "Where is the person you
refer 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 is
information which is available to the police or to any authorized person
who wishes to get into touch with 'X.' I might add," he went on, "that
there is much more I could tell you, if it were not that it would
involve persons with whom you are acquainted."
John Minute left the bureau looking a little older, a little paler than
when 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 the
person referred to in the little man's record as "X."