As that last word jerked letter by letter from under the printing wheel the floor of the Stock Exchange became the rapids of a human Niagara. By messenger, by telegraph, by telephone, holders of National Woolens and other industrials, in the financial district, in all parts of the country, across the sea, poured in their selling orders upon the frenzied brokers. And all these forces of hysteria and panic, projected into that narrow, roofed-in space, made of it a chaos of contending demons. All stocks were caught in the upheaval; Melville's plans to limit the explosion were blown skyward, feeble as straws in a cyclone. Amid shrieks and howls and frantic tossings of arms and mad rushes and maniac contortions of faces, National Woolens and all the Dumont stocks bent, broke, went smashing down, down, down, every one struggling to unload. Dumont's fortune was the stateliest of the many galleons that day driven on the rocks and wrecked. Dumont's crew was for the most part engulfed. Giddings and a few selected friends reached the shore half-drowned and humbly applied at the wreckers' camp; they were hospitably received and were made as comfortable as their exhausted condition permitted. John Dumont was at the mercy of Hubert Herron in his own company. If he lived he would be president only until the next annual meeting--less than two months away; and the Herron crowd had won over enough of his board of directors to make him meanwhile powerless where he had been autocrat. XXV. THE FALLEN KING. Toward noon the next day Dumont emerged from the stupor into which Doctor Sackett's opiate had plunged him. At once his mind began to grope about for the broken clues of his business. His valet appeared. "The morning papers," said Dumont. "Yes, sir," replied the valet, and disappeared. After a few seconds Culver came and halted just within the doorway. "I'm sorry, sir, but Doctor Sackett left strict orders that you were to be quiet. Your life depends on it." Dumont scowled and his lower lip projected--the crowning touch in his most imperious expression. "The papers, all of 'em,--quick!" he commanded. Culver took a last look at the blue-white face and bloodshot eyes to give him courage to stand firm. "The doctor'll be here in a few minutes," he said, bowed and went out. Choking with impotent rage, Dumont rang for his valet and forced him to help him dress. He was so weak when he finished that only his will kept him from fainting. He took a stiff drink of the brandy--the odor was sickening to him and he could hardly force it down. But once down, it strengthened him. "No, nothing to eat," he said thickly, and with slow but fairly steady step left his room and descended to the library. Culver was there--sat agape at sight of his master. "But you--you must not--" he began.