Montague sat for a few moments in thought. “Mrs. Taylor wrote me that Waterman—” he began.
“I know, I know!” cried the other. “He had to tell her something, to get what he wanted.”
Montague said nothing.
“And suppose he does what he promised?” continued the other. “He has done it before—but am I to be one of Dan Waterman's lackeys?”
There was a silence. “Like John Lawrence,” continued Ryder, in a low voice. “Have you heard of Lawrence? He was a banker—one of the oldest in the city. And Waterman gave him an order, and he defied him. Then he broke him; took away every dollar he owned. And the man came to him on his knees. 'I've taught you who is your master,' said Waterman. 'Now here's your money.' And now Lawrence fawns on him, and he's got rich and fat. But all his bank exists for is to lend money when Waterman is floating a merger, and call it in when he is buying.”
Montague could think of nothing to reply to that.
“Mr. Ryder,” he began at last, “I cannot be of much use to you now, because I haven't the facts. All I can tell you is that I am at your disposal. I will give you my best efforts, if you will let me. That is all I can say.”
And Ryder looked up, the light shining on his white, wan face. “Thank you, Mr. Montague,” he said. “It is very good of you. It is a help, at least, to hear a word of sympathy. I—I will let you know—”
“All right,” said Montague, rising. He put out his hand, and Ryder took it tremblingly. “Thank you,” he said again.
And the other turned and went out. He went down the great staircase by himself. At the foot he passed the butler, carrying a tray with some coffee.