The Lion and The Mouse: A Story Of American Life

  CHAPTER XII

  Mr. Ryder remained at his desk and did not even look up when hisvisitor entered. He pretended to be busily preoccupied with hispapers, which was a favourite pose of his when receivingstrangers. This frigid reception invariably served its purpose,for it led visitors not to expect more than they got, whichusually was little enough. For several minutes Shirley stoodstill, not knowing whether to advance or to take a seat. She gavea little conventional cough, and Ryder looked up. What he saw soastonished him that he at once took from his mouth the cigar hewas smoking and rose from his seat. He had expected a gaunt oldmaid with spectacles, and here was a stylish, good-looking youngwoman, who could not possibly be over twenty-five. There wassurely some mistake. This slip of a girl could not have written"The American Octopus." He advanced to greet Shirley.

  "You wish to see me, Madame?" he asked courteously. There weretimes when even John Burkett Ryder could be polite.

  "Yes," replied Shirley, her voice trembling a little; in spite ofher efforts to keep cool. "I am here by appointment. Threeo'clock, Mrs. Ryder's note said. I am Miss Green."

  "_You_--Miss Green?" echoed the financier dubiously.

  "Yes, I am Miss Green--Shirley Green, author of 'The AmericanOctopus.' You asked me to call. Here I am."

  For the first time in his life, John Ryder was nonplussed. Hecoughed and stammered and looked round for a place where he couldthrow his cigar. Shirley, who enjoyed his embarrassment, put himat his ease.

  "Oh, please go on smoking," she said; "I don't mind it in theleast."

  Ryder threw the cigar into a receptacle and looked closely at hisvisitor.

  "So you are Shirley Green, eh?"

  "That is my _nom-de-plume_--yes," replied the girl nervously. Shewas already wishing herself back at Massapequa. The financier eyedher for a moment in silence as if trying to gauge the strength ofthe personality of this audacious young woman, who had dared tocriticise his business methods in public print; then, waving herto a seat near his desk, he said:

  "Won't you sit down?"

  "Thank you," murmured Shirley. She sat down, and he took his seatat the other side of the desk, which brought them face to face.Again inspecting the girl with a close scrutiny that made hercheeks burn, Ryder said:

  "I rather expected--" He stopped for a moment as if uncertain whatto say, then he added: "You're younger than I thought you were,Miss Green, much younger."

  "Time will remedy that," smiled Shirley. Then, mischievously, sheadded: "I rather expected to see Mrs. Ryder."

  There was the faintest suspicion of a smile playing around thecorners of the plutocrat's mouth as he picked up a book lying onhis desk and replied:

  "Yes--she wrote you, but I--wanted to see you about this."

  Shirley's pulse throbbed faster, but she tried hard to appearunconcerned as she answered:

  "Oh, my book--have you read it?"

  "I have," replied Ryder slowly and, fixing her with a stare thatwas beginning to make her uncomfortable, he went on: "No doubtyour time is valuable, so I'll come right to the point. I want toask you, Miss Green, where you got the character of your centralfigure--the Octopus, as you call him--John Broderick?"

  "From imagination--of course," answered Shirley.

  Ryder opened the book, and Shirley noticed that there were severalpassages marked. He turned the leaves over in silence for a minuteor two and then he said:

  "You've sketched a pretty big man here--"

  "Yes," assented Shirley, "he has big possibilities, but I think hemakes very small use of them."

  Ryder appeared not to notice her commentary, and, still readingthe book, he continued:

  "On page 22 you call him '_the world's greatest individualizedpotentiality, a giant combination of materiality, mentality andmoney--the greatest exemplar of individual human will in existenceto-day._' And you make indomitable will and energy the keystone ofhis marvellous success. Am I right?" He looked at her questioningly.

  "Quite right," answered Shirley.

  Ryder proceeded:

  "On page 26 you say '_the machinery of his money-making mindtypifies the laws of perpetual unrest. It must go on, relentlessly,resistlessly, ruthlessly making money--making money and continuingto make money. It cannot stop until the machinery crumbles._'"

  Laying the book down and turning sharply on Shirley, he asked herbluntly:

  "Do you mean to say that I couldn't stop to-morrow if I wantedto?"

