For he was only four-and-twenty, and the bitter grind of years and toil had not yet worn his spirit down nor quelled the ardor of his splendid strength and optimism.
Working at his routine labor, his mind was not upon it.

No, rather it dwelt upon the vast discovery he had made--or seemed to have made--the night before.

Clearly limned before his vision, he still saw the notes, the plans, the calculations he had been able to decipher in the Billionaire's lost note-book--the note-book which now, deep in the pocket of his jumper that hung behind him on a hook against the wall, drew his every thought, as steel draws the compass-needle.
"Incredible, yet true!" he pondered, as he filed a brass casting for a new-type dynamo.

"These men are plotting to strangle the world to death--to strangle, if they cannot own and rule it! And, what's more, I see nothing to prevent their doing it.

The plan is sound.