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.