While the foregoing incidents were happening John Burkett Ryderwas secluded in his library. The great man had come home earlierthan usual, for he had two important callers to see by appointmentthat afternoon. One was Sergeant Ellison, who had to report on hismission to Massapequa; the other was Miss Shirley Green, theauthor of "The American Octopus," who had at last deigned tohonour him with a visit. Pending the arrival of these visitors thefinancier was busy with his secretary trying to get rid as rapidlyas possible of what business and correspondence there was on hand.
The plutocrat was sitting at his desk poring over a mass ofpapers. Between his teeth was the inevitable long black cigar andwhen he raised his eyes to the light a close observer might haveremarked that they were sea-green, a colour they assumed when theman of millions was absorbed in scheming new business deals. Everynow and then he stopped reading the papers to make quickcalculations on scraps of paper. Then if the result pleased him, asmile overspread his saturnine features. He rose from his chairand nervously paced the floor as he always did when thinkingdeeply.
"Five millions," he muttered, "not a cent more. If they won't sellwe'll crush them--"
Mr. Bagley entered. Mr. Ryder looked up quickly.
"Well, Bagley?" he said interrogatively. "Has Sergeant Ellisoncome?"
"Yes, sir. But Mr. Herts is downstairs. He insists on seeing youabout the Philadelphia gas deal. He says it is a matter of lifeand death."
"To him--yes," answered the financier dryly. "Let him come up. Wemight as well have it out now."
Mr. Bagley went out and returned almost immediately, followed by ashort, fat man, rather loudly dressed and apoplectic inappearance. He looked like a prosperous brewer, while, as a matterof fact, he was president of a gas company, one of the shrewdestpromoters in the country, and a big man in Wall Street. There wasonly one bigger man and that was John Ryder. But, to-day, Mr.Herts was not in good condition. His face was pale and his mannerflustered and nervous. He was plainly worried.
"Mr. Ryder," he began with excited gesture, "the terms you offerare preposterous. It would mean disaster to the stockholders. Ourgas properties are worth six times that amount. We will sell outfor twenty millions--not a cent less."
Ryder shrugged his shoulders.
"Mr. Herts," he replied coolly, "I am busy to-day and in no moodfor arguing. We'll either buy you out or force you out. Choose.You have our offer. Five millions for your gas property. Will youtake it?"
"We'll see you in hell first!" cried his visitor exasperated.
"Very well," replied Ryder still unruffled, "all negotiations areoff. You leave me free to act. We have an offer to buy cheap theold Germantown Gas Company which has charter rights to go into anyof the streets of Philadelphia. We shall purchase that company, wewill put ten millions new capital into it, and reduce the price ofgas in Philadelphia to sixty cents a thousand. Where will you bethen?"
The face of the Colossus as he uttered this stand and deliverspeech was calm and inscrutable. Conscious of the resistless powerof his untold millions, he felt no more compunction in mercilesslycrushing this business rival than he would in trampling out thelife of a worm. The little man facing him looked haggard anddistressed. He knew well that this was no idle threat. He was wellaware that Ryder and his associates by the sheer weight of theenormous wealth they controlled could sell out or destroy anyindustrial corporation in the land. It was plainly illegal, but itwas done every day, and his company was not the first victim northe last. Desperate, he appealed humbly to the tyrannical MoneyPower:
"Don't drive us to the wall, Mr. Ryder. This forced sale will meandisaster to us all. Put yourself in our place--think what it meansto scores of families whose only support is the income from theirinvestment in our company."
"Mr. Herts," replied Ryder unmoved, "I never allow sentiment tointerfere with business. You have heard my terms. I refuse toargue the matter further. What is it to be? Five millions orcompetition? 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 voicebroken 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'llhave a cheque ready for the entire amount. Good-day."
Mr. Bagley entered. Ryder bowed to Herts, who slowly retired. Whenthe door had closed on him Ryder went back to his desk, a smile oftriumph 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 hischair, puffing silently at his long black cigar. The financier wasthinking, but his thoughts concerned neither the luckless gaspresident he had just pitilessly crushed, nor the detective whohad come to make his report. He was thinking of the book "TheAmerican Octopus," and its bold author whom he was to meet in avery few minutes. He glanced at the clock. A quarter to three. Shewould be here in fifteen minutes if she were punctual, but womenseldom are, he reflected. What kind of a woman could she be, thisShirley Green, to dare cross swords with a man whose power wasfelt in two hemispheres? No ordinary woman, that was certain. Hetried to imagine what she looked like, and he pictured a tall,gaunt, sexless spinster with spectacles, a sort of nightmare inthe garb of a woman. A sour, discontented creature, bitter to allmankind, owing to disappointments in early life and especiallyvindictive towards the rich, whom her socialistic and evenanarchistical tendencies prompted her to hate and attack. Yet,withal, a brainy, intelligent woman, remarkably well informed asto political and industrial conditions--a woman to make a friendof rather than an enemy. And John Ryder, who had educated himselfto believe that with gold he could do everything, that none couldresist its power, had no doubt that with money he could enlistthis Shirley Green in his service. At least it would keep her fromwriting more books about him.
The door opened and Sergeant Ellison entered, followed by thesecretary, who almost immediately withdrew.
"Well, sergeant," said Mr. Ryder cordially, "what have you to tellme? I can give you only a few minutes. I expect a lady friend ofyours."
The plutocrat sometimes condescended to be jocular with hissubordinates.
"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 yoursworked 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 herhalf a dozen times before she was satisfied with the wording ofthe invitation. But, finally, we landed her and I expect her atthree o'clock. Now what about that Rossmore girl? Did you go downto Massapequa?"
"Yes, sir, I have been there half a dozen times. In fact, I'vejust come from there. Judge Rossmore is there, all right, but hisdaughter 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 thegirl there was little danger of Jefferson making a fool ofhimself; with her disappeared everything was possible.
"I could not find out, sir. Their neighbours don't know much aboutthem. They say they're haughty and stuck up. The only one I couldget anything out of was a parson named Deetle. He said it was asad case, that they had reverses and a daughter who was inParis--"
"Yes, yes," said Ryder impatiently, "we know all that. But where'sthe daughter now?"
"Search me, sir. I even tried to pump the Irish slavey. Gee, whata vixen! She almost flew at me. She said she didn't know anddidn't care."
Ryder brought his fist down with force on his desk, a trick he hadwhen 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 allthe sleuths in the country. Had my son been seen there?"
"The parson said he saw a young fellow answering his descriptionsitting on the porch of the Rossmore cottage the evening beforethe girl disappeared, but he didn't know who he was and hasn'tseen him since."
"That was my son, I'll wager. He knows where the girl is. Perhapshe's with her now. Maybe he's going to marry her. That must beprevented at any cost. Sergeant, find that Rossmore girl and I'llgive you $1,000."
The detective's face flushed with pleasure at the prospect of soliberal a reward. Rising he said:
"I'll find her, sir. I'll find her."
Mr. Bagley entered, wearing the solemn, important air he alwaysaffected when he had to announce a visitor of consequence. Butbefore 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 hewould 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 hissecretary 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. Findthat Rossmore woman and the $1,000 is yours."
The detective went out and a few moments later Mr. Bagleyreappeared ushering in Shirley.
The mouse was in the den of the lion.