"I believe it," said he.

"Take these New England towns," said Bates; "and look at the people
in them. The ones who had any energy got up and went West years ago;
and those who are left haven't any jaw-bones. Did you ever notice
it? And it's just the same, wherever this pleasure crowd comes; it
turns the men into boarding-house keepers and lackeys, and the girls
into waitresses and prostitutes."

"They learn to take tips!" put in the Lieutenant.

"Everything they've got is for sale to city people," said Bates.
"Politically, there isn't a rottener little corner in the whole
United States of America than this same Rhode Island--and how much
that's saying, you can imagine. You can buy votes on election day as
you'd buy herrings, and there's not the remotest effort at reform,
nor any hope of it."

"You speak bitterly," said Montague.

"I am bitter," said Bates. "But it doesn't often break out. I hold
my tongue, and stew in my own juice. We newspaper men see the game,
you know. We are behind the scenes, and we see the sawdust put into
the dolls. We have to work in this rottenness all the time, and some
of us don't like it, I can tell you. But what can we do?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I spend my time getting facts together,
and nine times out of ten my newspaper won't print them."

"I should think you'd quit," said the other, in a low voice.

"What better can I do?" asked the reporter. "I have the facts; and
once in a while there comes an explosion, and I get my chance. So I
stick at the job. I can't but believe that if you keep putting these
things before the people, sometime, sooner or later, they will do
something. Sometime there will come a man who has a conscience and a
voice, and who won't sell out. Don't you think so, Mr. Montague?"

"Yes," said Montague, "I think so."






CHAPTER XVII





The summer wore on. At the end of August Alice returned from Newport
for a couple of days, having some shopping to do before she joined
the Prentices at their camp in the Adirondacks.

Society had here a new way of enjoying itself. People built
themselves elaborate palaces in the wilderness, and lived in a
fantastic kind of rusticity, with every luxury of civilisation
included. For this life one needed an entirely separate wardrobe,
with doeskin hunting-boots and mountain-climbing skirts--all very
picturesque and expensive. It reminded Montague of a jest that he
had heard about Mrs. Vivie Patton, whose husband had complained of
the expensiveness of her costumes, and requested her to wear simpler
dresses. "Very well," she said, "I will get a lot of simple dresses
immediately."

Alice spent one evening at home, and she took her cousin into her
confidence. "I've an idea, Allan, that Harry Curtiss is going to ask
me to marry him. I thought it was right to tell you about it."

"I've had a suspicion of it," said Montague, smiling.

"Harry has a feeling you don't like him," said the girl. "Is that
true?"

"No," replied Montague, "not precisely that." He hesitated.

"I don't understand about it," she continued. "Do you think I ought
not to marry him?"

Montague studied her face. "Tell me," he said, "have you made up
your mind to marry him?"

"No," she answered, "I cannot say that I have."

"If you have," he added, "of course there is no use in my talking
about it."

"I wish you would tell me just what happened between you and him,"
exclaimed the girl.

"It was simply," said Montague, "that I found that Curtiss was
doing, in a business way, something which I considered improper.
Other people are doing it, of course--he has that excuse."

"Well, he has to earn a living," said Alice.

"I know," said the other; "and if he marries, he will have to earn
still more of a living. He will only place himself still tighter in
the grip of these forces of corruption."

"But what did he do?" asked Alice, anxiously. Montague told her the
story.

"But, Allan," she said, "I don't see what there is so very bad about
that. Don't Ryder and Price own the railroad?"

"They own some of it," said Montague. "Other people own some."

"But the other people have to take their chances," protested the
girl; "if they choose to have anything to do with men like that."

"You are not familiar with business," said the other, "and you don't
appreciate the situation. Curtiss was elected a director--he
accepted a position of trust."

"He simply did it as a favour to Price," said she. "If he hadn't
done it, Price would only have got somebody else. As you say, Allan,
I don't understand much about it, but it seems to me it isn't fair
to blame a young man who has to make his way in the world, and who
simply does what he finds everybody else doing. Of course, you know
best about your own affairs; but it always did seem to me that you
go out of your way to look for scruples."

Montague smiled sadly. "That sounds very much like what he said,
Alice. I guess you have made up your mind to marry him, after all."

Alice set out, accompanied by Oliver, who was bound for Bertie
Stuyvesant's imitation baronial castle, in another part of the
mountains. Betty Wyman was also to be there, and Oliver was to spend
a full month. But three days later Montague received a telegram,
saying that his brother would arrive in New York shortly after eight
that morning, and to wait at his home for him. Montague suspected
what this meant; and he had time enough to think it over and make up
his mind. "Well?" he said, when Oliver came in. "It's come again,
has it?"

"Yes," said Oliver, "it has."

"Another 'sure thing'?"

"Dead sure. Are you coming in?" Oliver asked, after a moment.

Montague shook his head. "No," he said. "I think once was enough for
me."

"You don't mean that, Allan!" protested the other.

"I mean it," was the reply.

"But, my dear fellow, that is perfectly insane! I have information
straight from the inside--it's as certain as the sunrise!"

"I have no doubt of that," responded Montague. "But I am through
with gambling in Wall Street. I've seen enough of it, Oliver, and
I'm sick of it. I don't like the emotions it causes in me--I don't
like the things it makes me do."

"You found the money came in useful, didn't you?" said Oliver,
sarcastically.

"Yes, I can use what I've got."

"And when that's gone?"

"I don't know about that yet. But I'll find some way that I like
better."

