The Hon. Fitzroy Bagley had every reason to feel satisfied with
himself. His affaire de coeur with the Senator's daughter was
progressing more smoothly than ever, and nothing now seemed likely to
interfere with his carefully prepared plans to capture an American
heiress. The interview with Kate Roberts in the library, so awkwardly
disturbed by Jefferson's unexpected intrusion, had been followed by
other interviews more secret and more successful, and the plausible
secretary had contrived so well to persuade the girl that he really
thought the world of her, and that a brilliant future awaited her as
his wife, that it was not long before he found her in a mood to refuse
him nothing.
Bagley urged immediate marriage; he insinuated that Jefferson had
treated her shamefully and that she owed it to herself to show the
world that there were other men as good as the one who had jilted her.
He argued that in view of the Senator being bent on the match with
Ryder's son it would be worse than useless for him, Bagley, to make
formal application for her hand, so, as he explained, the only thing
which remained was a runaway marriage. Confronted with the fait
accompli, papa Roberts would bow to the inevitable. They could get
married quietly in town, go away for a short trip, and when the Senator
had gotten over his first disappointment they would be welcomed back
with open arms.
Kate listened willingly enough to this specious reasoning. In her heart
she was piqued at Jefferson's indifference and she was foolish enough
to really believe that this marriage with a British nobleman, twice
removed, would be in the nature of a triumph over him. Besides, this
project of an elopement appealed strangely to her frivolous
imagination; it put her in the same class as all her favourite novel
heroines. And it would be capital fun!
Meantime, Senator Roberts, in blissful ignorance of this little plot
against his domestic peace, was growing impatient and he approached his
friend Ryder once more on the subject of his son Jefferson. The young
man, he said, had been back from Europe some time. He insisted on
knowing what his attitude was towards his daughter. If they were
engaged to be married he said there should be a public announcement of
the fact. It was unfair to him and a slight to his daughter to let
matters hang fire in this unsatisfactory way and he hinted that both
himself and his daughter might demand their passports from the Ryder
mansion unless some explanation were forthcoming.
Ryder was in a quandary. He had no wish to quarrel with his useful
Washington ally; he recognized the reasonableness of his complaint. Yet
what could he do? Much as he himself desired the marriage, his son was
obstinate and showed little inclination to settle down. He even hinted
at attractions in another quarter. He did not tell the Senator of his
recent interview with his son when the latter made it very plain that
the marriage could never take place. Ryder, Sr., had his own reasons
for wishing to temporize. It was quite possible that Jefferson might
change his mind and abandon his idea of going abroad and he suggested
to the Senator that perhaps if he, the Senator, made the engagement
public through the newspapers it might have the salutary effect of
forcing his son's hand.
So a few mornings later there appeared among the society notes in
several of the New York papers this paragraph:
"The engagement is announced of Miss Katherine Roberts, only daughter
of senator Roberts of Wisconsin, to Jefferson Ryder, son of Mr. John
Burkett Ryder."
Two persons in New York happened to see the item about the same time
and both were equally interested, although it affected them in a
different manner. One was Shirley Rossmore, who had chanced to pick up
the newspaper at the breakfast table in her boarding house.
"So soon?" she murmured to herself. Well, why not? She could not blame
Jefferson. He had often spoken to her of this match arranged by his
father and they had laughed over it as a typical marriage of
convenience modelled after the Continental pattern. Jefferson, she
knew, had never cared for the girl nor taken the affair seriously. Some
powerful influences must have been at work to make him surrender so
easily. Here again she recognized the masterly hand of Ryder, Sr., and
more than ever she was eager to meet this extraordinary man and measure
her strength with his. Her mind, indeed, was too full of her father's
troubles to grieve over her own however much she might have been
inclined to do so under other circumstances, and all that day she did
her best to banish the paragraph from her thoughts. More than a week
had passed since she left Massapequa and what with corresponding with
financiers, calling on editors and publishers, every moment of her time
had been kept busy. She had found a quiet and reasonable priced
boarding house off Washington Square and here Stott had called several
times to see her. Her correspondence with Mr. Ryder had now reached a
phase when it was impossible to invent any further excuses for delaying
the interview asked for. As she had foreseen, a day or two after her
arrival in town she had received a note from Mrs. Ryder asking her to
do her the honour to call and see her, and Shirley, after waiting
another two days, had replied making an appointment for the following
day at three o'clock. This was the same day on which the paragraph
concerning the Ryder-Roberts engagement appeared in the society
chronicles of the metropolis.
