the morning
platform, tipped the porter, picked up his suitcase, and walked through the big
gloomy bad-smelling station, past the golden oak of the scarred benches, the
grubby marble. The hotel where he had stayed before, the Brigadier, was just
three blocks from the station. He walked swiftly, carrying the heavy suitcase
with ease. His reservation was in order. There was a bulky Manila envelope from
the office. He sent the bellhop up to the room with suitcase and hat. He took
his briefcase into the dining room, opened the envelope after ordering his
breakfast. Miss Vidranian had arranged things the way
he liked them. Letters and memorandums in increasing order of importance, so
that the top letter was almost, but not quite, within the range of Miss Vidranian’s authority to have handled herself. He went
quickly through the stack. He set some aside for dictation. On others he wrote
marginal comments to guide Miss Vidranian in
answering them herself. His pen had a very fine nib, and he used jet-black ink.
His writing was small, angular, precise, unanimated—and very fast. The last
item in the group was the unopened envelope containing the confidential
information he had requested from Credit Search on the Delevan family. He was
glad it had arrived. He decided he would read that in his room.
When he had returned to the room, he unpacked quickly, placing the small
dictation machine on the desk. He did his long distance telephoning first,
then, adjusting the small flexible belt in the machine, he dictated answers to
three of the letters Miss Vidranian had sent and
dictated memos on two of the three phone calls. She had enclosed a Manila
envelope addressed to his office. Before he sealed the two flexible belts, the
memos, and the correspondence in the envelope, he placed a call to his own
office.
“Good morning, Mr. Griffin.”
“Good morning, Miss Vidranian . I’ll mail the
correspondence back to you this morning. I just finished handling it. Anything
special this morning?” His voice was soft, polite.
“A Mr. Henry Parks phoned from Washington. Mr. Tomlinson has approved the
container project. Dr. Garsh is anxious to see you
again. There’s nothing else of any importance.”
“If Parks phones again, turn him over to Gary. Wire the Acme people about
Tomlinson’s approval. And phone Dr. Garsh and tell
him I’ll phone him when I get back to town. Have you got that?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, and sounded a bit upset that he should have asked.
Of course she got it. And in addition to her notes she would have a tape of the
phone call in case there was any question in her mind.
“Good-bye,” he said, and hung up before there was time to hear her
response. He sealed the envelope and placed it beside his hat.
Then he opened the Credit Search envelope. He had requested a detailed
report. Intensive coverage. For such reports—and they were expensive—Credit
Search supplemented the information on file and brought it up to date by either
sending their own people or employing local agencies for an on-the-spot survey.
Following the theory that a person’s credit is influenced by many other
factors, their investigations were often quite personal. And Credit Search had
had three months to do a thorough job.
Griffin scanned the report and then read it more slowly. When he folded
it back into the envelope marked for his personal attention, he had
inadvertently committed large portions of it to memory. The report contained
many factors which could be considered favorable to his plans. He phoned the
Stockton Knitting Company. He asked for Mr. Benjamin Delevan. A young-voiced
girl requested his name. In a few moments Mr. Benjamin Delevan was on the line.
“Mr. Thomas Griffin? Is that the Griffin of Thomas Marin Griffin
Associates?”
“Yes it is, Mr. Delevan. My office was suppose to have arranged for an
appointment with you today. I find there has been a slip-up. I wonder if you
could fit me in. I know it’s an
platform, tipped the porter, picked up his suitcase, and walked through the big
gloomy bad-smelling station, past the golden oak of the scarred benches, the
grubby marble. The hotel where he had stayed before, the Brigadier, was just
three blocks from the station. He walked swiftly, carrying the heavy suitcase
with ease. His reservation was in order. There was a bulky Manila envelope from
the office. He sent the bellhop up to the room with suitcase and hat. He took
his briefcase into the dining room, opened the envelope after ordering his
breakfast. Miss Vidranian had arranged things the way
he liked them. Letters and memorandums in increasing order of importance, so
that the top letter was almost, but not quite, within the range of Miss Vidranian’s authority to have handled herself. He went
quickly through the stack. He set some aside for dictation. On others he wrote
marginal comments to guide Miss Vidranian in
answering them herself. His pen had a very fine nib, and he used jet-black ink.
His writing was small, angular, precise, unanimated—and very fast. The last
item in the group was the unopened envelope containing the confidential
information he had requested from Credit Search on the Delevan family. He was
glad it had arrived. He decided he would read that in his room.
When he had returned to the room, he unpacked quickly, placing the small
dictation machine on the desk. He did his long distance telephoning first,
then, adjusting the small flexible belt in the machine, he dictated answers to
three of the letters Miss Vidranian had sent and
dictated memos on two of the three phone calls. She had enclosed a Manila
envelope addressed to his office. Before he sealed the two flexible belts, the
memos, and the correspondence in the envelope, he placed a call to his own
office.
“Good morning, Mr. Griffin.”
“Good morning, Miss Vidranian . I’ll mail the
correspondence back to you this morning. I just finished handling it. Anything
special this morning?” His voice was soft, polite.
“A Mr. Henry Parks phoned from Washington. Mr. Tomlinson has approved the
container project. Dr. Garsh is anxious to see you
again. There’s nothing else of any importance.”
“If Parks phones again, turn him over to Gary. Wire the Acme people about
Tomlinson’s approval. And phone Dr. Garsh and tell
him I’ll phone him when I get back to town. Have you got that?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, and sounded a bit upset that he should have asked.
Of course she got it. And in addition to her notes she would have a tape of the
phone call in case there was any question in her mind.
“Good-bye,” he said, and hung up before there was time to hear her
response. He sealed the envelope and placed it beside his hat.
Then he opened the Credit Search envelope. He had requested a detailed
report. Intensive coverage. For such reports—and they were expensive—Credit
Search supplemented the information on file and brought it up to date by either
sending their own people or employing local agencies for an on-the-spot survey.
Following the theory that a person’s credit is influenced by many other
factors, their investigations were often quite personal. And Credit Search had
had three months to do a thorough job.
Griffin scanned the report and then read it more slowly. When he folded
it back into the envelope marked for his personal attention, he had
inadvertently committed large portions of it to memory. The report contained
many factors which could be considered favorable to his plans. He phoned the
Stockton Knitting Company. He asked for Mr. Benjamin Delevan. A young-voiced
girl requested his name. In a few moments Mr. Benjamin Delevan was on the line.
“Mr. Thomas Griffin? Is that the Griffin of Thomas Marin Griffin
Associates?”
“Yes it is, Mr. Delevan. My office was suppose to have arranged for an
appointment with you today. I find there has been a slip-up. I wonder if you
could fit me in. I know it’s an
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