"All right," said Oliver; "it's your own lookout. I will make my own
little pile."

They rode down town in a cab together. "Where does your information
come from this time?" asked Montague.

"The same source," was the reply.

"And is it Transcontinental again?"

"No," said Oliver; "it's another stock."

"What is it?"

"It's Mississippi Steel," was the answer.

Montague turned and stared at him. "Mississippi Steel!" he gasped.

"Why, yes," said Oliver. "What's that to you?" he added, in
perplexity.

"Mississippi Steel!" Montague ejaculated again. "Why, didn't you
know about my relations with the Northern Mississippi Railroad?"

"Of course," said Oliver; "but what's that got to do with
Mississippi Steel?"

"But it's Price who is managing the deal--the man who owns the
Mississippi Steel Company!"

"Oh," said the other, "I had forgotten that." Oliver's duties in
Society did not give him much time to ask about his brother's
affairs.

"Allan," he added quickly, "you won't say anything about it!"

"It's none of my business now," answered the other. "I'm out of it.
But naturally I am interested to know. What is it--a raid on the
stock?"

"It's going down," said Oliver.

Montague sat staring ahead of him. "It must be the Steel Trust," he
whispered, half to himself.

"Nothing more likely," was the reply. "My tip comes from that
direction."

"Do you suppose they are going to try to break Price?"

"I don't know; I guess they could do it if they made up their mind
to."

"But he owns a majority of the stock!" said Montague. "They can't
take it away from him outright."

"Not if he's got it locked up in his safe," was the reply; "and if
he's got no debts or obligations. But suppose he's overextended; and
suppose some bank has loaned him money on the stock--what then?"

Montague was now keenly interested. He went with his brother while
the latter drew his money from the bank, and called at his brokers
and ordered them to sell Mississippi Steel. The other was called
away then by an engagement in court, which occupied him for several
hours; when he came out, he made for the nearest ticker, and the
first figures he saw were Mississippi Steel--quoted at nearly twenty
points below the price of the morning!

The bare figures were eloquent to him of many tragedies; they
brought before him half a dozen different personalities, with their
triumphs and despairs. He could read in them the story of a Titan
struggle. Oliver had made his killing; but what of Price and Ryder?
Montague knew that most of Price's stock was hypothecated at the
Gotham Trust. And now what would become of it? And what would become
of the Northern Mississippi?

He bought the afternoon papers. Their columns were full of the
sensational events of the day. The bottom had dropped out of
Mississippi Steel, as they phrased it. The wildest rumours were
afloat. The Company was known to be making enormous extensions, and
it was said to have overreached itself; there were whispers that its
officers had been speculating, that the Company would be unable to
meet the next quarterly payment upon its bonds, that a receivership
would be necessary. There were hints that the concern was to be
taken over by the Trust, but this was vigorously denied by officers
of the latter.

All of which had come like a bolt out of the blue. To Montague it
was an amazing and terrible thing. It counted little to him that he
was out of the struggle himself; that he no longer had anything to
lose personally. He was like a man who had been through an
earthquake, and who stood and stared at a gaping crack in the
ground. Even though he was safe at the moment, he could not forget
that this was the earth upon which he had to spend the rest of his
life, and that the next crack might open where he stood.

Montague could not see that there was the least chance for Price and
Ryder; he pictured them bowled clean out, and he would not have been
surprised to read that they were ruined. But apparently they
weathered the storm. The episode passed with no more than a crop of
rumours. Mississippi Steel did not go back, however; and he noticed
that Northern Mississippi stock had also "gone off" eight or ten
points on the curb.

It was a period of great anxiety in the financial world. Men felt
the unrest, even though they could not give definite reasons. There
had been several panics in the stock market throughout the summer;
and leading financiers and railroad presidents seemed to have got
the habit of prognosticating the ruin of the country every time they
made a speech at a banquet.

But apparently men could not agree about the causes of the trouble.
Some insisted that it was owing to the speeches of the President, to
his attacks upon the great business interests of the country. Others
maintained that the world's supply of capital was inadequate, and
pointed out the destruction of great wars and earthquakes and fires.
Others argued that there was not enough currency to do the country's
business. Now and again there rose above the din the shrill voice of
some radical who declared that the stock collapses had been brought
about deliberately; but such statements seemed so preposterous that
they were received with ridicule whenever they were heeded at all.
To Montague the idea that there were men in the country sufficiently
powerful to wreck its business, and sufficiently unscrupulous to use
their power--the idea seemed to him sensational and absurd.

But he had a talk about it one evening with Major Venable, who
laughed at him. The Major named half a dozen men--Waterman and Duval
and Wyman among them--who controlled ninety per cent of the banks in
the Metropolis. They controlled all three of the big insurance
companies, with their resources of four or five hundred million
dollars; one of them controlled a great transcontinental railroad
system, which alone kept a twenty-or thirty-million dollar "surplus"
for stock-gambling purposes.

"If any two or three of those men were to make up their minds,"
declared the Major, "they could wreck the business of this country
in a day. If there were stocks they wanted to pick up, they could
knock them to any price they chose."

"How would they do it?" asked the other.

"There are many ways. You noticed that the last big slump began with
the worst scarcity of money the Street has known for years. Now
suppose those men should gradually accumulate a lot of cash in the
banks, and make an agreement to withdraw it at a certain hour.
Suppose that the banks that they own, and the banks where they own
directors, and the insurance companies which they control--suppose
they all did the same! Can't you imagine the scurrying around for
money, the calling in of loans, the rush to realise on holdings? And
when you have a public as nervous as ours is, when you have credit
stretched to the breaking-point, and everybody involved--don't you
see the possibilities?"