Directly after the meagre meal which in New York boarding houses is
dignified by the name of luncheon, Shirley proceeded to get ready for
this portentous visit to the Ryder mansion. She was anxious to make a
favourable impression on the financier, so she took some pains with her
personal appearance. She always looked stylish, no matter what she
wore, and her poverty was of too recent date to make much difference to
her wardrobe, which was still well supplied with Paris-made gowns. She
selected a simple close-fitting gown of gray chiffon cloth and a
picture hat of Leghorn straw heaped with red roses, Shirley's favourite
flower. Thus arrayed, she sallied forth at two o'clock--a little gray
mouse to do battle with the formidable lion.
The sky was threatening, so instead of walking a short way up Fifth
Avenue for exercise, as she had intended doing, she cut across town
through Ninth Street, and took the surface car on Fourth Avenue. This
would put her down at Madison Avenue and Seventy-fourth Street, which
was only a block from the Ryder residence. She looked so pretty and was
so well dressed that the passers-by who looked after her wondered why
she did not take a cab instead of standing on a street corner for a
car. But one's outward appearance is not always a faithful index to the
condition of one's pocketbook, and Shirley was rapidly acquiring the
art of economy.
It was not without a certain trepidation that she began this journey.
So far, all her plans had been based largely on theory, but now that
she was actually on her way to Mr. Ryder all sorts of misgivings beset
her. Suppose he knew her by sight and roughly accused her of obtaining
access to his house under false pretences and then had her ejected by
the servants? How terrible and humiliating that would be! And even if
he did not how could she possibly find those letters with him watching
her, and all in the brief time of a conventional afternoon call? It had
been an absurd idea from the first. Stott was right; she saw that now.
But she had entered upon it and she was not going to confess herself
beaten until she had tried. And as the car sped along Madison Avenue,
gradually drawing nearer to the house which she was going to enter
disguised as it were, like a burglar, she felt cold chills run up and
down her spine--the same sensation that one experiences when one rings
the bell of a dentist's where one has gone to have a tooth extracted.
In fact, she felt so nervous and frightened that if she had not been
ashamed before herself she would have turned back. In about twenty
minutes the car stopped at the corner of Seventy-fourth Street. Shirley
descended and with a quickened pulse walked towards the Ryder mansion,
which she knew well by sight.
There was one other person in New York who, that same morning, had read
the newspaper item regarding the Ryder-Roberts betrothal, and he did
not take the matter so calmly as Shirley had done. On the contrary, it
had the effect of putting him into a violent rage. This was Jefferson.
He was working in his studio when he read it and five minutes later he
was tearing up-town to seek the author of it. He understood its object,
of course; they wanted to force his hand, to shame him into this
marriage, to so entangle him with the girl that no other alternative
would be possible to an honourable man. It was a despicable trick and
he had no doubt that his father was at the back of it. So his mind now
was fully made up. He would go away at once where they could not make
his life a burden with this odious marriage which was fast becoming a
nightmare to him. He would close up his studio and leave immediately
for Europe. He would show his father once for all that he was a man and
expected to be treated as one.
He wondered what Shirley was doing. Where had she gone, what was this
mysterious work of which she had spoken? He only realized now, when she
seemed entirely beyond his reach, how much he loved her and how empty
his life would be without her. He would know no happiness until she was
his wife. Her words on the porch did not discourage him. Under the
circumstances he could not expect her to have said anything else. She
could not marry into John Ryder's family with such a charge hanging
over her own father's head, but, later, when the trial was over, no
matter how it turned out, he would go to her again and ask her to be
his wife.
On arriving home the first person he saw was the ubiquitous Mr. Bagley,
who stood at the top of the first staircase giving some letters to the
butler. Jefferson cornered him at once, holding out the newspaper
containing the offending paragraph.
"Say, Bagley," he cried, "what does this mean? Is this any of your
doing?"
The English secretary gave his employer's son a haughty stare, and
then, without deigning to reply or even to glance at the newspaper,
continued his instructions to the servant:
"Here, Jorkins, get stamps for all these letters and see they are
mailed at once. They are very important."
"Very good, sir."