  She affected to not understand him.

  "_You?_" she inquired in a tone of surprise.

  "Well--it's a natural question," stammered Ryder, with a nervouslittle laugh; "every man sees himself in the hero of a novel justas every woman sees herself in the heroine. We're all heroes andheroines in our own eyes. But tell me what's your private opinionof this man. You drew the character. What do you think of him as atype, how would you classify him?"

  "As the greatest criminal the world has yet produced," repliedShirley without a moment's hesitation.

  The financier looked at the girl in unfeigned astonishment.

  "Criminal?" he echoed.

  "Yes, criminal," repeated Shirley decisively. "He is avarice,egotism, and ambition incarnate. He loves money because he lovespower, and he loves power more than his fellow man."

  Ryder laughed uneasily. Decidedly, this girl had opinions of herown which she was not backward to express.

  "Isn't that rather strong?" he asked.

  "I don't think so," replied Shirley. Then quickly she asked: "Butwhat does it matter? No such man exists."

  "No, of course not," said Ryder, and he relapsed into silence.

  Yet while he said nothing, the plutocrat was watching his visitorclosely from under his thick eyebrows. She seemed supremelyunconscious of his scrutiny. Her aristocratic, thoughtful facegave no sign that any ulterior motive had actuated her evidentlyvery hostile attitude against him. That he was in her mind whenshe drew the character of John Broderick there was no doubtpossible. No matter how she might evade the identification, he wasconvinced he was the hero of her book. Why had she attacked him sobitterly? At first, it occurred to him that blackmail might be herobject; she might be going to ask for money as the price of futuresilence. Yet it needed but a glance at her refined and modestdemeanour to dispel that idea as absurd. Then he remembered, too,that it was not she who had sought this interview, but himself.No, she was no blackmailer. More probably she was a dreamer--oneof those meddling sociologists who, under pretence of betteringthe conditions of the working classes, stir up discontent andbitterness of feeling. As such; she might prove more to be fearedthan a mere blackmailer whom he could buy off with money. He knewhe was not popular, but he was no worse than the other captains ofindustry. It was a cut-throat game at best. Competition was thesoul of commercial life, and if he had outwitted his competitorsand made himself richer than all of them, he was not a criminalfor that. But all these attacks in newspapers and books did not dohim any good. One day the people might take these demagogicwritings seriously and then there would be the devil to pay. Hetook up the book again and ran over the pages. This certainly wasno ordinary girl. She knew more and had a more direct way ofsaying things than any woman he had ever met. And as he watchedher furtively across the desk he wondered how he could use her;how instead of being his enemy, he could make her his friend. Ifhe did not, she would go away and write more such books, andliterature of this kind might become a real peril to hisinterests. Money could do anything; it could secure the servicesof this woman and prevent her doing further mischief. But howcould he employ her? Suddenly an inspiration came to him. For someyears he had been collecting material for a history of the EmpireTrading Company. She could write it. It would practically be hisown biography. Would she undertake it?

  Embarrassed by the long silence, Shirley finally broke it bysaying:

  "But you didn't ask me to call merely to find out what I thoughtof my own work."

  "No," replied Ryder slowly, "I want you to do some work for me."

&nb
sp; He opened a drawer at the left-hand side of his desk and took outseveral sheets of foolscap and a number of letters. Shirley'sheart beat faster as she caught sight of the letters. Were herfather's among them? She wondered what kind of work John BurkettRyder had for her to do and if she would do it whatever it was.Some literary work probably, compiling or something of that kind.If it was well paid, why should she not accept? There would benothing humiliating in it; it would not tie her hands in any way.She was a professional writer in the market to be employed bywhoever could pay the price. Besides, such work might give herbetter opportunities to secure the letters of which she was insearch. Gathering in one pile all the papers he had removed fromthe drawer, Mr. Ryder said:

  "I want you to put my biography together from this material. Butfirst," he added, taking up "The American Octopus," "I want toknow where you got the details of this man's life."