"It seems like playing with dynamite," said Montague.

"It's not as bad as it might be," was the answer. "We are saved by
the fact that these big men don't get together. There are too many
jealousies and quarrels. Waterman wants easy money, and gets the
Treasury Department to lend ten millions; Wyman, on the other hand,
wants high prices, and he goes into the Street and borrows fifteen
millions; and so it goes. There are a half dozen big banking groups
in the city--"

"They are still competing, then?" asked Montague.

"Oh, yes," said the Major. "For instance, they fight for the
patronage of the out-of-town banks. The banks all over the country
send their reserves to New York; it's a matter of four or five
hundred million dollars, and that's an enormous power. Some of the
big banks are agents for one or two thousand institutions, and
there's the keenest kind of struggle going on. It's not an easy
thing to follow, of course; but they offer all kinds of secret
advantages--there's more graft in it than you'd find in Russia."

"I see," said Montague.

"There's only one thing about which the banks are agreed," continued
the other. "That is their hatred of the independent trust companies.
You see, the national banks have to keep twenty-five per cent
reserve, while the trust companies only keep five per cent.
Consequently they do a faster business, and they offer four per
cent, and advertise widely, and they are simply driving the banks to
the wall. There are over fifty of them in this city alone, and
they've got over a billion of the people's money. And, mark my word,
that is where you'll see blood spilled before long."

And Montague was destined to remember the prophecy.

A couple of days later occurred an incident which gave him a new
light upon the situation. His brother came around one afternoon,
with a letter in his hand. "Allan," he said, "what do you make of
this?"

Montague glanced at it, and saw that it was from Lucy Dupree.

"My dear Ollie," it read. "I find myself in an embarrassing
position, owing to the fact that some business arrangements upon
which I had counted have fallen through. The money which I brought
with me to New York is nearly all gone, and, as you can understand,
my position as a stranger is a difficult one. I have a note which
Stanley Ryder gave me for my stock. It is for a hundred and forty
thousand dollars, and is due in three months. It occurred to me that
you might know someone who has some ready cash, and who would like
to purchase the note. I should be very glad to sell it for a hundred
and thirty thousand. Please do not mention it except in confidence."

"Now, what in the world do you suppose that means?" said Oliver.

The other stared at him. "I am sure I can't imagine," he replied.

"How much money did Lucy have when she came here?"

"She had three or four thousand dollars. But then, she got ten
thousand from Stanley Ryder when he bought that stock."

"She can't have spent any such sum of money!" exclaimed Oliver.

"She may have invested it," said the other, thoughtfully.

"Invested nothing!" exclaimed Oliver.

"But that's not what puzzles me," said Montague. "Why doesn't Ryder
discount the note himself?"

"That's just it! What business has he letting Lucy hawk his notes
about the town?"

"Maybe he doesn't know it. Maybe she's trying to keep her affairs
from him."

"Nonsense!" Oliver replied. "I don't believe anything of the sort.
What I think is that Stanley Ryder is doing it himself."

"How do you mean?" asked Montague, in perplexity.

"I believe that he is trying to get his own note discounted. I don't
believe that Lucy would ever come to us of herself. She'd starve
first. She's too proud."

"But Stanley Ryder!" protested Montague. "The president of the
Gotham Trust Company!"

"That's all right," said Oliver. "It's his own note, and not the
Trust Company's; and I'll wager you he's hard up for cash. There was
a big realty company that failed the other day, and I saw that Ryder
was one of the stockholders. And he's been hit by that Mississippi
Steel slump, and I'll wager you he's scurrying around to raise
money. It's just like Lucy, too. Before he gets through, he'll take
every dollar she owns."

Montague said nothing for a minute or two. Suddenly he clenched his
hands. "I must go up and see her," he said.

Lucy had moved from the expensive hotel to which Oliver had taken
her, and rented an apartment on Riverside Drive. Montague went up
early the next morning.

She came and stood in the doorway of the drawing-room and looked at
him. He saw that she was paler than she had been, and with lines of
pain upon her face.

"Allan!" she said. "I thought you would come some day. How could you
stay away so long?"

"I didn't think you would care to see me," he said.

She did not answer. She came and sat down, continuing to gaze at
him, with a kind of fear in her eyes.

Suddenly he stretched out his hands to her. "Lucy!" he exclaimed.
"Won't you come away from here? Won't you come, before it is too
late?"

"Where can I go?" she asked.

"Anywhere!" he said. "Go back home."

"I have no home," she answered.

"Go away from Stanley Ryder," said Montague. "He has no right to let
you throw yourself away."

"He has not let me, Allan," said Lucy. "You must not blame him--I
cannot bear it." She stopped.

"Lucy," he said, after a pause, "I saw that letter you wrote to
Oliver."

"I thought so," said she. "I asked him not to. It wasn't fair--"

"Listen," he said. "Will you tell me what that means? Will you tell
me honestly?"

"Yes, I will tell you," she said, in a low voice.

"I will help you if you are in trouble," he continued; "but I will
not help Stanley Ryder. If you are permitting him to use you--"

"Allan!" she gasped, in sudden excitement. "You don't think that he
knew I wrote?"

"Yes, I thought it," said he.

"Oh, how could you!" she cried.

"I knew that he was in trouble."

"Yes, he is in trouble, and I wanted to help him, if I could. It was
a crazy idea, I know; but it was all I could think of."