The man took the letters and disappeared, while Jefferson, impatient,
repeated his question:
"My doing?" sneered Mr. Bagley. "Really, Jefferson, you go too far! Do
you suppose for one instant that I would condescend to trouble myself
with your affairs?"
Jefferson was in no mood to put up with insolence from anyone,
especially from a man whom he heartily despised, so advancing
menacingly he thundered:
"I mean--were you, in the discharge of your menial-like duties,
instructed by my father to send that paragraph to the newspapers
regarding my alleged betrothal to Miss Roberts? Yes or No?"
The man winced and made a step backward. There was a gleam in the Ryder
eye which he knew by experience boded no good.
"Really, Jefferson," he said in a more conciliatory tone, "I know
absolutely nothing about the paragraph. This is the first I hear of it.
Why not ask your father?"
"I will," replied Jefferson grimly,
He was turning to go in the direction of the library when Bagley
stopped him.
"You cannot possibly see him now," he said. "Sergeant Ellison of the
Secret Service is in there with him, and your father told me not to
disturb him on any account. He has another appointment at three o'clock
with some woman who writes books."
Seeing that the fellow was in earnest, Jefferson did not insist. He
could see his father a little later or send him a message through his
mother. Proceeding upstairs he found Mrs. Ryder in her room and in a
few energetic words he explained the situation to his mother. They had
gone too far with this matchmaking business, he said, his father was
trying to interfere with his personal liberty and he was going to put a
stop to it. He would leave at once for Europe. Mrs. Ryder had already
heard of the projected trip abroad, so the news of this sudden
departure was not the shock it might otherwise have been. In her heart
she did not blame her son, on the contrary she admired his spirit, and
if the temporary absence from home would make him happier, she would
not hold him back. Yet, mother like, she wept and coaxed, but nothing
would shake Jefferson in his determination and he begged his mother to
make it very plain to his father that this was final and that a few
days would see him on his way abroad. He would try and come back to see
his father that afternoon, but otherwise she was to say good-bye for
him. Mrs. Ryder promised tearfully to do what her son demanded and a
few minutes later Jefferson was on his way to the front door.
As he went down stairs something white on the carpet attracted his
attention. He stooped and picked it up. It was a letter. It was in
Bagley's handwriting and had evidently been dropped by the man to whom
the secretary had given it to post. But what interested Jefferson more
than anything else was that it was addressed to Miss Kate Roberts.
Under ordinary circumstances, a king's ransom would not have tempted
the young man to read a letter addressed to another, but he was
convinced that his father's secretary was an adventurer and if he were
carrying on an intrigue in this manner it could have only one meaning.
It was his duty to unveil a rascal who was using the Ryder roof and
name to further his own ends and victimize a girl who, although
sophisticated enough to know better, was too silly to realize the risk
she ran at the hands of an unscrupulous man. Hesitating no longer,
Jefferson tore open the envelope and read:
My dearest wife that is to be:
I have arranged everything. Next Wednesday--just a week from to-day--we
will go to the house of a discreet friend of mine where a minister will
marry us; then we will go to City Hall and get through the legal part
of it. Afterwards, we can catch the four o'clock train for Buffalo.
Meet me in the ladies' room at the Holland House Wednesday morning at
11 a.m. I will come there with a closed cab. Your devoted
FITZ.
"Phew!" Jefferson whistled. A close shave this for Senator Roberts, he
thought. His first impulse was to go upstairs again to his mother and
put the matter in her hands. She would immediately inform his father,
who would make short work of Mr. Bagley. But, thought Jefferson, why
should he spoil a good thing? He could afford to wait a day or two.
There was no hurry. He could allow Bagley to think all was going
swimmingly and then uncover the plot at the eleventh hour. He would
even let this letter go to Kate, there was no difficulty in procuring
another envelope and imitating the handwriting--and when Bagley was
just preparing to go to the rendezvous he would spring the trap. Such a
cad deserved no mercy. The scandal would be a knock-out blow, his
father would discharge him on the spot and that would be the last they
would see of the aristocratic English secretary. Jefferson put the
letter in his pocket and left the house rejoicing.
While the foregoing incidents were happening John Burkett Ryder was
secluded in his library. The great man had come home earlier than
usual, for he had two important callers to see by appointment that
afternoon. One was Sergeant Ellison, who had to report on his mission
to Massapequa; the other was Miss Shirley Green, the author of "The
American Octopus," who had at last deigned to honour him with a visit.
