The telephone rang, and Jefferson got up to go. Mr. Ryder took up the receiver.
"Hallo! What's that? Sergeant Ellison? Yes, send him up."
Putting the telephone down, Ryder, Sr., rose, and crossing the room accompanied his son to the door.
"Think it well over, Jeff. Don't be hasty."
"I have thought it over, sir, and I have decided to go."
A few moments later Jefferson left the house.
Ryder, Sr., went back to his desk and sat for a moment in deep thought. For the first time in his life he was face to face with defeat; for the first time he had encountered a will as strong as his own. He who could rule parliaments and dictate to governments now found himself powerless to rule his own son. At all costs, he mused, the boy's infatuation for Judge Rossmore's daughter must be checked, even if he had to blacken the girl's character as well as the father's, or, as a last resort, send the entire family out of the country. He had not lost sight of his victim since the carefully prepared crash in Wall Street, and the sale of the Rossmore home following the bankruptcy of the Great Northwestern Mining Company. His agents had reported their settlement in the quiet little village on Long Island, and he had also learned of Miss Rossmore's arrival from Europe, which coincided strangely with the home-coming of his own son. He decided, therefore, to keep a closer watch on Massapequa now than ever, and that is why to-day's call of Sergeant Ellison, a noted sleuth in the government service, found so ready a welcome.
The door opened, and Mr. Bagley entered, followed by a tall, powerfully built man whose robust physique and cheap looking clothes contrasted strangely with the delicate, ultra-fashionably attired English secretary.
"Take a seat, Sergeant," said Mr. Ryder, cordially motioning his visitor to a chair. The man sat down gingerly on one of the rich leather-upholstered chairs. His manner was nervous and awkward, as if intimidated in the presence of the financier.
"Are the Republican Committee still waiting?" demanded Mr. Ryder.