"Oh, I understand," said Montague.

"And don't you see that I cannot leave him?" exclaimed Lucy. "Now of
all times--when he needs help--when his enemies have surrounded him?
I'm the only person in the world who cares anything about him--who
really understands him--"

Montague could think of nothing to say.

"I know how it hurts you," said Lucy, "and don't think that I have
not cared. It is a thought that never leaves me! But some day I know
that you will understand; and the rest of the world--I don't care
what the world says."

"All right, Lucy," he answered, sadly. "I see that I can't be of any
help to you. I won't trouble you any more."






CHAPTER XVIII





Another month passed by. Montague was buried in his work, and he
caught but faint echoes of the storm that rumbled in the financial
world. It was a thing which he thought of with wonder in future
times--that he should have had so little idea of what was coming. He
seemed to himself like some peasant who digs with bent head in a
field, while armies are marshalling for battle all around him; and
who is startled suddenly by the crash of conflict, and the bursting
of shells about his head.

There came another great convulsion of the stock market. Stewart,
the young Lochinvar out of the West, made an attempt to corner
copper. One heard wild rumours in relation to the crash which
followed. Some said that a traitor had sold out the pool; others,
that there had been a quarrel among the conspirators. However that
might be, copper broke, and once more there were howling mobs on the
curb, and a shudder throughout the financial district. Then
suddenly, like a thunderbolt, came tidings that a conference of the
big bankers had decreed that the young Lochinvar should be forced
out of his New York banks. There were rumours that other banks were
involved, and that there were to be more conferences. Then a couple
of days later came the news that all the banks of Cummings the Ice
King were in trouble, and that he too had been forced from the
field.

Montague had never seen anything like the excitement in Wall Street.
Everyone he met had a new set of rumours, wilder than the last. It
was as if a great rift in the earth had suddenly opened before the
eyes of the banking community. But Montague was at an important
crisis in a suit which he had taken up against the Tobacco Trust;
and he had no idea that he was in any way concerned in what was
taking place. The newspapers were all making desperate efforts to
allay the anxiety--they said that all the trouble was over, that Dan
Waterman had come to the rescue of the imperilled institutions. And
Montague believed what he read, and went his way.

Three or four days after the crisis had developed, he had an
engagement to dine with his friend Harvey. Montague was tired after
a long day in court, and as no one else was coming, and he did not
intend to dress, he walked up town from his office to Harvey's
hotel, a place of entertainment much frequented by Society people.
Harvey rented an entire floor, and had had it redecorated especially
to suit his taste.

"How do you do, Mr. Montague?" said the clerk, when he went to the
desk. "Mr. Harvey left a note for you."

Montague opened the envelope, and read a hurried scrawl to the
effect that Harvey had just got word that a bank of which he was a
director was in trouble, and that he would have to attend a meeting
that evening. He had telephoned both to Montague's office and to his
hotel, without being able to find him.

Montague turned away. He had no place to go, for his own family was
out of town; consequently he strolled into the dining-room and ate
by himself. Afterwards he came out into the lobby, and bought
several evening papers, and stood glancing over the head-lines.

Suddenly a man strode in at the door, and he looked up. It was
Winton Duval, the banker; Montague had never seen him since the time
when they had parted in Mrs. Winnie's drawing-room. He did not see
Montague, but strode past, his brows knit in thought, and entered
one of the elevators.

A moment later Montague heard a voice at his side. "How do you do,
Mr. Montague?"

He turned. It was Mr. Lyon, the manager of the hotel, whom Siegfried
Harvey had once introduced to him. "Have you come to attend the
conference?" said he.

"Conference?" said Montague. "No."

"There's a big meeting of the bankers here to-night," remarked the
other. "It's not supposed to be known, so don't mention it.--How do
you do, Mr. Ward?" he added, to a man who went past. "That's David
Ward."

"Ah," said Montague. Ward was known in the Street by the nickname of
Waterman's "office-boy." He was a high-salaried office-
boy--Waterman paid him a hundred thousand a year to manage one of
the big insurance companies for him.

"So he's here, is he?" said Montague.

"Waterman is here himself," said Lyon. "He came in by the side
entrance. It's something especially secret, I gather--they've rented
eight rooms upstairs, all connecting. Waterman will go in at one
end, and Duval at the other, and so the reporters won't know they're
together!"

"So that's the way they work it!" said Montague, with a smile.

"I've been looking for some of the newspaper men," Lyon added. "But
they don't seem to have caught on."

He strolled away, and Montague stood watching the people in the
lobby. He saw Jim Hegan come and enter the elevator, in company with
an elderly man whom he recognised as Bascom, the president of the
Empire Bank, Waterman's own institution. He saw two other men whom
he knew as leading bankers of the System; and then, as he glanced
toward the desk, he saw a tall, broad-shouldered man, who had been
talking to the clerk, turn around, and reveal himself as his friend
Bates, of the Express.

"Humph!" thought Montague. "The newspaper men are 'on,' after all."

He saw Bates's glance sweep the lobby and rest upon him. Montague
made a movement of greeting with his hand, but Bates did not reply.
Instead, he strolled toward him, went by without looking at him,
and, as he passed, whispered in a low, quick voice, "Please come
into the writing-room!"

Montague stood for a moment, wondering; then he followed. Bates went
to a corner of the room and seated himself. Montague joined him.

The reporter darted a quick glance about, then began hastily:
"Excuse me, Mr. Montague, I didn't want anyone to see us talking. I
want to ask you to do me a favour."

