"Oh, then, why not come to his rescue--you, who are so rich, so powerful; you, who can move the scales of justice at your will--save this man from humiliation and disgrace!"

Ryder shrugged his shoulders, and his face expressed weariness, as if the subject had begun to bore him.

"My dear girl, you don't understand. His removal is necessary."

Shirley's face became set and hard. There was a contemptuous ring to her words as she retorted:

"Yet you admit that he may be innocent!"

"Even if I knew it as a fact, I couldn't move."

"Do you mean to say that if you had positive proof?" She pointed to the drawer in the desk where he had placed the letters. "If you had absolute proof in that drawer, for instance? Wouldn't you help him then?"

Ryder's face grew cold and inscrutable; he now wore his fighting mask.

"Not even if I had the absolute proof in that drawer?" he snapped viciously.

"Have you absolute proof in that drawer?" she demanded.

"I repeat that even if I had, I could not expose the men who have been my friends. Its _n.o.blesse oblige_ in politics as well as in society, you know."

He smiled again at her, as if he had recovered his good humour after their sharp pa.s.sage at arms.

"Oh, it's politics--that's what the papers said. And you believe him innocent. Well, you must have some grounds for your belief."

"Not necessarily--"

"You said that even if you had the proofs, you could not produce them without sacrificing your friends, showing that your friends are interested in having this man put off the bench--" She stopped and burst into hysterical laughter. "Oh, I think you're having a joke at my expense," she went on, "just to see how far you can lead me. I daresay Judge Rossmore deserves all he gets. Oh, yes--I'm sure he deserves it." She rose and walked to the other side of the room to conceal her emotion.

Ryder watched her curiously.

"My dear young lady, how you take this matter to heart!"

"Please forgive me," laughed Shirley, and averting her face to conceal the fact that her eyes were filled with tears. "It's my artistic temperament, I suppose. It's always getting me into trouble. It appealed so strongly to my sympathies--this story of hopeless love between two young people--with the father of the girl hounded by corrupt politicians and unscrupulous financiers.

It was too much for me. Ah! ah! I forgot where I was!"

She leaned against a chair, sick and faint from nervousness, her whole body trembling. At that moment there was a knock at the library door and Jefferson Ryder appeared. Not seeing Shirley, whose back was towards him, he advanced to greet his father.

"You told me to come up in five minutes," he said. "I just wanted to say--"

"Miss Green," said Ryder, Sr., addressing Shirley and ignoring whatever it was that the young man wanted to say, "this is my son Jefferson. Jeff--this is Miss Green."

Jefferson looked in the direction indicated and stood as if rooted to the floor. He was so surprised that he was struck dumb.

Finally, recovering himself, he exclaimed:

"Shirley!"

"Yes, Shirley Green, the author," explained Ryder, Sr., not noticing the note of familiar recognition in his exclamation.

Shirley advanced, and holding out her hand to Jefferson, said demurely:

"I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Ryder." Then quickly, in an undertone, she added: "Be careful; don't betray me!"

Jefferson was so astounded that he did not see the outstretched hand. All he could do was to stand and stare first at her and then at his father.

"Why don't you shake hands with her?" said Ryder, Sr. "She won't bite you." Then he added: "Miss Green is going to do some literary work for me, so we shall see a great deal of her. It's too bad you're going away!" He chuckled at his own pleasantry.

"Father!" blurted out Jefferson, "I came to say that I've changed my mind. You did not want me to go, and I feel I ought to do something to please you."

"Good boy," said Ryder pleased. "Now you're talking common sense,"

He turned to Shirley, who was getting ready to make her departure: "Well, Miss Green, we may consider the matter settled. You undertake the work at the price I named and finish it as soon as you can. Of course, you will have to consult me a good deal as you go along, so I think it would be better for you to come and stay here while the work is progressing. Mrs. Ryder can give you a suite of rooms to yourself, where you will be undisturbed and you will have all your material close at hand. What do you say?"

Shirley was silent for a moment. She looked first at Ryder and then at his son, and from them her glance went to the little drawer on the left-hand side of the desk. Then she said quietly:

"As you think best, Mr. Ryder. I am quite willing to do the work here."

Ryder, Sr., escorted her to the top of the landing and watched her as she pa.s.sed down the grand staircase, ushered by the gorgeously uniformed flunkies, to the front door and the street.

CHAPTER XIII

Shirley entered upon her new duties in the Ryder household two days later. She had returned to her rooms the evening of her meeting with the financier in a state bordering upon hysteria. The day's events had been so extraordinary that it seemed to her they could not be real, and that she must be in a dream. The car ride to Seventy-fourth Street, the interview in the library, the discovery of her father's letters, the offer to write the biography, and, what to her was still more important, the invitation to go and live in the Ryder home--all these incidents were so remarkable and unusual that it was only with difficulty that the girl persuaded herself that they were not figments of a disordered brain.

But it was all true enough. The next morning's mail brought a letter from Mrs. Ryder, who wrote to the effect that Mr. Ryder would like the work to begin at once, and adding that a suite of rooms would be ready for her the following afternoon. Shirley did not hesitate. Everything was to be gained by making the Ryder residence her headquarters, her father's very life depended upon the successful outcome of her present mission, and this unhoped for opportunity practically ensured success. She immediately wrote to Ma.s.sapequa. One letter was to her mother, saying that she was extending her visit beyond the time originally planned. The other letter was to Stott. She told him all about the interview with Ryder, informed him of the discovery of the letters, and after explaining the nature of the work offered to her, said that her address for the next few weeks would be in care of John Burkett Ryder. All was going better than she had dared to hope. Everything seemed to favour their plan. Her first step, of course, while in the Ryder home, would be to secure possession of her father's letters, and these she would dispatch at once to Ma.s.sapequa, so they could be laid before the Senate without delay.

So, after settling accounts with her landlady and packing up her few belongings, Shirley lost no time in transferring herself to the more luxurious quarters provided for her in the ten-million-dollar mansion uptown.

At the Ryder house she was received cordially and with every mark of consideration. The housekeeper came down to the main hall to greet her when she arrived and escorted her to the suite of rooms, comprising a small working library, a bedroom simply but daintily furnished in pink and white and a private bathroom, which had been specially prepared for her convenience and comfort, and here presently she was joined by Mrs. Ryder.

"Dear me," exclaimed the financier's wife, staring curiously at Shirley, "what a young girl you are to have made such a stir with a book! How did you do it? I'm sure I couldn't. It's as much as I can do to write a letter, and half the time that's not legible."

"Oh, it wasn't so hard," laughed Shirley. "It was the subject that appealed rather than any special skill of mine. The trusts and their misdeeds are the favourite topics of the hour. The whole country is talking about nothing else. My book came at the right time, that's all."

Although "The American Octopus" was a direct attack on her own husband, Mrs. Ryder secretly admired this young woman, who had dared to speak a few blunt truths. It was a courage which, alas!

she had always lacked herself, but there was a certain satisfaction in knowing there were women in the world not entirely cowed by the tyrant Man.

"I have always wanted a daughter," went on Mrs. Ryder, becoming confidential, while Shirley removed her things and made herself at home; "girls of your age are so companionable." Then, abruptly, she asked: "Do your parents live in New York?"

Shirley's face flushed and she stooped over her trunk to hide her embarra.s.sment.

"No--not at present," she answered evasively. "My mother and father are in the country."

She was afraid that more questions of a personal nature would follow, but apparently Mrs. Ryder was not in an inquisitive mood, for she asked nothing further. She only said:

"I have a son, but I don't see much of him. You must meet my Jefferson. He is such a nice boy."