  "Oh, for the most part--imagination, newspapers, magazines,"replied Shirley carelessly. "You know the American millionaire isa very overworked topic just now--and naturally I've read--"

  "Yes, I understand," he said, "but I refer to what you haven'tread--what you couldn't have read. For example, here." He turnedto a page marked in the book and read aloud: "_As an evidence ofhis petty vanity, when a youth he had a beautiful Indian girltattooed just above the forearm._" Ryder leaned eagerly forward ashe asked her searchingly: "Now who told you that I had my armtattooed when I was a boy?"

  "Have you?" laughed Shirley nervously. "What a curiouscoincidence!"

  "Let me read you another coincidence," said Ryder meaningly. Heturned to another part of the book and read: "_the same eternallong black cigar always between his lips_ ..."

  "General Grant smoked, too," interrupted Shirley. "All men whothink deeply along material lines seem to smoke."

  "Well, we'll let that go. But how about this?" He turned back afew pages and read: "_John Broderick had loved, when a young man,a girl who lived in Vermont, but circumstances separated them._"He stopped and stared at Shirley a moment and then he said: "Iloved a girl when I was a lad and she came from Vermont, andcircumstances separated us. That isn't coincidence, for presentlyyou make John Broderick marry a young woman who had money. Imarried a girl with money."

  "Lots of men marry for money," remarked Shirley.

  "I said _with_ money, not for money," retorted Ryder. Then turningagain to the book, he said: "Now, this is what I can't understand,for no one could have told you this but I myself. Listen." He readaloud: "_With all his physical bravery and personal courage, JohnBroderick was intensely afraid of death. It was on his mindconstantly._" "Who told you that?" he demanded somewhat roughly."I swear I've never mentioned it to a living soul."

  "Most men who amass money are afraid of death," replied Shirleywith outward composure, "for death is about the only thing thatcan separate them from their money."

  Ryder laughed, but it was a hollow, mocking laugh, neither sincerenor hearty. It was a laugh such as the devil may have given whendriven out of heaven.

  "You're quite a character!" He laughed again, and Shirley,catching the infection, laughed, too.

  "It's me and it isn't me," went on Ryder flourishing the book."This fellow Broderick is all right; he's successful and he'sgreat, but I don't like his finish."

  "It's logical," ventured Shirley.

  "It's cruel," insisted Ryder.

  "So is the man who reverses the divine law and hates his neighbourinstead of loving him," retorted Shirley.

  She spoke more boldly, beginning to feel more sure of her ground,and it amused her to fence in this way with the man of millions.So far, she thought, he had not got the best of her. She was fastbecoming used to him, and her first feeling of intimidation waspassing away.

  "Um!" grunted Ryder, "you're a curious girl; upon my word youinterest me!" He took the mass of papers lying at his elbow andpushed them over to her. "Here," he said, "I want you to make asclever a book out of this chaos as you did out of your ownimagination."

  Shirley turned the papers over carelessly.

  "So you think your life is a good example to follow?" she askedwith a tinge of irony.

  "Isn't it?" he demanded.

  The girl looked him square in the face.

  "Suppose," she said, "we all wanted to follow it, suppose we allwanted to be the richest, the most powerful personage in theworld?"

  "Well--what then?" he demanded.

  "I think it would postpone the era of the Brotherhood of manindefinitely, don't you?"

  "I never thought of it from that point of view," admitted thebillionaire. "Really," he added, "you're an extraordinary girl.Why, you can't be more than twenty--or so."

  "I'm twenty-four--or so," smiled Shirley.

  Ryder's face expanded in a broad smile. He admired this girl'spluck and ready wit. He grew more amiable and tried to gain herconfidence. In a coaxing tone he said:

  "Come, where did you get those details? Take me into yourconfidence."

  "I have taken you into my confidence," laughed Shirley, pointingat her book. "It cost you $1.50!" Turning over the papers he hadput before her she said presently: "I don't know about this."