"What is it?"

"I'm running down a story. It is something very important. I can't
explain it to you now, but I want to get a certain room in this
hotel. You have an opportunity to do me the service of a lifetime.
I'll explain it to you as soon as we are alone."

"What do you want me to do?" asked Montague.

"I want to rent room four hundred and seven," said Bates. "If I
can't get four hundred and seven, I want five hundred and seven, or
six hundred and seven. I daren't ask for it myself, because the
clerk knows me. But he'll let you have it."

"But how shall I ask for it?" said Montague.

"Just ask," said Bates; "it will be all right."

Montague looked at him. He could see that his friend was labouring
under great excitement.

"Please! please!" he whispered, putting his hand on Montague's arm.
And Montague said, "All right."

He got up and strolled into the lobby again, and went to the desk.

"Good evening, Mr. Montague," said the clerk. "Mr. Harvey hasn't
returned."

"I know it," said Montague. "I would like to get a room for the
evening. I would like to be near a friend. Could I get a room on the
fourth floor?"

"Fourth?" said the clerk, and turned to look at his schedule on the
wall. "Whereabouts--front or back?"

"Have you four hundred and five?" asked Montague.

"Four hundred and five? No, that's rented. We have four hundred and
one--four hundred and six, on the other side of the hall--four
hundred and seven--"

"I'll take four hundred and seven," said Montague.

"Four dollars a day," said the clerk, as he took down the key.

Not having any baggage, Montague paid in advance, and followed the
boy to the elevator. Bates followed him, and another man, a little
wiry chap, carrying a dress-suit case, also entered with them, and
got out at the fourth floor.

The boy opened the door, and the three men entered the room. The boy
turned on the light, and proceeded to lower the shades and the
windows, and to do enough fixing to earn his tip. Then he went out,
closing the door behind him; and Bates sank upon the bed and put his
hands to his forehead and gasped, "Oh, my God."

The young man who accompanied him had set down his suit-case, and he
now sat down on one of the chairs, and proceeded to lean back and
laugh hilariously.

Montague stood staring from one to the other.

"My God, my God!" said Bates, again. "I hope I may never go through
with a job like this---I believe my hair will be grey before
morning!"

"You forget that you haven't told me yet what's the matter," said
Montague.

"Sure enough," said Bates.

And suddenly he sat up and stared at him.

"Mr. Montague," he exclaimed, "don't go back on us! You've no idea
how I've been working--and it will be the biggest scoop of a
lifetime. Promise me that you won't give us away!"

"I cannot promise you," said Montague, laughing in spite of himself,
"until you tell me what it is."

"I'm afraid you are not going to like it," said Bates. "It was a
mean trick to play on you, but I was desperate. I didn't dare take
the risk myself, and Rodney wasn't dressed for the occasion."

"You haven't introduced your friend," said Montague.

"Oh, excuse me," said Bates. "Mr. Rodney, one of our office-men."

"And now tell me about it," said Montague, taking a seat.

"It's the conference," said Bates. "We got a tip about it an hour or
so ago. They meet in the room underneath us."

"What of it?" asked Montague.

"We want to find out what's going on," said Bates.

"But how?"

"Through the window. We've got a rope here." And Bates pointed
toward the suitcase.

Montague stared at him, dumfounded. "A rope!" he gasped. "You are
going to let him down from the window?"

"Sure thing," said Bates; "it's a rear window, and quite safe."

"But for Heaven's sake, man!" gasped the other, "suppose the rope
breaks?"

"Oh, it won't break," was the reply; "we've got the right sort of
rope."

"But how will you ever get him up again?" Montague exclaimed.

"That's all right," said Bates; "he can climb up, or else we can let
him down to the ground. We've got rope enough."

"But suppose he loses his grip! Suppose--"

"That's all right," said Bates, easily. "You leave that to Rodney.
He's nimble--he began life as a steeple-jack. That's why I picked
him."

Rodney grinned. "I'll take my chances," he said.

Montague gazed from one to the other, unable to think of another
word to say.

"Tell me, Mr. Bates," he asked finally, "do you often do this in
your profession?"

"I've done it once before," was the reply. "I wanted some
photographs in a murder case. I've often tried back windows, and
fire-escapes, and such things. I used to be a police reporter, you
know, and I learned bad habits."

"But," said Montague, "suppose you were caught?"

"Oh, pshaw!" said he. "The office would soon fix that up. The police
never bother a newspaper man."

There was a pause. "Mr. Montague," said Bates, earnestly, "I know
this is a tough proposition--but think what it means. We get word
about this conference. Waterman is here--and Duval--think of that!
Dan Waterman and the Oil Trust getting together! The managing editor
sent for me himself, and he said, 'Bates, get that story.' And what
am I to do? There's about as much chance of my finding out what goes
on in that conference--"

He stopped. "Think of what it may mean, Mr. Montague," he cried.
"They will decide on to-morrow's moves! It may turn the stock market
upside down. Think of what you could do with the information!"

"No," said Montague, shaking his head; "don't go at me that way."

Bates was gazing at him. "I beg your pardon," he said; "but then
maybe you have interests of your own; or your friends--surely this
situation--"

"No, not that either," said Montague, smiling; and Bates broke into
a laugh.

"Well, then," he said, "just for the sport of it! Just to fool
them!"

"That's more like it," said Montague.

"Of course, it's your room," said Bates. "You can stop us, if you
insist. But you needn't stay if you don't want to. We'll take all
the risk; and you may be sure that if we were caught, the hotel
would suppress it. You can trust me to clear your name--"

"I'll stay," said Montague. "I'll see it through."

