and murmured as ever, yet still slept her uneasy sleep. To all
mankind save a million or two of half-crazed gamblers, blind to all
reality, the death of Manderson meant nothing; the life and work of the
world went on. Weeks before he died strong hands had been in control
of every wire in the huge network of commerce and industry that he
had supervised. Before his corpse was buried his countrymen had made a
strange discovery--that the existence of the potent engine of monopoly
that went by the name of Sigsbee Manderson had not been a condition of
even material prosperity. The panic blew itself out in two days, the
pieces were picked up, the bankrupts withdrew out of sight; the market
'recovered a normal tone'.

While the brief delirium was yet subsiding there broke out a domestic
scandal in England that suddenly fixed the attention of two continents.
Next morning the Chicago Limited was wrecked, and the same day a notable
politician was shot down in cold blood by his wife's brother in the
streets of New Orleans. Within a week of its rising, 'the Manderson
story', to the trained sense of editors throughout the Union, was
'cold'. The tide of American visitors pouring through Europe made eddies
round the memorial or statue of many a man who had died in poverty; and
never thought of their most famous plutocrat. Like the poet who died
in Rome, so young and poor, a hundred years ago, he was buried far away
from his own land; but for all the men and women of Manderson's people
who flock round the tomb of Keats in the cemetery under the Monte
Testaccio, there is not one, nor ever Will be, to stand in reverence by
the rich man's grave beside the little church of Marlstone.

CHAPTER II: Knocking the Town Endways

In the only comfortably furnished room in the offices of the Record, the
telephone on Sir James Molloy's table buzzed. Sir James made a motion
with his pen, and Mr. Silver, his secretary, left his work and came over
to the instrument.

'Who is that?' he said. 'Who?... I can't hear you.... Oh, it's Mr.
Bunner, is it?... Yes, but... I know, but he's fearfully busy this
afternoon. Can't you... Oh, really? Well, in that case--just hold on,
will you?'

He placed the receiver before Sir James. 'It's Calvin Bunner, Sigsbee
Manderson's right-hand man,' he said concisely. 'He insists on speaking
to you personally. Says it is the gravest piece of news. He is talking
from the house down by Bishopsbridge, so it will be nec