Almost prostrated by the misfortune which had so suddenly and unexpectedly come upon him, Judge Rossmore was like a man demented. His reason seemed to be tottering, he spoke and acted like a man in a dream. Naturally he was entirely incapacitated for work and he had applied to Washington to be temporarily relieved from his judicial duties. He was instantly granted a leave of absence and went at once to his home in Madison Avenue, where he shut himself up in his library, sitting for hours at his desk wrestling with documents and legal tomes in a pathetic endeavour to find some way out, trying to elude this net in which unseen hands had entangled him.
What an end to his career! To have struggled and achieved for half a century, to have built up a reputation year by year, as a man builds a house brick by brick, only to see the whole crumble to his feet like dust! To have gained the respect of the country, to have made a name as the most incorruptible of public servants and now to be branded as a common bribe taker! Could he be dreaming? It was too incredible! What would his daughter say—his Shirley? Ah, the thought of the expression of incredulity and wonder on her face when she heard the news cut him to the heart like a knife thrust. Yet, he mused, her very unwillingness to believe it should really be his consolation. Ah, his wife and his child—they knew he had been innocent of wrong doing. The very idea was ridiculous. At most he had been careless. Yes, he was certainly to blame. He ought to have seen the trap so carefully prepared and into which he had walked as if blindfolded. That extra $50,000 worth of stock, on which he had never received a cent interest, had been the decoy in a carefully thought out plot. They, the plotters, well knew how ignorant he was of financial matters and he had been an easy victim. Who would believe his story that the stock had been sent to him with a plausibly-worded letter to the effect that it represented a bonus on his own investment? Now he came to think of it, calmly and reasonably, he would not believe it himself. As usual, he had mislaid or destroyed the secretary's letter and there was only his word against the company's books to substantiate what would appear a most improbable if not impossible occurrence.
It was his conviction of his own good faith that made his present dilemma all the more cruel. Had he really been a grafter, had he really taken the stock as a bribe he would not care so much, for then he would have foreseen and discounted the chances of exposure. Yes, there was no doubt possible. He was the victim of a conspiracy, there was an organized plot to ruin him, to get him out of the way. The "interests" feared him, resented his judicial decisions and they had halted at nothing to accomplish their purpose. How could he fight them back, what could he do to protect himself? He had no proofs of a conspiracy, his enemies worked in the dark, there was no way in which he could reach them or know who they were.
He thought of John Burkett Ryder. Ah, he remembered now. Ryder was the man who had recommended the investment in Alaskan stock. Of course, why did he not think of it before? He recollected that at the time he had been puzzled at receiving so much stock and he had mentioned it to Ryder, adding that the secretary had told him it was customary. Oh, why had he not kept the secretary's letter? But Ryder would certainly remember it. He probably still had his two letters in which he spoke of making the investment. If those letters could be produced at the Congressional inquiry they would clear him at once. So losing no time, and filled with renewed hope he wrote to the Colossus a strong, manly letter which would have melted an iceberg, urging Mr. Ryder to come forward now at this critical time and clear him of this abominable charge, or in any case to kindly return the two letters he must have in his possession, as they would go far to help him at the trial. Three days passed and no reply from Ryder. On the fourth came a polite but frigid note from Mr. Ryder's private secretary. Mr. Ryder had received Judge Rossmore's letter and in reply begged to state that he had a vague recollection of some conversation with the judge in regard to investments, but he did not think he had advised the purchase of any particular stock, as that was something he never did on principle, even with his most intimate friends. He had no wish to be held accountable in case of loss, etc. As to the letter which Judge Rossmore mentioned as having written to Mr. Ryder in regard to having received more stock than he had bought, of that Mr. Ryder had no recollection whatsoever. Judge Rossmore was probably mistaken as to the identity of his correspondent. He regretted he could not be of more service to Judge Rossmore, and remained his very obedient servant.
It was very evident that no help was to be looked for in that quarter. There was even decided hostility in Ryder's reply. Could it be true that the financier was really behind these attacks upon his character, was it possible that one man merely to make more money would deliberately ruin his fellow man whose hand he had grasped in friendship? He had been unwilling to believe it when his friend ex-judge Stott had pointed to Ryder as the author of all his misfortunes, but this unsympathetic letter with its falsehoods, its lies plainly written all over its face, was proof enough. Yes, there was now no doubt possible. John Burkett Ryder was his enemy and what an enemy! Many a man had committed suicide when he had incurred the enmity of the Colossus. Judge Rossmore, completely discouraged, bowed his head to the inevitable.
