The Moneychangers Part 40

Montague sat rigid. "But I thought they had promised to protect Prentice!" he exclaimed.

"Yes," said Bates, grimly; "and now they throw him down."

"Do you suppose Waterman knew that?"

"Why, of course; Ward is no more than one of his clerks."

"And will the Despatch print it, do you suppose?"

"I don't know why not," said the other. "I asked Gary if he was going to put it in, and he said 'Yes.' 'It will make another panic,'

I said, and he answered, 'Panics are news.'"

Montague said nothing for a minute or two. Finally he remarked, "I have good reason to believe that the Trust Company of the Republic is perfectly sound."

"I have no doubt of it," was the reply.

"Then why--" He stopped.

Bates shrugged his shoulders. "Ask Waterman," he said. "It's some quarrel or other; he wants to put the screws on somebody. Perhaps it's simply that two trust companies will scare the President more than one; or perhaps it's some stock he wants to break. I've heard it said that he has seventy-five millions laid by to pick up bargains with; and I shouldn't wonder if it was true."

There was a moment's pause. "And by the way," Bates added, "the Oil Trust has made another haul! The Electric Manufacturing Company is in trouble--that's a rival of one of their enterprises! Doesn't it all fit together beautifully?"

Montague thought for a moment or two. "This is rather important news to me," he said; "I've got money in the Trust Company of the Republic. Do you suppose they are going to let it go down?"

"I talked it over with Rodney," the other replied. "He says Waterman was quite explicit in his promises to see Prentice through. And there's one thing you can say about old Dan--for all his villainies, he never breaks his word. So I imagine he'll save it."

"But then, why give out this report?" exclaimed the lawyer.

"Don't you see?" said Bates. "He wants a chance to save it."

Montague's jaw fell. "Oh!" he said.

"It's as plain as the nose on your face," said Bates. "That story will come out to-morrow morning, and everybody will say it was the blunder of a newspaper reporter; and then Waterman will come forward and do the rescue act. It'll be just like a play."

"It's taking a long chance," said Montague, and added, "I had thought of telling Prentice, who's an intimate friend of mine; but I don't suppose it will do him any good."

"Poor old Prentice can't help himself," was the reply. "All you can do is to make him lose a night's sleep."

Montague went out, with a new set of problems to ponder. As he went home, he pa.s.sed the magnificent building of the Gotham Trust Company, where there stood a long line of people who had prepared to spend the night. All the afternoon a frantic mob had besieged the doors, and millions of dollars had been withdrawn in a few hours.

Montague knew that by the time he got down town the next morning there would be another such mob in front of the Trust Company of the Republic; but he was determined to stand by his own resolve.

However, he had sent a telegram to Oliver, warning him to return at once.

He went home and found there another letter from Lucy Dupree.

"Dear Allan," she wrote. "No doubt you have heard the news that Ryder has been forced out of the Gotham Trust. But I have accomplished part of my purpose--Waterman has promised that he will put him on his feet again after this trouble is over. In the meantime, I am told to go away. This is for the best; you will remember that you yourself urged me to go. Ryder cannot see me, because the newspaper reporters are following him so closely.

"I beg of you not to try to find me. I am hateful in my own sight, and you will never see me again. There is one last thing that you can do for me. Go to Stanley Ryder and offer him your help--I mean your advice in straightening out his affairs. He has no friends now, and he is in a desperate plight. Do this for me. Lucy."

CHAPTER XXII

At eight the next morning the train from the Adirondacks arrived, and Montague was awakened by his brother at the telephone. "Have you seen this morning's Despatch?" was Oliver's first word.

"I haven't seen it," said Montague; "but I know what's in it."

"About the Trust Company of the Republic?" asked Oliver.

"Yes," said the other. "I was told the story before I telegraphed you."

"But my G.o.d, man," cried Oliver--"then why aren't you down town?"

"I'm going to let my money stay."

"What?"

"I believe that the inst.i.tution is sound; and I am not going to leave Prentice in the lurch. I telegraphed you, so that you could do as you chose."

It was a moment or two before Oliver could find words to reply.

"Thanks!" he said. "You might have done a little more--sent somebody down to keep a place in line for me. You're out of your mind, but there's no time to talk about it now. Good-by." And so he rang off.

Montague dressed and had his breakfast; in the meantime he glanced over a copy of the Despatch, where, in the account of the day's events, he found the fatal statements about the Trust Company of the Republic. It was very interesting to Montague to read these newspapers and see the picture of events which they presented to the public. They all told what they could not avoid telling--that is, the events which were public matters; but they never by any chance gave a hint of the reasons for the happenings--you would have supposed that all these upheavals in the banking world were so many thunderbolts which had fallen from the heavens above. And each day they gave more of their s.p.a.ce to insisting that the previous day's misfortunes were the last--that by no chance could there be any more thunderbolts to fall.

When he went down town, he rode one station farther than usual in order to pa.s.s the Trust Company of the Republic. He found a line of people extending halfway round the block, and in the minute that he stood watching there were a score or more added to it. Police were patrolling up and down--it was not many hours later that they were compelled to adopt the expedient of issuing numbered tickets to those who waited in the line.

Montague walked on toward the front, looking for his brother. But he had not gone very far before he gave an exclamation of amazement. He saw a short, stout, grey-haired figure, which he recognised, even by its back. "Major Venable!" he gasped.

The Major whirled about. "Montague!" he exclaimed. "My G.o.d, you are just in time to save my life!"

"What do you want?" asked the other.

"I want a chair!" gasped the Major, whose purple features seemed about to burst with his unwonted exertions. "I've been standing here for two hours. In another minute more I should have sat down on the sidewalk."

"Where can I get a chair?" asked Montague, biting his tongue in order to repress his amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Over on Broadway," said the Major. "Go into one of the stores, and make somebody sell you one. Pay anything--I don't care."

So Montague went back, and entered a leather-goods store, where he saw several cane-seated chairs. He was free to laugh then all he pleased; and he explained the situation to one of the clerks, who demurred at five dollars, but finally consented for ten dollars to take the risk of displeasing his employer. For fifty cents more Montague found a boy to carry it, and he returned in triumph to his venerable friend.

"I never expected to see you in a position like this," he remarked.

"I thought you always knew things in advance."

"By the Lord, Montague!" muttered the other, "I've got a quarter of a million in this place."

"I've got about one-fourth as much myself," said Montague.