Stone's Fall

He was huge, and at one time had been a useful rugger player. He had a booming voice incapable of speaking quietly and was inevitably overheard in all that he said. He had prodigious energy, and once took a bet that he could leave the Exchange at six in the evening, walk all the way to Brighton and back, and be at his post (in foreign railways) at nine the next morning. Ninety miles in fifteen hours. Naturally, the betting was intense; some thousand pounds was wagered on the outcome, with Anderson's, Leighton's firm, making the book. More or less the whole of the City was there to see him off, and a large number cycled alongside him to make sure that there was no cheating. Even many of these gave up through tiredness or hunger, but Leighton marched on, large, red in the face and sweating profusely until the day cooled enough for him to become chilled. Through the night he walked, never stopping for a moment, even eating his dinner – two bottles of burgundy, three pheasant, and four dozen oysters – as he marched, a member of his firm driving an automobile alongside him laden with food, which was passed to him as required.

His return the next morning was rather like a Roman triumph. No work was done because of the excitement; the finances of the Empire were neglected until all was over. Even the Rothschild's men emerged from their great palace in New Court to be present at the conclusion, a frivolity never witnessed before or since.

He walked up the steps of the Exchange with fifteen minutes to spare, and was carried shoulder high by his comrades to his place on the floor with firecrackers being let off, bottles of champagne popping and the bread rolls flying. He had become a legend with a job for life, for who could ever dispense with the services of such a fine fellow? Of such things are careers and reputations made in the City of London.

Such was Leighton and, as I could be certain that anything I told him would be all around the Exchange within five minutes of our conversation finishing, I had to be careful about what I said. So I told him simply that I had been commissioned to write a biography, and that I was completely lost.

'Grieving wife, wanting a memorial, eh?' he boomed cheerfully. 'Why not? She's got the money, or will have soon enough. I can't say that it will be a book I'll buy, though.'

'Why not?'

'I've never heard an interesting story about the man. He came, he amassed money, he died. There! I've written it for you.'

'I think Lady Ravenscliff wants a little more than that. Did you ever meet him?'

'Once, but not to speak to. Not a very sociable man, you understand. But even he had to show up to the occasional reception and ball. Very handsome wife, I must say. Charming woman.'

'Do you know anything about her?'

'Hungarian countess, I think. Who knows anything about Hungarian countesses? I would guess she had not a penny to her name, but the name was something. Run-down old schloss somewhere in the Transylvanian mountains . . .'

'Are they in Hungary?'

'Who knows? Who cares? You get the picture though.'

'What about Ravenscliff?'

He pursed his lips. 'Perfectly polite, but a bit frightening. Didn't say much. Always had a look about him as if he wished he wasn't there. He rarely showed up to anything at all, and would often enough leave as soon as he could. His wife has little time for City society either, so I gather.'

'Not much of a figure, then?'

'Oh, Lord, yes. He was immensely powerful. That was why there was such a panic when he died.'

'Was there a panic? I didn't notice anything.'

'Well, you wouldn't, would you, because you don't pay attention to these things. But there was. Obviously there was.'

'Why obviously?'

'Because the instant reaction when someone like that drops out of a window is to think that maybe he jumped. And then you worry that his investments have gone all wobbly. So people start selling shares, just in case.'

'The Rialto Investment Trust,' I said proudly.

Leighton nodded. 'And the underlying investments. What if he had topped himself because Rialto was in Queer Street? It has happened before, it'll happen again. So the moment the rumour started spreading—'

'People started selling.'

'Right again. But, and this is the curious thing, they didn't fall much. Even before the stories were in circulation, buyers were coming into the market, picking up every share on offer and supporting the price. We did a roaring trade on behalf of the Consolidated Bank in Manchester. Don't know who they were buying for, though.'

'So?'

'If you offer something for sale, and no one wants it, then you drop the price until you find a taker, correct? No one will buy shares in a company which might be insolvent, so the quoted price can fall through the floor. If, on the other hand there is a buyer, then the price stabilises. No panic, the owners of the shares are reassured, and stop trying to unload them. Understand?'

I nodded.

'With Rialto, of course, the price has been very low lately.'

'Why of course?'