After he had sipped the French champagne, on which Flood insisted and which Windham disliked, the latter spoke of Ralston and his trouble with the editors.  “Some of the newspapers would have us think he’s playing recklessly, with other people’s money,” he said with irritation.

’"Well, well, and maybe he is, me b’y,” returned O’Brien.  “Don’t blame the newspaper fellahs....  They’ve raison to be suspicious, Hiven knows....  Ralston’s a prince.  We all love the man.  It’s not that.  But—­,” he came closer, caught both of Benito’s coat lapels in a confidential grasp, “I’m tellin’ ye this, me lad:  If it should come to a show-down ... if certain enemies should have a chance to call Bill Ralston’s hand, I tell ye, it would mean dee-saster!”

* * * * *

At 9 o’clock on the morning of August 25, Francisco Stanley entered the private door of Windham’s office.  He was now an under-editor on The Chronicle, which had developed from the old Dramatic Chronicle, into a daily newspaper.  Benito glanced up from his desk a bit impatiently; it was a busy day.

“What’s the matter, Francisco?  You’re excited.”

“I’ve a right to be,” the journalist spoke sharply.  He glanced at his uncle’s secretary.  “I must see you alone.”

“Can’t you come in later?  I’ve a lot of clients waiting.”

“For God’s sake, Uncle Ben,” the younger man said desperately, “send them off.”

Benito gazed at him, astonished.  Then convinced by something in Francisco’s eyes, he nodded to the secretary who departed.

“It’s Ralston ... word has reached the newspapers ... his bank has failed.”

Benito sprang to his feet.  “You’re crazy!  It’s—­impossible!”

“Uncle Ben, IT’S TRUE!” His fingers closed almost spasmodically upon the other’s arm.

“How do you know?”

“RALSTON SAYS SO.  I’ve just come from there....  He wants you.”

Benito reached dazedly for his hat.

* * * * *

Benito found “Bill” Ralston in his private office, head bowed; eyes dully hopeless.  He looked ten years older.

“The Bank of California has failed,” he said before the younger man could ask a question.  “It will never reopen its doors.”

“I—­I simply can’t believe it!” After a stunned silence Benito spoke.  He laid a hand on the banker’s shoulder.  “All I have is at your service, Ralston.”

“Thank you ... but it isn’t any use.”  He looked up misty-eyed.  “I tried to make this town the greatest in the world....  I went too far....  I played too big a stake.  Now—­” he tried to smile.  “Now comes the reckoning.”

“But, God Almighty!  Ralston,” cried Benito, “your assets must be enormous....  It’s only a matter of time.  You’ll pull through.”

“They won’t give me time,” he spoke no names, yet Windham knew he meant those who had turned from friends to enemies.