Bates jumped up and stretched out his hand. "Good!" he cried. "Put
it there!"

In the meantime, Rodney pounced upon the dress-suit case, and opened
it, taking out a coil of wire rope, very light and flexible, and a
short piece of board. He proceeded to make a loop with the rope, and
in this he fixed the board for a seat. He then took the blankets
from the bed and folded them. He took out a pair of heavy calfskin
gloves, which he tossed to Bates, and a ball of twine, one end of
which he tied about his wrist. He tossed the ball on the floor, and
then turned out the lights in the room, raised the shade of the
window, and placed the bundle of blankets upon the sill.

"All ready," he said.

Bates put on the gloves and seized the rope, and Rodney adjusted the
seat under his thighs. "You hold the blankets, if you will be so
good, Mr. Montague, and keep them in place, if you can."

And Bates uncoiled some of the rope, and passed it over the top of
the large bureau which stood beside the window. He brought the rope
down to the middle of the body of the bureau, so that by this means
he could diminish the pull of Rodney's weight.

"Steady now," said the latter; and he climbed over the sill, and,
holding on with his hands, gradually put his weight against the
rope.

"Now! All ready," he whispered.

Bates grasped the line, and, bracing his knees against the bureau,
paid the rope out inch by inch. Montague held the blankets in place
in the corner, and Rodney's shoulders and head gradually disappeared
below the sill. He was still holding on with his hands, however.

"All right," he whispered, and let go, and slowly the rope slid
past.

Montague's heart was beating fast with excitement, but Bates was
calm and businesslike. After he had let out several turns of the
rope, he stopped and whispered, "Look out now."

Montague leaned over the sill. He could see a stream of light from
the window below him. Rodney was standing upon the cornice at the
top of the window.

"Lower," said Montague, as he drew in his head, and once more Bates
paid out.

"Now," he whispered, and Montague looked again. Rodney had cleverly
pushed himself by the corner of the cornice, and kept himself at one
side of the window, so that he would not be visible from the inside
of the room. He made a frantic signal with his hand, and Montague
drew back and whispered, "Lower!"

The next time he looked out, Rodney was standing upon the sill of
the window, leaning to one side.

"Now, make fast," muttered Bates. And while he held the rope,
Montague took it and wound it again around the bureau, and then
carried it over and made it fast to the leg of the bath-tub.

"I guess that will hold all right," said Bates; and he went to the
window and picked up the ball of cord, the other end of which was
tied around Rodney's wrist.

"This is for signals," he said. "Morse telegraph."

"Good heavens!" gasped Montague. "You didn't leave much to chance."

"Couldn't afford to," said Bates. "Keep still!"

Montague saw that the hand which held the cord was being jerked.

"W-i-n-d-o-w o-p-e-n," said Bates; and added, "By the Lord! we've
got them!"






CHAPTER XIX





Montague brought a couple of chairs, and the two seated themselves
at the window for a long wait.

"How did you learn about this conference?" asked Montague.

"Be careful," whispered the other in his ear. "We mustn't make a
noise, because Rodney will need quiet to hear them."

Montague saw that the cord was jerking again. Bates spelled out the
letters one by one.

"W-a-t-e-r-m-a-n. D-u-v-a-l. He's telling us who's there. David
Ward. Hegan. Prentice."

"Prentice!" whispered Montague. "Why, he's up in the Adirondacks!"

"He came down on a special train to-day," whispered the other. "Ward
telegraphed him--I think that's where we got our tip. Henry
Patterson. He's the real head of the Oil Trust now. Bascom of the
Empire Bank. He's Waterman's man."

"You can imagine from that list that there's something big going
on," Bates muttered; and he spelled the names of several other
bankers, heads of the most important institutions in Wall Street.

"Talking about Stewart," spelled out Rodney.

"That's ancient history," muttered Bates. "He's a dead one."

"P-r-i-c-e," spelled Rodney.

"Price!" exclaimed Montague.

"Yes," said the other. "I saw him down in the lobby. I rather
thought he'd come."

"But to a conference with Waterman!" exclaimed Montague.

"That's all right," said Bates. "Why not?"

"But they are deadly enemies!"

"Oh," said the other, "you don't want to let yourself believe things
like that."

"What do you mean?" protested Montague. "Do you suppose they're not
enemies?"

"I certainly do suppose it," said Bates.

"But, man! I can give you positive facts that prove they are."

"For every fact that you bring," laughed the other, "I can bring
half a dozen to show you they are not."

"But that is perfectly absurd!" began Montague.

"Hush," said Bates, and he waited while the string jerked.

"I-c-e," spelled Rodney.

"That's Cummings--another dead one," said Bates. "My Lord, but they
did him up brown!"

"Who did it?" asked Montague.

"Waterman," answered the other. "The Steamship Trust was competing
with his New England railroads, and now it's in the hands of a
receiver. Before long you'll hear that he's gathered it in."

"Then you think this last smash-up was planned?" said he.

"Planned! My Heavens, man, it was the greatest gobbling up of the
little fish that I have ever known since I've been in Wall Street!"

"And it was Waterman?"

"With the Oil Trust. They were after young Stewart. You see, he beat
them out in Montana, and they had to buy him off for ten million
dollars. But he was fool enough to come to New York and go in for
banking; and now they've got his banks, and a good part of his ten
millions as well!"

"It takes a man's breath away," said Montague.

