Ryder, with his customary bluntness, came right down to business.
"Well, what have you been doing about the book?" he demanded. "Have you found the author of 'The American Octopus'?"
"No, sir, I have not. I confess I'm baffled. The secret has been well kept. The publishers have shut up like a clam. There's only one thing that I'm pretty well sure of."
"What's that?" demanded Ryder, interested.
"That no such person as Shirley Green exists."
"Oh," exclaimed, the financier, "then you think it is a mere nom de plume?"
"Yes, sir."
"And what do you think was the reason for preserving the anonymity?"
"Well, you see, sir, the book deals with a big subject. It gives some hard knocks, and the author, no doubt, felt a little timid about launching it under his or her real name. At least that's my theory, sir."
"And a good one, no doubt," said Mr. Ryder. Then he added: "That makes me all the more anxious to find out who it is. I would willingly give this moment a check for $5,000 to know who wrote it. Whoever it is, knows me as well as I know myself. We must find the author."