Pending the arrival of these visitors the financier was busy with his
secretary trying to get rid as rapidly as possible of what business and
correspondence there was on hand.
The plutocrat was sitting at his desk poring over a mass of papers.
Between his teeth was the inevitable long black cigar and when he
raised his eyes to the light a close observer might have remarked that
they were sea-green, a colour they assumed when the man of millions was
absorbed in scheming new business deals. Every now and then he stopped
reading the papers to make quick calculations on scraps of paper. Then
if the result pleased him, a smile overspread his saturnine features.
He rose from his chair and nervously paced the floor as he always did
when thinking deeply.
"Five millions," he muttered, "not a cent more. If they won't sell
we'll crush them--"
Mr. Bagley entered. Mr. Ryder looked up quickly.
"Well, Bagley?" he said interrogatively. "Has Sergeant Ellison come?"
"Yes, sir. But Mr. Herts is downstairs. He insists on seeing you about
the Philadelphia gas deal. He says it is a matter of life and death."
"To him--yes," answered the financier dryly. "Let him come up. We might
as well have it out now."
Mr. Bagley went out and returned almost immediately, followed by a
short, fat man, rather loudly dressed and apoplectic in appearance. He
looked like a prosperous brewer, while, as a matter of fact, he was
president of a gas company, one of the shrewdest promoters in the
country, and a big man in Wall Street. There was only one bigger man
and that was John Ryder. But, to-day, Mr. Herts was not in good
condition. His face was pale and his manner flustered and nervous. He
was plainly worried.
"Mr. Ryder," he began with excited gesture, "the terms you offer are
preposterous. It would mean disaster to the stockholders. Our gas
properties are worth six times that amount. We will sell out for twenty
millions--not a cent less."
Ryder shrugged his shoulders.
"Mr. Herts," he replied coolly, "I am busy to-day and in no mood for
arguing. We'll either buy you out or force you out. Choose. You have
our offer. Five millions for your gas property. Will you take it?"
"We'll see you in hell first!" cried his visitor exasperated.
"Very well," replied Ryder still unruffled, "all negotiations are off.
You leave me free to act. We have an offer to buy cheap the old
Germantown Gas Company which has charter rights to go into any of the
streets of Philadelphia. We shall purchase that company, we will put
ten millions new capital into it, and reduce the price of gas in
Philadelphia to sixty cents a thousand. Where will you be then?"
The face of the Colossus as he uttered this stand and deliver speech
was calm and inscrutable. Conscious of the resistless power of his
untold millions, he felt no more compunction in mercilessly crushing
this business rival than he would in trampling out the life of a worm.
The little man facing him looked haggard and distressed. He knew well
that this was no idle threat. He was well aware that Ryder and his
associates by the sheer weight of the enormous wealth they controlled
could sell out or destroy any industrial corporation in the land. It
was plainly illegal, but it was done every day, and his company was not
the first victim nor the last. Desperate, he appealed humbly to the
tyrannical Money Power:
"Don't drive us to the wall, Mr. Ryder. This forced sale will mean
disaster to us all. Put yourself in our place--think what it means to
scores of families whose only support is the income from their
investment in our company."
"Mr. Herts," replied Ryder unmoved, "I never allow sentiment to
interfere with business. You have heard my terms. I refuse to argue the
matter further. What is it to be? Five millions or competition? Decide
now or this interview must end!"
He took out his watch and with his other hand touched a bell. Beads of
perspiration stood on his visitor's forehead. In a voice broken with
suppressed emotion he said hoarsely:
"You're a hard, pitiless man, John Ryder! So be it--five millions. I
don't know what they'll say. I don't dare return to them."
"Those are my terms," said Ryder coldly. "The papers," he added, "will
be ready for your signature to-morrow at this time, and I'll have a
cheque ready for the entire amount. Good-day."
Mr. Bagley entered. Ryder bowed to Herts, who slowly retired. When the
door had closed on him Ryder went back to his desk, a smile of triumph
on his face. Then he turned to his secretary:
"Let Sergeant Ellison come up," he said.
