Through all the images of the destruction and suffering which Bates’s words brought up before him, his thoughts flew back to a pale and sad-faced little woman, sitting alone in an apartment up on the Riverside.  It was to her that it all came back; it was for her that this terrible drama was being enacted.  Montague could picture the grim, hawk-faced old man, sitting at the head of the council board, and laying down the law to the masters of the Metropolis.  And this man’s thoughts, too, went back to Lucy—­his and Montague’s alone, of all those who took part in the struggle!

“Waterman protect Prentice,” spelled Rodney.  “Insist turn out Ryder.  Withdraw funds.”

“There’s no doubt of it,” whispered Bates; “they can finish him if they choose.  But oh, my Lord, what will happen in New York to-morrow!’

“Ward protect legitimate banks,” was the next message.

“The little whelp!” sneered Bates.  “By legitimate banks he means those that back his syndicates.  A lot of protecting he will do!”

But then the newspaper man in Bates rose to the surface.  “Oh, what a story,” he whispered, clenching his hands, and pounding his knees.  “Oh, what a story!”

Montague carried away but a faint recollection of the rest of Rodney’s communications; he was too much overwhelmed by his own thoughts.  Bates, however, continued to spell out the words; and he caught the statement that General Prentice, who was a director in the Gotham Trust, was to vote against any plan to close the doors of that institution.  While they were after it, they were going to finish it.

Also he caught the sentence, “Panic useful, curb President!” And he heard Bates’s excited exclamations over that.  “Did you catch that?” he cried.  “That’s Waterman!  Oh, the nerve of it!  We are in at the making of history to-night, Mr. Montague.”

Perhaps half an hour later, Montague, standing beside Bates, saw his hand jerked violently several times.

“That means pull up!” cried he.  “Quick!”

And he seized the rope.  “Put your weight on it,” he whispered.  “It will hold.”

They proceeded to haul.  Rodney helped them by catching hold of the cornice of the window and lifting himself.  Then there was a moment of great straining, during which Montague held his breath; after which the weight grew lighter again.  Rodney had got his knees upon the cornice.

A few moments later his fingers appeared, clutching the edge of the sill.  He swung himself up, and Montague and Bates grasped him under the arms, and fairly jerked him into the room.

He staggered to his feet; and there was a moment’s pause, while all three caught their breath.  Then Rodney leaped at Bates, and grasped him by the shoulders.  “Old man!” he cried.  “We landed them!  We landed them!”

“We landed them!” laughed the other in exultation.

“Oh, what a scoop!” shouted Rodney.  “There was never one like it.”