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 _Brünnhilde_.
“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.'”
“Think of it, think of it!” gasped Bates. “The old devil!”
“And then Duval chimed in, with a laugh, 'To put it in a nutshell,
gentlemen, we are going to smash Ryder and scare the President!'”
“Was the conference over?” asked Bates, after a moment's pause.
“All but the hand-shakes,” said the other. “I didn't dare to stay
while they were moving about.”
And Bates started suddenly to his feet. “Come!” he said. “We haven't
any time to waste. Our work isn't done yet, by a long sight.”
He proceeded to untie the rope and coil it up. Rodney took the
blanket and put it on the bed, covering it with the spread, so as to
conceal the holes which had been worn by the rope. He wound up the
ball of cord, and dropped it into the bag with the rest of the
stuff. Bates took his hat and coat and started for the door.
“You will excuse us, Mr. Montague,” he said. “You can understand
that this story will need a lot of work.”
“I understand,” said Montague.
“We'll try to thank you by and by,” added the other. “Come around
after the paper goes to press, and we'll have a celebration.”