Beecher separated himself from these enthusiasts of failure, and passed into the front room, where he was signaled by Gunther, who was in one of the numerous small groups. He found a chair and joined the party, in which were Fontaine, Lynch, and Steve Plunkett. The conversation, which was controversial, continued without interruption. "Don’t be an ass, Ed," said Lynch, with irritation; "nothing can stop the market." "The Atlantic Trust is as solvent as Gunther & Co.," insisted Fontaine, with a nervous, emphatic gesture. "Every depositor will be paid in full." "It’ll be in the hands of a receiver before the week’s over—bet you five to three." "Possibly; but then—" "Moreover, what of the public? What’s the public going to do when it hears Majendie’s committed suicide? What’ll it think? It’ll think the whole blamed institution is rotten to the core—looted!" "Sure," said Plunkett, and he added savagely, his glance lost in the distance: "Damn it, if I’d known the news an hour earlier, I could have made fifty thousand." "Why, look at the situation," continued Bo Lynch, excited by his own images. "The Clearing-house closed against the Associated Trust and all its allies; runs on banks all over the country; Slade forced to the wall, out of it in a couple of days, perhaps—God knows, another suicide, maybe; two failures up into the hundreds of millions—everything in the country thrown on the market! Look at the sales to-day; they’ll be doubled to-morrow. Nothing can hold out against it. The country’ll go crazy! I tell you, ’93 was nothing to it." Gunther rose. "What do you think, Bruce?" said Plunkett anxiously. "Don’t know a thing about it," said Gunther brusquely. "Neither does Eddie or Bo. If you want to gamble, gamble." He nodded to Beecher, and they moved out together. "Let’s cut out of this den of lunatics," he said. "My machine’s here; supposing we run down to McKenna’s and get him off for a quiet chop. I’ve already telephoned." "He’s got some news?" "Yes, but I don’t know what it is. Jump in." "What about Garraboy?" "Rumor is, he’s in heavy. McKenna’s looking that up, too." "I say, Bruce, what do you really think about the situation?" said Beecher, forced to contain his curiosity. "Are we going to the bow-wows?" "If you ask what I _think_," said Gunther meditatively, "I think it’s the devil to pay. Far as I can see, a lot depends on John G. Slade. There’s no doubt there’s a crowd after his scalp." "Will they get it?" "Looks so; but he’s got nine lives, they say." "Where the deuce are we going?" said Beecher, suddenly aware of the swift flight through the now deserted regions of the lower city. "Down to McKenna’s offices." "As late as this?" "Guess these days keep him pretty busy." "Didn’t he say anything about his clue?" "Said he’d traced the history of the stone."