"Just save your breath-you'll need it to-night," said Bates, drily.

The other sat in thought for a moment. "We were talking about
Price," he whispered. "Do you mean John S. Price?"

"There is only one Price that I know of," was the reply.

"And you don't believe that he and Waterman are enemies?"

"I mean that Price is simply one of Waterman's agents in every big
thing he does."

"But, man! Doesn't he own the Mississippi Steel Company?"

"He owns it for Waterman," said Bates.

"But that is impossible," cried Montague. "Isn't Waterman interested
in the Steel Trust? And isn't Mississippi Steel its chief
competitor?"

"It is supposed to be," said the other. "But that is simply a bluff
to fool the public. There has been no real competition between them
ever since four years ago, when Price raided the stock and captured
it for Waterman."

Montague was staring at his friend, almost speechless with
amazement.

"Mr. Bates," he said, "it happens that I was very recently connected
with Price and the Mississippi Steel Company in a very intimate way;
and I know most positively that what you say is not true."

"It's very hard to answer a statement like that," Bates responded.
"I'd have to know just what your facts are. But they'd have to be
very convincing indeed to make an impression upon me, for I ran that
story down pretty thoroughly. I got it straight from the inside, and
I got all the details of it. I nailed Price down, right in his own
office. The only trouble was that my people wouldn't print the
facts."

It was some time before Montague spoke again. He was groping around
in his own mind, trying to grasp the significance of what Bates had
said.

"But Price was fighting Waterman!" he whispered. "The whole crowd
were fighting him! That was the whole purpose of what they were
doing. It had no sense otherwise."

"But are you sure?" asked the other. "Think it over. Suppose they
were only pretending to fight."

There was a silence again.

"Mind you," Bates added, "I am only speaking about Price himself. I
don't know about any people he may have been with. He may have been
deceiving them--he may have been leading them into a trap--"

And suddenly Montague clutched the arms of his chair. He sat staring
ahead of him, struck dumb by the thought which the other's words had
brought to him. "My God," he gasped; and again, and yet again, "My
God!"

It seemed to unroll before him, in vista after vista. Price
deceiving Ryder! leading him into that Northern Mississippi deal;
getting him to lend money upon the stock of the Mississippi Steel
Company; promising, perhaps, to support the stock in the market, and
helping to smash it instead! Twisting Ryder around his finger,
crushing him--and why? And why?

Montague's thoughts stopped still. It was as if he had found himself
suddenly confronted by a bottomless abyss. He shrank back from it.
He could not face the thought in his own mind. Waterman! It was Dan
Waterman! It was something which he had planned! It was the
vengeance that he had threatened! He had been all this time plotting
it, setting his nets about Ryder's feet!

It was an idea so wild and so horrible that Montague fought it off.
He pushed it away from him, again and again. No, no, it could not
be!

And yet, why not? He had always felt certain in his own mind that
that detective had come from Waterman. The old man had set to work
to find out about Lucy and her affairs, the first time that he had
ever laid eyes on her. And then suddenly Montague saw the face of
volcanic fury that had flashed past him on board the _BrГјnnhilde_.
"You will hear from me again," the old man had said; and now, all
these months of silence--and at last he heard!

Why not? Why not? Montague kept asking himself. After all, what did
he know about the Mississippi Steel Company? What had he ever seen
to prove that it was actually competing with the Trust? What had he
even heard, except what Stanley Ryder had told him; and what more
likely than that Ryder was simply repeating what Price had said?

Montague had forgotten all about his present situation in the rush
of thoughts which had come to him. The cord had been jerking again,
and had spelled out the names of several more of the masters of the
city who had arrived; but he had not heard their names. "What object
would there be," he asked, "in keeping the fact a secret--I mean
that Price was Waterman's agent?"

"Object!" exclaimed Bates. "Good Heavens, and with the public half
crazy about monopolies, and the President making such a fight! If it
were known that the Steel Trust had gathered in its last big
competitor, you can't tell what the Government might do!"

"I see," said Montague. "And how long has this been?"

"Four years," was the reply; "all they're waiting for is some
occasion like this, when they can put the Company in a hole, and
pose as benefactors in taking it over."

"I see," said Montague, again.

"Listen," said Bates, and leaned out of the window. He could catch
faintly the sounds of a deep voice in the consultation room.

"W-a-t-e-r-m-a-n," spelled Rodney.

"I guess business has begun," whispered Bates.

"Situation intolerable," spelled Rodney. "End wildcat banking."

"That means end of opposition to me," was the other's comment.

"Duval assents," continued Rodney.

The two in the window were on edge by this time. It was tantalising
to have to wait several minutes, and then get only such snatches.

"But they'll get past the speech-making pretty soon," whispered
Bates; and indeed they did.

The next two words which the cord spelled out made Montague sit up
and clutch the arms of his chair again.

"Gotham Trust!"

"Ah!" whispered Bates. Montague made not a sound.

"Ryder misusing," spelled the cord.

Bates seized his companion by the arm, and leaned close to him. "By
the Lord!" he whispered breathlessly, "I wonder if they're going to
smash the Gotham Trust!"

"Refuse clearing," spelled Rodney; and Montague felt Bates's hand
trembling. "They refuse to clear for Ryder!" he panted.

Montague was beyond all speech; he sat as if turned to stone.

"To-morrow morning," spelled the cord.

Bates could hardly keep still for his excitement.

"Do you catch what that means?" he whispered. "The Clearing-house is
to throw out the Gotham Trust!"

