While Philip was speeding to Washington, an important conference was taking place in Murad Ault’s office.  He was seated at his desk, and before him lay two despatches, one from Chicago and a cable from London.  Opposite him, leaning forward in his chair, was a lean, hatchet-faced man, with keen eyes and aquiline nose, who watched his old curbstone confidant like a cat.

“I tell you, Wheatstone,” said Mr. Ault, with an unmoved face, bringing his fist down on the table, “now is the time to sell these three stocks.”

“Why,” said Mr. Wheatstone, with a look of wonder, “they are about the strongest on the list.  Mavick controls them.”

“Does he?” said Ault.  “Then he can take care of them.”

“Have you any news, Mr. Ault?”

“Nothing to speak of,” replied Ault, grimly.  “It just looks so to me.  All you’ve got to do is to sell.  Make a break this afternoon, about two or three points off.”

“They are too strong,” protested Mr. Wheatstone.

“That is just the reason.  Everybody will think something must be the matter, or nobody would be fool enough to sell.  You keep your eye on the Spectrum this afternoon and tomorrow morning.  About Organization and one or two other matters.”

“Ah, they do say that Mavick is in Argentine up to his neck,” said the broker, beginning to be enlightened.

“Is he?  Then you think he would rather sell than buy?”

Mr. Wheatstone laughed and looked admiringly at his leader.  “He may have to.”

Mr. Ault took up the cable cipher and read it to himself again.  If Mr. Hunt had known its contents he need not have waited for Philip to telegraph “no” from Washington.

“It’s all right, Wheatstone.  It’s the biggest thing you ever struck.  Pitch ’em overboard in the morning.  The Street is shaky about Argentine.  There’ll be h—–­to pay before half past twelve.  I guess you can safely go ten points.  Lower yet, if Mavick’s brokers begin to unload.  I guess he will have to unless he can borrow.  Rumor is a big thing, especially in a panic, eh?  Keep your eye peeled.  And, oh, won’t you ask Babcock to step round here?”

Mr. Babcock came round, and had his instructions when to buy.  He had the reputation of being a reckless broker, and not a safe man to follow.

The panic next day, both in London and New York, was long remembered.  In the unreasoning scare the best stocks were sacrificed.  Small country “investors” lost their stakes.  Some operators were ruined.  Many men were poorer at the end of the scrimmage, and a few were richer.  Murad Ault was one of the latter.  Mavick pulled through, though at an enormous cost, and with some diminution of the notion of his solidity.  The wise ones suspected that his resources had been overestimated, or that they were not so well at his command as had been supposed.

When he went home that night he looked five years older, and was too worn and jaded to be civil to his family.  The dinner passed mostly in silence.  Carmen saw that something serious had happened.  Lord Montague had called.