Waiting outside a Wall Street building, Paul muses on the difference in color palette the city assumes beneath electric light versus natural light.

Paul has hired a professional lock-picker to help him break into Brown’s office/laboratory. They break into the building, using candles to light their way to the third floor. Brown’s door, however, has a heavy-duty lock that the lock-picker doesn’t have the correct tools to pick. Warning him that it will be loud and doubtless a stupid move, Paul ignores the lock-pick’s advice and kicks down the door.

Inside the office, Paul discovers a back room filled with other people’s inventions: a table for dissection, rather than creation. Brown’s real office is next to this room, where Paul finds stacks and stacks of correspondence. “This would be where Brown conducted his real business: manipulating the public” (193). Paul finds letters to and from editors, city commissioners, citizens, journalists, and mayors.

At the bottom of the pile, he finds what he’s looking for: a letter from Edison. At first glance, however, it doesn’t give him the satisfaction he seeks.