  "You don't think my life would make good reading?" he asked withsome asperity.

  "It might," she replied slowly, as if unwilling to commit herselfas to its commercial or literary value. Then she said frankly: "Totell you the honest truth, I don't consider mere genius inmoney-making is sufficient provocation for rushing into print. Yousee, unless you come to a bad end, it would have no moral."

  Ignoring the not very flattering insinuation contained in thislast speech, the plutocrat continued to urge her:

  "You can name your own price if you will do the work," he said."Two, three or even five thousand dollars. It's only a few months'work."

  "Five thousand dollars?" echoed Shirley. "That's a lot of money."Smiling, she added: "It appeals to my commercial sense. But I'mafraid the subject does not arouse my enthusiasm from an artisticstandpoint."

  Ryder seemed amused at the idea of any one hesitating to make fivethousand dollars. He knew that writers do not run across suchopportunities every day.

  "Upon my word," he said, "I don't know why I'm so anxious to getyou to do the work. I suppose it's because you don't want to. Youremind me of my son. Ah, he's a problem!"

  Shirley started involuntarily when Ryder mentioned his son. But hedid not notice it.

  "Why, is he wild?" she asked, as if only mildly interested.

  "Oh, no, I wish he were," said Ryder.

  "Fallen in love with the wrong woman, I suppose," she said.

  "Something of the sort--how did you guess?" asked Ryder surprised.

  Shirley coughed to hide her embarrassment and repliedindifferently.

  "So many boys do that. Besides," she added with a mischievoustwinkle in her eyes, "I can hardly imagine that any woman would bethe right one unless you selected her yourself!"

  Ryder made no answer. He folded his arms and gazed at her. Who wasthis woman who knew him so well, who could read his inmostthoughts, who never made a mistake? After a silence he said:

  "Do you know you say the strangest things?"

  "Truth is strange," replied Shirley carelessly. "I don't supposeyou hear it very often."

  "Not in that form," admitted Ryder.

  Shirley had taken on to her lap some of the letters he had passedher, and was perusing them one after another.

  "All these letters from Washington consulting you on politics andfinance--they won't interest the world."

  "My secretary picked them out," explained Ryder. "Your artisticsense will tell you what to use."

  "Does your son still love this girl? I mean the one you objectto?" inquired Shirley as she went on sorting the papers.

  "Oh, no, he does not care for her any more," answered Ryderhastily.

  "Yes, he does; he still loves her," said Shirley positively.

  "How do _you_ know?" asked Ryder amazed.

  "From the way you say he doesn't," re
torted Shirley.

  Ryder gave his caller a look in which admiration was mingled withastonishment.

  "You are right again," he said. "The idiot does love the girl."

  "Bless his heart," said Shirley to herself. Aloud she said:

  "I hope they'll both outwit you."

  Ryder laughed in spite of himself. This young woman certainlyinterested him more than any other he had ever known.

  "I don't think I ever met anyone in my life quite like you," hesaid.

  "What's the objection to the girl?" demanded Shirley.

  "Every objection. I don't want her in my family."

  "Anything against her character?"

  To better conceal the keen interest she took in the personal turnthe conversation had taken, Shirley pretended to be more busy thanever with the papers.

  "Yes--that is no--not that I know of," replied Ryder. "But becausea woman has a good character, that doesn't necessarily make her adesirable match, does it?"

  "It's a point in her favor, isn't it?"

  "Yes--but--" He hesitated as if uncertain what to say.

  "You know men well, don't you, Mr. Ryder?"

  "I've met enough to know them pretty well," he replied.

  "Why don't you study women for a change?" she asked. "That wouldenable you to understand a great many things that I don't thinkare quite clear to you now."

  Ryder laughed good humouredly. It was decidedly a novel sensationto have someone lecturing him.