His wife, a nervous, sickly woman, was helpless to comfort or aid him. She had taken their misfortune as a visitation of an inscrutable Deity. She knew, of course, that her husband was wholly innocent of the accusations brought against him and if his character could be cleared and himself rehabilitated before the world, she would be the first to rejoice. But if it pleased the Almighty in His wisdom to sorely try her husband and herself and inflict this punishment upon them it was not for the finite mind to criticise the ways of Providence. There was probably some good reason for the apparent cruelty and injustice of it which their earthly understanding failed to grasp. Mrs. Rossmore found much comfort in this philosophy, which gave a satisfactory ending to both ends of the problem, and she was upheld in her view by the rector of the church which she had attended regularly each Sunday for the past five and twenty years. Christian resignation in the hour of trial, submission to the will of Heaven were, declared her spiritual adviser, the fundamental principles of religion. He could only hope that Mrs. Rossmore would succeed in imbuing her husband with her Christian spirit. But when the judge's wife returned home and saw the keen mental distress of the man who had been her companion for twenty-five long years, the comforter in her sorrows, the joy and pride of her young wifehood, she forgot all about her smug churchly consoler, and her heart went out to her husband in a spontaneous burst of genuine human sympathy. Yes, they must do something at once. Where men had failed perhaps a woman could do something. She wanted to cable at once for Shirley, who was everything in their household—organizer, manager, adviser—but the judge would not hear of it. No, his daughter was enjoying her holiday in blissful ignorance of what had occurred. He would not spoil it for her. They would see; perhaps things would improve. But he sent for his old friend ex-Judge Stott.
They were life-long friends, having become acquainted nearly thirty years ago at the law school, at the time when both were young men about to enter on a public career. Stott, who was Rossmore's junior, had begun as a lawyer in New York and soon acquired a reputation in criminal practice. He afterwards became assistant district attorney and later, when a vacancy occurred in the city magistrature, he was successful in securing the appointment. On the bench he again met his old friend Rossmore and the two men once more became closely intimate. The regular court hours, however, soon palled on a man of Judge Stott's nervous temperament and it was not long before he retired to take up once more his criminal practice. He was still a young man, not yet fifty, and full of vigor and fight. He had a blunt manner but his heart was in the right place, and he had a record as clean as his close shaven face. He was a hard worker, a brilliant speaker and one of the cleverest cross-examiners at the bar. This was the man to whom Judge Rossmore naturally turned for legal assistance.
Stott was out West when he first heard of the proceedings against his old friend, and this indignity put upon the only really honest man in public life whom he knew, so incensed him that he was already hurrying back to his aid when the summons reached him.
Meantime, a fresh and more serious calamity had overwhelmed Judge Rossmore. Everything seemed to combine to break the spirit of this man who had dared defy the power of organized capital. Hardly had the news of the Congressional inquiry been made public, than the financial world was startled by an extraordinary slump in Wall Street. There was nothing in the news of the day to justify a decline, but prices fell and fell. The bears had it all their own way, the big interests hammered stocks all along the line, "coppers" especially being the object of attack. The market closed feverishly and the next day the same tactics were pursued. From the opening, on selling orders coming from no one knew where, prices fell to nothing, a stampede followed and before long it became a panic. Pandemonium reigned on the floor of the Stock Exchange. White faced, dishevelled brokers shouted and struggled like men possessed to execute the orders of their clients. Big financial houses, which stood to lose millions on a falling market, rallied and by rush orders to buy, attempted to stem the tide, but all to no purpose. One firm after another went by the board unable to weather the tempest, until just before closing time, the stock ticker announced the failure of the Great Northwestern Mining Co. The drive in the market had been principally directed against its securities, and after vainly endeavoring to check the bear raid, it had been compelled to declare itself bankrupt. It was heavily involved, assets nil, stock almost worthless. It was probable that the creditors would not see ten cents on the dollar. Thousands were ruined and Judge Rossmore among them. All the savings of a lifetime—nearly $55,000 were gone. He was practically penniless, at a time when he needed money most. He still owned his house in Madison Avenue, but that would have to go to settle with his creditors. By the time everything was paid there would only remain enough for a modest competence. As to his salary, of course he could not touch that so long as this accusation was hanging over his head. And if he were impeached it would stop altogether. The salary, therefore, was not to be counted on. They must manage as best they could and live more cheaply, taking a small house somewhere in the outskirts of the city where he could prepare his case quietly without attracting attention.
Stott thought this was the best thing they could do and he volunteered to relieve his friend by taking on his own hands all the arrangements of the sale of the house and furniture, which offer the judge accepted only too gladly. Meantime, Mrs. Rossmore went to Long Island to see what could be had, and she found at the little village of Massapequa just what they were looking for—a commodious, neatly-furnished two-story cottage at a modest rental. Of course, it was nothing like what they had been accustomed to, but it was clean and comfortable, and as Mrs. Rossmore said, rather tactlessly, beggars cannot be choosers. Perhaps it would not be for long. Instant possession was to be had, so deposit was paid on the spot and a few days later the Rossmores left their mansion on Madison Avenue and took up their residence in Massapequa, where their advent created quite a fluster in local social circles.