It was true, I remembered. Nordenholt had played the game of finance in a way never seen before. He had made many men’s fortunes--a by-product, as he would have said, no doubt--but no one had ever gone into the arena unwarned by him. When he had laid his plans, carried out his preliminary moves and was ready to strike, a full-page advertisement had appeared in every newspaper in the country. “MR. NORDENHOLT ADVISES THE SMALL INVESTOR TO REFRAIN FROM OPERATING IN WHEAT,” or whatever it might be that he proposed to deal in himself. Then, after giving time for this to take effect, he struck his first blow. Wonderful struggles these were, fought out often far in the depths of that strange sea of finance, so that hardly a ripple came to the surface. Often, too, the agitation reached the upper waters and there would be glimpses of the two vast organisations convulsed by their efforts; here a mass of foam only, there some strange tentacle stretching out to reach its prey or to coil itself around a vantage-point which it could use as a fulcrum in further exertions. During this period, the Exchanges of the world would be shaken, there would be failures, hammerings, ruin for those who had ventured into the contest despite the warnings. Then, suddenly, the cascading waves would be stilled. One of the antagonists had gone under. A fresh advertisement would appear: “MR. NORDENHOLT HAS CEASED HIS OPERATIONS.” It was a strange requiem over the grave of some king of finance. Nordenholt was always victorious. And with the collapse of his opponent, the small speculators flocked into the markets of the world and completed the downfall.