  "I'm studying you," he said, "but I don't seem to make muchheadway. A woman like you whose mind isn't spoiled by theamusement habit has great possibilities--great possibilities. Doyou know you're the first woman I ever took into my confidence--Imean at sight?" Again he fixed her with that keen glance which inhis business life had taught him how to read men. He continued:"I'm acting on sentiment--something I rarely do, but I can't helpit. I like you, upon my soul I do, and I'm going to introduce youto my wife--my son--"

  He took the telephone from his desk as if he were going to use it.

  "What a commander-in-chief you would have made--how natural it isfor you to command," exclaimed Shirley in a burst of admirationthat was half real, half mocking. "I suppose you always tellpeople what they are to do and how they are to do it. You are aborn general. You know I've often thought that Napoleon and Caesarand Alexander must have been great domestic leaders as well asimperial rulers. I'm sure of it now."

  Ryder listened to her in amazement. He was not quite sure if shewere making fun of him or not.

  "Well, of all--" he began. Then interrupting himself he saidamiably: "Won't you do me the honour to meet my family?"

  Shirley smiled sweetly and bowed.

  "Thank you, Mr. Ryder, I will."

  She rose from her seat and leaned over the manuscripts to concealthe satisfaction this promise of an introduction to the familycircle gave her. She was quick to see that it meant more visits tothe house, and other and perhaps better opportunities to find theobjects of her search. Ryder lifted the receiver of his telephoneand talked to his secretary in another room, while Shirley, whowas still standing, continued examining the papers and letters.

  "Is that you, Bagley? What's that? General Dodge? Get rid of him.I can't see him to-day. Tell him to come to-morrow. What's that?My son wants to see me? Tell him to come to the phone."

  At that instant Shirley gave a little cry, which in vain she triedto suppress. Ryder looked up.

  "What's the matter?" he demanded startled.

  "Nothing--nothing!" she replied in a hoarse whisper. "I prickedmyself with a pin. Don't mind me."

  She had just come across her father's missing letters, which hadgot mixed up, evidently without Ryder's knowledge, in the mass ofpapers he had handed her. Prepared as she was to find the letterssomewhere in the house, she never dreamed that fate would put themso easily and so quickly into her hands; the suddenness of theirappearance and the sight of her father's familiar signatureaffected her almost like a shock. Now she had them, she must notlet them go again; yet how could she keep them unobserved? Couldshe conceal them? Would he miss them? She tried to slip them inher bosom while Ryder was busy at the 'phone, but he suddenlyglanced in her direction and caught her eye. She still held theletters in her hand, which shook from nervousness, but he noticednothing and went on speaking through the 'phone:

  "Hallo, Jefferson, boy! You want to see me. Can you wait till I'mthrough? I've got a lady here. Going away? Nonsense! Determined,eh? Well, I can't keep you here if you've made up your mind. Youwant to say good-bye. Come up in about five minutes and I'llintroduce you to a very interesting person,"

  He laughed and hung up the receiver. Shirley was all unstrung,trying to overcome the emotion which her discovery had caused her,and in a strangely altered voice, the result of the nervous strainshe was under, she said:

  "You want me to come here?"

  She looked up from the letters she was reading across to Ryder,who was standing watching her on the other side of the desk. Hecaught her glance and, leaning over to take some manuscript, hesaid:

  "Yes, I don't want these papers to get--"

  His eye suddenly rested on the letters she was holding. He stoppedshort, and reaching forward he tried to snatch them from her.

  "What have you got there?" he exclaimed.

  He took the letters and she made no resistance. It would be follyto force the issue now, she thought. Another opportunity wouldpresent itself. Ryder locked the letters up very carefully in thedrawer on the left-hand side of his desk, muttering to himselfrather than speaking to Shirley:

  "How on earth did they get among my other papers?"

  "From Judge Rossmore, were they not?" said Shirley boldly.

  "How did you know it was Judge Rossmore?" demanded Rydersuspiciously. "I didn't know that his name had been mentioned."

  "I saw his signature," she said simply. Then she added: "He's thefather of the girl you don't like, isn't he?"

