Fischer threw himself into the client's easy-chair. The furniture in the office seemed less distinct than usual. He was conscious of a certain haziness of outline in everything. Van Teyl's face, even, was shrouded in a little mist. Then he suddenly found himself fighting fiercely, fighting for his consciousness, fighting against a wave of giddiness, a deadly sinking of the heart, a strange slackening of all his nerve power. The young stockbroker rose hastily to his feet. "Anything wrong, old fellow?" he asked anxiously. "A glass of water," Fischer begged. He was conscious of drinking it, vaguely conscious that he was winning. Soon the office had regained its ordinary appearance, his pulse was beating more regularly. He had once more the feeling of living--of living, though in a minor key. "A touch of liver," he murmured. "What did you say about the markets?" "You look pretty rotten," Van Teyl remarked sympathetically. "Shall I send out for some brandy?" "Not for me," Fischer scoffed. "I don't need it. What price are Anglo-French?" "Ninety-four. You've only done them in a point, after all, and that's nominal. I daresay I could get ten thousand back at that." "Let them alone," was the calm reply. "I'll sell another fifty thousand at ninety-four." "Look here," Van Teyl said, swinging round in his chair, "I like the business and I know you can finance it, but are you sure that you realise what you are doing? Every one believes Anglo-French have touched their bottom. They've only to go back to where they were--say five points--and you'd lose half a million." Fischer smiled a little wearily. "That small sum in arithmetic," he remonstrated, "had already passed through my brain. Send in your selling order, Jim, and come out to lunch with me. I've come straight through from Washington--only got in this morning." Van Teyl called in his clerk and gave a few orders. Then he took up his hat and left the office with his client. "From Washington, eh?" he remarked curiously, as they passed into the crowded streets. "So that accounts--" He broke off abruptly. His companion's warning fingers had tightened upon his arm. "Quite right!" Van Teyl confessed. "There's gossip enough about now, and they seem to have tumbled to it that you're our client. The office has been besieged this morning. Sorry, Ned, I'm busy," he went on, to a man who tried to catch his arm. "See you later, Fred. I'll be in after lunch, Mr. Borrodaile. No, nothing fresh that I know of." Fischer smiled grimly. "Got you into a kind of hornets' nest, eh?" he observed. "It's been like this all the morning," Van Teyl told him. "They believe I know something. Even the newspaper men are tumbling to it. We'll lunch up at the club. Maybe we'll get a little peace there."