He could have prepared a fairly accurate statement and posted it on the door.

But he was a charitable man and wished to spare the depositors further anguish.

Give them time to recover from the first great shock before inflicting a greater one, he argued.

So he postponed the evil moment when he must reveal the wretched condition of the institution.
Each time the door opened and a messenger left, the crowd set on him beseeching information of the financial condition of the private bank.
But the messengers had nothing to reveal.
As invariably happens with crowds, the dullness and depression wears off after a while, exhausts itself, so to speak, and is succeeded gradually by a blind resentment directed against the first object which offers itself as a handy target.

A sort of mob intoxication sets in, as unreasoning as it frequently is destructive.
And so the crowd now began to hurl maledictions on the innocent head of the receiver.