Asherton-Smith went home and dined and drank; but sleep was not for his pillow that night. The papers were late in the morning, and that did not lessen his irritability. The breakfast stood untouched, beyond a little dry toast, and some brandy and soda water. Just for the moment the prosperous Asherton-Smith regretted the day when he had been the oily and irresponsible Eli Smith, butcher. The papers came at last--a whole pile of them: but Asherton-Smith only desired to see _The Messenger_. He fluttered it open with fingers that trembled. There it was--the news that he sought. He drew a deep breath. Usually _The Messenger_ avoided sensation; but here was a "scoop" that no human editor could possibly resist. The headlines danced before the reader's eyes. "Earthquake at Johannesburg! Destruction of the Water Works and the Flooding of the Mines. Great loss of life and property." _The Messenger_, alone of all the papers, contained this news. [Illustration: _The Messenger_, alone of all the papers, contained this news.] A map of Johannesburg, right away from the water-works to the five-mile belt, where the world-renowned mines lay, only served to make the story more convincing. The water would have swept over the city, from the aristocratic suburb of Dornfontein to the auriferous belt that held the wealthy mines. There were hundreds of millions of money invested here. The news of the disaster would have a depressing effect upon the Stock Exchange. Weak holders would be pretty certain to lose their heads, and the markets would be flooded with shares. Asherton-Smith trembled as he thought of his forthcoming fortune. A little after ten o'clock he was in the City. In the train and in the streets people were talking about nothing but the great disaster in South Africa. Nobody doubted the story, though only _The Messenger_ contained it. Unfortunately the Eastern line had broken down at a critical moment, and no details were forthcoming for the time being. _The Messenger's_ cable had been the last to come through. * * * * * "Going all right, eh?" Asherton-Smith asked. His teeth were chattering, but not with cold. "Pretty satisfied, eh?" Ericsson nodded and grinned. He looked white and uneasy. "I've started the machinery," he said. "When prices have dropped five or six points we are going to buy quietly. Mind you, I'm going to make no secret of it. I'm going to pose as the saviour of the market, the one man who refuses to bow to the panic--shall swagger about the stuff being there in spite of a dozen earthquakes. I shall boast that at bed rock prices we can afford to buy to hold. That line will avert suspicion from us when the cat is out of the bag and our fortunes made. And you'll have to back me up in this. What a row there will be when the truth comes to be told!"