"Why, they'll wreck it!" panted the other.

"My God, my God, they're mad!" cried Bates. "Don't they realise what
they'll do? There'll be a panic such as New York has never seen
before! It will bring down every bank in the city! The Gotham Trust!
Think of it!--the Gotham Trust!"

"Prentice objects," came Rodney's next message.

"Objects!" exclaimed Bates, striking his knee in repressed
excitement. "I should think he might object. If the Gotham Trust
goes down, the Trust Company of the Republic won't live for
twenty-four hours."

"Afraid," spelled the cord. "Patterson angry."

"Much he has to lose," muttered Bates.

Montague started up and began to pace the room. "Oh, this is
horrible, horrible!" he exclaimed.

Through all the images of the destruction and suffering which
Bates's words brought up before him, his thoughts flew back to a
pale and sad-faced little woman, sitting alone in an apartment up
on the Riverside. It was to her that it all came back; it was for
her that this terrible drama was being enacted. Montague could
picture the grim, hawk-faced old man, sitting at the head of the
council board, and laying down the law to the masters of the
Metropolis. And this man's thoughts, too, went back to Lucy--his
and Montague's alone, of all those who took part in the struggle!

"Waterman protect Prentice," spelled Rodney. "Insist turn out Ryder.
Withdraw funds."

"There's no doubt of it," whispered Bates; "they can finish him if
they choose. But oh, my Lord, what will happen in New York to-
morrow!'

"Ward protect legitimate banks," was the next message.

"The little whelp!" sneered Bates. "By legitimate banks he means
those that back his syndicates. A lot of protecting he will do!"

But then the newspaper man in Bates rose to the surface. "Oh, what a
story," he whispered, clenching his hands, and pounding his knees.
"Oh, what a story!"

Montague carried away but a faint recollection of the rest of
Rodney's communications; he was too much overwhelmed by his own
thoughts. Bates, however, continued to spell out the words; and he
caught the statement that General Prentice, who was a director in
the Gotham Trust, was to vote against any plan to close the doors of
that institution. While they were after it, they were going to
finish it.

Also he caught the sentence, "Panic useful, curb President!" And he
heard Bates's excited exclamations over that. "Did you catch that?"
he cried. "That's Waterman! Oh, the nerve of it! We are in at the
making of history to-night, Mr. Montague."

Perhaps half an hour later, Montague, standing beside Bates, saw his
hand jerked violently several times.

"That means pull up!" cried he. "Quick!"

And he seized the rope. "Put your weight on it," he whispered. "It
will hold."

They proceeded to haul. Rodney helped them by catching hold of the
cornice of the window and lifting himself. Then there was a moment
of great straining, during which Montague held his breath; after
which the weight grew lighter again. Rodney had got his knees upon
the cornice.

A few moments later his fingers appeared, clutching the edge of the
sill. He swung himself up, and Montague and Bates grasped him under
the arms, and fairly jerked him into the room.

He staggered to his feet; and there was a moment's pause, while all
three caught their breath. Then Rodney leaped at Bates, and grasped
him by the shoulders. "Old man!" he cried. "We landed them! We
landed them!"

"We landed them!" laughed the other in exultation.

"Oh, what a scoop!" shouted Rodney. "There was never one like it."

The two were like schoolboys in their glee. They hugged each other,
and laughed and danced about. But it was not long before they became
serious again. Montague turned on the lights, and pulled down the
window; and Rodney stood there, with his clothing dishevelled and
his face ablaze with excitement, and talked to them.

"Oh, you can't imagine that scene!" he said. "It makes my hair stand
on end to think of it. Just fancy--I was not more than twenty feet
from Dan Waterman, and most of the time he seemed to be glaring
right at me. I hardly dared wink, for fear he'd notice; and I
thought every instant he would jump up and run to the window. But
there he sat, and pounded on the table, and glared about at those
fellows, and laid down the law to them."

"I've heard him talk," said Bates. "I know how it is."

"Why, he fairly knocked them over!" said the other. "You could have
heard a pin drop when he got through. Oh, it was a mad thing to
see!"

"I've hardly been able to get my breath," said Bates. "I can't
believe it."

"They have no idea what it will mean," said Montague.

"They know," said Rodney; "but they don't care. They've smelt blood.
That's about the size of it--they were like a lot of hounds on the
trail. You should have seen Waterman, with that lean, hungry face of
his. 'The time has come,' said he. 'There's no one here but has
known that sooner or later this work had to be done. We must crush
them, once and for all time!' And you should have seen him turn on
Prentice, when he ventured a word."

"Prentice doesn't like it, then?" asked Montague.

"I should think he wouldn't!" put in Bates.

"Waterman said he'd protect him," said Rodney. "But he must place
himself absolutely in their hands. It seems that the Trust Company
of the Republic has a million dollars with the Gotham Trust, and
that's to be withdrawn."

"Imagine it!" gasped Bates.

"And wait!" exclaimed the other; "then they got on to politics. I
would have given one arm if I could have got a photograph of Dan
Waterman at that moment--just to spread it before the American
people and ask them what they thought of it! David Ward had made the
remark that 'A little trouble mightn't have a bad effect just now.'
And Waterman brought down his fist on the table. 'This country needs
a lesson,' he cried. 'There's been too much abuse of responsible
men, and there's been too much wild talk in high places. If the
people get a little taste of hard times, they'll have something else
to think about besides abusing those who have made the prosperity of
the country; and it seems to me, gentlemen, that we have it in our
power to put an end to this campaign of radicalism.'"