The secretary left the room and Mr. Ryder sank comfortably in his
chair, puffing silently at his long black cigar. The financier was
thinking, but his thoughts concerned neither the luckless gas president
he had just pitilessly crushed, nor the detective who had come to make
his report. He was thinking of the book "The American Octopus," and its
bold author whom he was to meet in a very few minutes. He glanced at
the clock. A quarter to three. She would be here in fifteen minutes if
she were punctual, but women seldom are, he reflected. What kind of a
woman could she be, this Shirley Green, to dare cross swords with a man
whose power was felt in two hemispheres? No ordinary woman, that was
certain. He tried to imagine what she looked like, and he pictured a
tall, gaunt, sexless spinster with spectacles, a sort of nightmare in
the garb of a woman. A sour, discontented creature, bitter to all
mankind, owing to disappointments in early life and especially
vindictive towards the rich, whom her socialistic and even
anarchistical tendencies prompted her to hate and attack. Yet, withal,
a brainy, intelligent woman, remarkably well informed as to political
and industrial conditions--a woman to make a friend of rather than an
enemy. And John Ryder, who had educated himself to believe that with
gold he could do everything, that none could resist its power, had no
doubt that with money he could enlist this Shirley Green in his
service. At least it would keep her from writing more books about him.
The door opened and Sergeant Ellison entered, followed by the
secretary, who almost immediately withdrew.
"Well, sergeant," said Mr. Ryder cordially, "what have you to tell me?
I can give you only a few minutes. I expect a lady friend of yours."
The plutocrat sometimes condescended to be jocular with his
subordinates.
"A lady friend of mine, sir?" echoed the man, puzzled.
"Yes--Miss Shirley Green, the author," replied the financier, enjoying
the detective's embarrassment. "That suggestion of yours worked out all
right. She's coming here to-day."
"I'm glad you've found her, sir."
"It was a tough job," answered Ryder with a grimace. "We wrote her half
a dozen times before she was satisfied with the wording of the
invitation. But, finally, we landed her and I expect her at three
o'clock. Now what about that Rossmore girl? Did you go down to
Massapequa?"
"Yes, sir, I have been there half a dozen times. In fact, I've just
come from there. Judge Rossmore is there, all right, but his daughter
has left for parts unknown."
"Gone away--where?" exclaimed the financier.
This was what he dreaded. As long as he could keep his eye on the girl
there was little danger of Jefferson making a fool of himself; with her
disappeared everything was possible.
"I could not find out, sir. Their neighbours don't know much about
them. They say they're haughty and stuck up. The only one I could get
anything out of was a parson named Deetle. He said it was a sad case,
that they had reverses and a daughter who was in Paris--"
"Yes, yes," said Ryder impatiently, "we know all that. But where's the
daughter now?"
"Search me, sir. I even tried to pump the Irish slavey. Gee, what a
vixen! She almost flew at me. She said she didn't know and didn't care."
Ryder brought his fist down with force on his desk, a trick he had when
he wished to emphasize a point.
"Sergeant, I don't like the mysterious disappearance of that girl. You
must find her, do you hear, you must find her if it takes all the
sleuths in the country. Had my son been seen there?"
"The parson said he saw a young fellow answering his description
sitting on the porch of the Rossmore cottage the evening before the
girl disappeared, but he didn't know who he was and hasn't seen him
since."
"That was my son, I'll wager. He knows where the girl is. Perhaps he's
with her now. Maybe he's going to marry her. That must be prevented at
any cost. Sergeant, find that Rossmore girl and I'll give you $1,000."
The detective's face flushed with pleasure at the prospect of so
liberal a reward. Rising he said:
"I'll find her, sir. I'll find her."
Mr. Bagley entered, wearing the solemn, important air he always
affected when he had to announce a visitor of consequence. But before
he could open his mouth Mr. Ryder said:
"Bagley, when did you see my son, Jefferson, last?"
"To-day, sir. He wanted to see you to say good-bye. He said he would be
back."
Ryder gave a sigh of relief and addressing the detective said:
"It's not so bad as I thought." Then turning again to his secretary he
asked:
"Well, Bagley, what is it?"
"There's a lady downstairs, sir--Miss Shirley Green."
The financier half sprang from his seat.
"Oh, yes. Show her up at once. Good-bye, sergeant, good-bye. Find that
Rossmore woman and the $1,000 is yours."
The detective went out and a few moments later Mr. Bagley reappeared
ushering in Shirley.
The mouse was in the den of the lion.