The Lion and The Mouse Part 21

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 circ.u.mstances 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 circ.u.mstances, 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 Ma.s.sapequa; 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 ma.s.s 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 a.s.sumed 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 sc.r.a.ps 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 fl.u.s.tered 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 h.e.l.l 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 a.s.sociates 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 compet.i.tion? 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 hoa.r.s.ely:

"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, s.e.xless 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.