. "What kind of people hold the stock of the traction company?"
he asked suddenly.

"I fancy Mr. Hurd himself swings a very big block," Cole answered.
"And his directors have a good deal. It's easily carried--the banks up
here will loan on it almost up to the market value."

Smith still looked thoughtfully out the window.

"And I presume the directors and other stockholders take advantage of
that fact?" he inquired.

"Oh, yes," Mr. Osgood replied. "We have a lot of it as collateral for
loans in the Charlestown Trust Company, of which I am a director."

"And is it actively traded in on the Exchange?" the New Yorker
continued.

"No. Odd lots mainly, from time to time. But the price is remarkably
steady. It is regarded about as safe as a bond."

Smith returned to the seated group.

"Gentlemen," he said, "banks do strange things at times, but they are
usually grateful for information when it is of value. They have
probably never taken the trouble to find out whether the Massachusetts
Light, Heat, and Traction was properly protected against a fire--by
which I mean a big fire; they probably have assumed that it was. If it
were to become known in financial circles that their insurance fund was
forty thousand dollars and that they stood to lose one million dollars
if there were a big fire in Pemberton Street to-night, how many of
those borrowers do you think would be asked by the banks to reduce
their loans or to substitute in part other collateral of a less
speculative sort? It might even affect the price of the stock on the
Exchange rather unfortunately. Some of those directors might have an
unpleasant half-hour."

He paused. Wilkinson's face expressed the most eager attention.

"And I want to say to you, gentlemen, that a general fire in the
congested section of this city is in my opinion not so improbable a
thing as you Bostonians imagine. The conflagration hazard in Boston's
congested district is not a thing one can exactly calculate, but it
would be difficult to overestimate its gravity. . . . There's your
grenade, Mr. Wilkinson."

Wilkinson leaped to his feet.

"I see it," he cried. "Leave it to me. It's as good as done. It's
merely a question of time."

"What are you going to do?" asked Cole, curiously.

Wilkinson made for the door.

"Do?" he cried. "Do? I'm going to load the grenade. Gentlemen, good
morning."

CHAPTER III

Isabel Hurd sat bolt upright on the stiff and bla