“We don’t know, ourselves,” he cried. “The market has run clean away from everybody. You know as much about it as I do. It’s simply hell broken loose, that’s all. We can’t tell where we are at for days to come.”

Landry rushed on. He swung open the door of the private office and entered, slamming it behind him and crying out:

“ Mr. Gretry, what are we to do? We’ve had no orders.”

But no one listened to him. Of the group that gathered around Gretry’s desk, no one so much as turned a head.

Jadwin stood there in the centre of the others, hatless, his face pale, his eyes congested with blood. Gretry fronted him, one hand upon his arm. In the remainder of the group Landry recognised the senior clerk of the office, one of the heads of a great banking house, and a couple of other men⁠—confidential agents, who had helped to manipulate the great corner.