  "Yes, he's the--"

  A cloud came over the financier's face; his eyes darkened, hisjaws snapped and he clenched his fist.

  "How you must hate him!" said Shirley, who observed the change.

  "Not at all," replied Ryder recovering his self-possession andsuavity of manner. "I disagree with his politics and his methods,but--I know very little about him except that he is about to beremoved from office."

  "About to be?" echoed Shirley. "So his fate is decided even beforehe is tried?" The girl laughed bitterly. "Yes," she went on, "someof the newspapers are beginning to think he is innocent of thethings of which he is accused."

  "Do they?" said Ryder indifferently.

  "Yes," she persisted, "most people are on his side."

  She planted her elbows on the desk in front of her, and lookinghim squarely in the face, she asked him point blank:

  "Whose side are you on--really and truly?"

  Ryder winced. What right had this woman, a stranger both to JudgeRossmore and himself, to come here and catechise him? Herestrained his impatience with difficulty as he replied:

  "Whose side am I on? Oh, I don't know that I am on any side. Idon't know that I give it much thought. I--"

  "Do you think this man deserves to be punished?" she demanded.

  She had resumed her seat at the desk and partly regained herself-possession.

  "Why do you ask? What is your interest in this matter?"

  "I don't know," she replied evasively; "his case interests me,that's all. Its rather romantic. Your son loves this man'sdaughter. He is in disgrace--many seem to think unjustly." Hervoice trembled with emotion as she continued: "I have heard fromone source or another--you know I am acquainted with a number ofnewspaper men--I have heard that life no longer has any interestfor him, that he is not only disgraced but beggared, that he ispining away slowly, dying of a broken heart, that his wife anddaughter are in despair. Tell me, do you think he deserves such afate?"

  Ryder remained thoughtful a moment, and then he replied:

  "No, I do not--no--
"

  Thinking that she had touched his sympathies, Shirley followed upher advantage:

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

  Ryder shrugged his shoulders, and his face expressed weariness, asif 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 ringto 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 pointedto the drawer in the desk where he had placed the letters. "If youhad absolute proof in that drawer, for instance? Wouldn't you helphim then?"

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

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

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

  "I repeat that even if I had, I could not expose the men who havebeen my friends. Its _noblesse oblige_ in politics as well as insociety, you know."

  He smiled again at her, as if he had recovered his good humourafter their sharp passage at arms.

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

  "Not necessarily--"

  "You said that even if you had the proofs, you could not producethem without sacrificing your friends, showing that your friendsare interested in having this man put off the bench--" She stoppedand burst into hysterical laughter. "Oh, I think you're having ajoke at my expense," she went on, "just to see how far you canlead me. I daresay Judge Rossmore deserves all he gets. Oh,yes--I'm sure he deserves it." She rose and walked to the otherside 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 toconceal the fact that her eyes were filled with tears. "It's myartistic temperament, I suppose. It's always getting me intotrouble. It appealed so strongly to my sympathies--this story ofhopeless love between two young people--with the father of thegirl 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, herwhole body trembling. At that moment there was a knock at thelibrary 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 wantedto say--"

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

  Jefferson looked in the direction indicated and stood as if rootedto 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., notnoticing the note of familiar recognition in his exclamation.

  Shirley advanced, and holding out her hand to Jefferson, saiddemurely:

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

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

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

  "Father!" blurted out Jefferson, "I came to say that I've changedmy mind. You did not want me to go, and I feel I ought to dosomething 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. Youundertake the work at the price I named and finish it as soon asyou can. Of course, you will have to consult me a good deal as yougo along, so I think it would be better for you to come and stayhere while the work is progressing. Mrs. Ryder can give you asuite of rooms to yourself, where you will be undisturbed and youwill have all your material close at hand. What do you say?"

  Shirley was silent for a moment. She looked first at Ryder andthen at his son, and from them her glance went to the littledrawer 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 workhere."

  Ryder, Sr., escorted her to the top of the landing and watched heras she passed down the grand staircase, ushered by the gorgeouslyuniformed flunkies, to the front door and the street.