panic-stricken, and too intent on getting some of this food before
it was all gone to bother with him.

Arthur was simply crushed back by the bodies of the forty or fifty
men. In a moment he found himself alone amid the wreckage of the
stand, with the keeper wringing his hands over the remnants of
his goods.

Van Deventer ran down the stairs.

"What's the matter?" he demanded as he saw Arthur nursing a bleeding
hand cut on the broken glass of the showcase.

"Bolsheviki!" answered Arthur with a grim smile. "We woke up some
of the crowd too successfully. They got panic-stricken and started
to buy out this stuff here. I tried to stop them, and you see what
happened. We'd better look to the restaurant, though I doubt if
they'll try anything else just now."

He followed Van Deventer up to the restaurant floor. There were
picked men before the door, but just as Arthur and the bank president
appeared two or three white-faced men went up to the guards and
started low-voiced conversations.

Arthur reached the spot in time to forestall bribery.

Arthur collared one man, Van Deventer another, and in a moment the
two were sent reeling down the hallway.

"Some fools have got panic-stricken!" Van Deventer explained to