Steele bought a paper, and the glance he bestowed upon the black headlines rooted him to the pavement.
“Financial Thunderbolt,” he read. “No dividend for Rockervelt shareholders. Panic on the Stock Exchange this afternoon. Heavy drop in all securities. Rockervelt stocks leading the rout. Are we on the verge of a crisis? Fall of twenty-eight points in Rockervelt holdings when the Stock Exchange closed. Fears for tomorrow.”
“Twenty-eight points,” muttered the grave young man to himself. “That means a loss to me of nearly two hundred thousand dollars!”
Without reading further particulars, Steele thrust the paper into his pocket, and continued his journey to the club. His mind was in a whirl, but clenching his teeth, he strove to rearrange his thoughts and settle upon a course of action. It was too late that day to do anything. If he had only known of this disaster as soon as it occurred; if he had had word as early as was possible after the passing of the dividend, he might have got out without a loss of more than thirty or forty thousand dollars perhaps. What an innocent lamb he had been; almost begging to be shorn. Not a single precaution had he taken. It needed but a word to Philip Manson in New York, and a telegram would have apprised him at once of what had happened in the general meeting; yet here he had remained buried up to the eyes in the business of this corporation, which had evidently been engaged in a gigantic game of thimble-rigging; working like a fool while all the world knew of the topical item except himself. The reason of this complete absorption in duty suddenly struck him like a blow in the face, and he stood still at the thought of it. Blair had put upon his shoulders the burden of general manager without relieving him of the task of division superintendent, and he had been struggling to fulfil adequately the obligations of both offices. Had Blair done this for a purpose? One suspicion led to another. Might not the whole net in which he found himself enmeshed be of the general manager’s weaving? If so, Blair had found him an easy victim.
His meal at the club, instead of being snatched as he had intended, was a most leisurely one, but his appetite was gone and he ate little. He did not go back to his office, but walked up the avenue to Colonel Beck’s house, only to find that the Colonel and his niece had gone out for the evening.
John Steele was at his broker’s office the moment it was opened. A crowd was collected before the place, but only those were allowed in who had dealings with the firm.
“I was just about to telegraph you,” said the junior partner, who received Steele in his private office. “I rather expected you in yesterday, but as we had no instructions we held on.”
“Why didn’t you telegraph me yesterday?”
“Why?” asked the broker, justly indignant at such a childish suggestion. “You left no instructions, and as every ticker in town announced the news, I did not think it necessary. The fact is that as soon as the announcement came we were so busy here that no one in the office had time to turn round. The crash was so unsuspected we were not prepared.”
“It seems to me,” said John bitterly, “that a firm like yours, intimately connected with the Rockervelt interests, should have had some idea of what was coming.”