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 match-making 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.