Manual The Works of Jacques Futrelle

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She has been in my employ for six years in the same capacity—more than five years before this leak appeared. I trust her absolutely. Therefore, I never mention my plans to anyone—never—to anyone! For instance, I planned this P. My brokers didn't know of it; Miss Winthrop never heard of it until twenty minutes before the Stock Exchange 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 of it.


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No one broker knew what was in the other letters. Miss Winthrop and I were the only two human beings who knew all that was in them. The Thinking Machine sat silent for so long that Grayson began to fidget in his chair. Only she and I work there. She hardly moved for two hours. The Thinking Machine lowered his eyes and glared straight into those of the financier.

The Thinking Machine by Jacques Futrelle

Grayson," snapped the scientist abruptly. Don't say that—it annoys me exceedingly. Grayson stared at him blankly. Again The Thinking Machine was silent for a long time. Grayson lighted a fresh cigar and settled back in his chair patiently. Faint cobwebby lines began to appear on the dome-like brow of the scientist, and slowly the squint eyes were narrowing. The last one left me at ten minutes of ten. And Miss Winthrop, I know, is innocent of any connection with the affair. The private detectives suspected her at first, as you do, and she was watched in and out of my office for weeks.

When she was not under my eyes, she was under the eyes of men to whom I had promised an extravagant sum of money if they found the leak. She didn't know it then, and doesn't know it now. I am heartily ashamed of it all, because the investigation proved her absolute loyalty to me. On this last day she was directly under my eyes for two hours; and she didn't make one movement that I didn't note, because the thing meant millions to me.

That proved beyond all question that it was no fault of hers.

7 best short stories by Jacques Futrelle

What could I do? The Thinking Machine didn't say. He paused at a window, and for minute after minute stood motionless there, with eyes narrowed to mere slits. It is beyond all ordinary things, Professor. Yet there is a leak that is costing me millions. Grayson," The Thinking Machine informed him crabbedly. That is as pure logic as two and two make four; there is no need to argue it.

By the way, you have referred to the other side only as the opposition. Do the same men, the same clique, appear against you all the time, or is it only one man? The Thinking Machine went to a desk, addressed an envelope, folded a sheet of paper, placed it inside, then sealed it. At length he turned back to his visitor.

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A few minutes later the eminent financier ushered the eminent scientist into his private office on the Street. The only person there was a young woman—a woman of twenty-six or-seven, perhaps—who turned, saw Grayson, and resumed reading. The financier motioned to a seat. Instead of sitting, however, The Thinking Machine went straight to Miss Winthrop and extended a sealed envelop to her.

The young woman glanced up into his face frankly, yet with a certain timidity, took the envelope, and turned it curiously in her hand. Ralph Matthews," she repeated, as if the name was a strange one. The Thinking Machine stood staring at her aggressively, as she opened the envelope and drew out the sheet of paper.


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There was no expression save surprise—bewilderment, rather—to be read on her face. The scientist turned suddenly toward Grayson, who had witnessed the incident with frank astonishment in his eyes. He leaned forward over the desk where Miss Winthrop sat, still gazing at him in a sort of bewilderment, picked up the receiver, and held it to his ear.

A few moments later he was talking to Hutchinson Hatch, reporter. That was all. He hung up the receiver, paused for a moment to admire an exquisitely wrought silver box—a "vanity" box—on Miss Winthrop's desk, beside the telephone, then took a seat beside Grayson and began to discourse almost pleasantly upon the prevailing meteorological conditions. Grayson merely stared; Miss Winthrop continued her reading. Professor Augustus S. Van Dusen, distinguished scientist, and Hutchinson Hatch, newspaper reporter, were poking round among the chimney pots and other obstructions on the roof of a skyscraper.

Far below them the slumber-enshrouded city was spread out like a panorama, streets dotted brilliantly with lights, and roofs hazily visible through mists of night. Above, the infinite blackness hung like a veil, with starpoints breaking through here and there.

Futrelle, Jacques

The Thinking Machine knelt on the roof beside him, and for several minutes they remained thus in the darkness, with only the glow of a flashlight to indicate their presence. Finally, The Thinking Machine rose. Hatch opened a small handsatchel and removed several queerly wrought tools. These he spread on the roof beside him; then, kneeling again, began his work. For half an hour he labored in the gloom, with only the flashlight to aid him, and then he rose.

The Thinking Machine examined the work that had been done, grunted his satisfaction, and together they went to the skylight, leaving a thin, insulated wire behind them, stringing along to mark their path.

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They passed down through the roof and into the darkness of the hall of the upper story. In addition to penning feature stories and articles at the Herald, Futrelle started writing detective short stories. This fiction writing appealed to his creativity as well as his love of the mystery genre, particulary the Sherlock Holmes stories.

During the next year, the long hours and stress of covering the Spanish American war took a physical and mental toll on young Jacques, and eventually left him exhausted and too ill to work. His sister loaned him a home in Scituate, Massachusetts, where he and May lived until he recuperated.

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Titles In This Series (149)

No Escape: Jacques Futrelle and the Titanic. Jeffrey A. Written by Jaques Futrelle. Current Issue.

Jacques Futrelle and the Thinking Machine

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