As I reflected thus, I came upon a crowd massed about the steps of a
great granite building in Pine Street; a whirlpool of men, it seemed,
with crosscurrents and eddies, and from the whole rose the murmur of
excited voices.

It was the Stock Exchange, the gamblers' paradise, in which millions
were staked, won and lost, and ruin and affluence walked side by side.
As I watched the swaying, shouting mass with wonder and amusement, a
thrill shot through me.

Upon the steps of the building, amid the crowd of brokers and
speculators, I saw a tall, broad-shouldered man of fifty or fifty-five,
his face keen, shrewd and hard, broad at the temples and tapering to a
strong jaw, a yellow-gray mustache and imperial half-hiding and half-
revealing the firm lines of the mouth, with the mark of the wolf strong
upon the whole. It was a face never to be forgotten as long as I should
hold memory at all. It was the face I had seen twelve hours before in
the lantern flash in the dreadful alley, with the cry of murder ringing
in my ears. Then it was lighted by the fierce fires of rage and hatred,
and marked with the chagrin of baffled plans. Now it was cool, good-
humored, alert for the battle of the Exchange that had already begun.
But I knew it for the same, and was near crying aloud that here was a
murderer.

I clutched my nearest neighbor by the arm, and demanded to know who it
was.

"Doddridge Knapp," replied the man civilly. "He's running the Chollar
deal now, and if I could only guess which side he's on, I'd make a