and dollars and smilingly took
his place among the crowd before the board. He was never surer of
anything in his life than he was of Adam's sincerity. He prided himself
on the fact that he was a judge of character. He was sure the cashier
was wrong in his accounts; he was equally sure that the information he
had received from Bivens's private secretary was accurate, provided, of
course, the little weasel carried out the program he had mapped out.

The ticker would tell the story in the first hour. If stocks should
sell off three points before noon, he would know. He determined to put
this to the test first. He would not sell the market short. He would be
content with the big jump the market would make upward when it started.

The ticker began its sharp metallic click.

The crowd stirred as if the electric shock had swept every nerve. A
moment of breathless silence and the board boy leaning over the ticker
shouted:

"Atch--92-1/2!"

A groan, low, half-stifled, half-articulate came from the room and then
a moment of silence followed.

"There, Gott," muttered the "Judge." "I knew London was rigged--I told
you so!"

In quick, sharp, startling tones the man at the ticker called out the
quotations as the market rapidly sank.

For half an hour the downward movement never paused for a moment. The
silence of the crowded room became more and more suffocating. Men stood
in their tracks with staring eyes and dry lips as they watched the last
hope of a morning rally fade into despair.

The doctor's breath came quicker and his eyes began to sparkle intense
excitement.

Now and then old Dugro's stolid face appeared at the door and summoned
another man to his inner office--"the chamber of horrors"--where the
lambs are sheared. The story was always the same. The customer squirmed
and asked for a little more time to watch the market. The old man was
adamant.

"I've got to have more money to margin your stock or I'll sell it in
five minutes. This firm is sound as a dollar and it's going to stay
sound as long as I'm at the helm. If I carry weak accounts I imperil
the money of every man who has put his faith in my bank."

If the squirming victim had more money he always put it up. If he had
drawn his last dollar he just wiped the cold sweat from his brow and
gasped:

"You'll have to sell out."

Quick as a flash the old man's hand was on the telephone and his broker
on the floor of the Exchange was executing the order.