"But that's impossible! They've had nothing to do with it."

"Bah!" said the Major. "How could you know?"

"I know the president," said Montague. "He's an old friend of the
family's."

"Yes," was the reply. "But suppose they have a mortgage on his
business?"

"But why not buy the road and be done with it?" added Montague, in
perplexity.

The other laughed. "I am reminded of a famous saying of
Wyman's,--'Why should I buy stock when I can buy directors?'"

"It's those same people who are watching you now," he continued,
after a pause. "Probably they think it is some move of the other
side, and they are trying to run the thing down."

"Who owns the Mississippi Steel Company?" asked Montague.

"I don't know," said the Major. "I fancy that Wyman must have come
into it somehow. Didn't you notice in the papers the other day that
the contracts for furnishing rails for all his three transcontinental
railroads had gone to the Mississippi Steel
Company?"

"Sure enough!" exclaimed Montague.

"You see!" said the Major, with a chuckle. "You have jumped right
into the middle of the frog pond, and the Lord only knows what a
ruction you have stirred up! Just think of the situation for a
moment. The Steel Trust is over-capitalised two hundred per cent.
Because of the tariff it is able to sell its product at home for
fifty per cent more than it charges abroad; and even so, it has to
keep cutting its dividends! Its common stock is down to ten. It is
cutting expenses on every hand, and of course it's turning out a
rotten product. And now along comes Wyman, the one man in Wall
Street who dares to shake his fist at old Dan Waterman; and he gives
the newspapers all the facts about the bad steel rails that are
causing smash-ups on his roads; and he turns all his contracts over
to the Mississippi Steel Company, which is under-selling the Trust.
The company is swamped with orders, and its plants are running day
and night. And then along comes a guileless young fool with a little
dinky railroad which he wants to run into the Company's back
door-yard; and he takes the proposition to Jim Hegan!"

The Major arrived at his climax in a state of suppressed emotion,
which culminated in a chuckle, which shook his rubicund visage and
brought a series of twitches to his aching toe. As for Montague, he
was duly humbled.

"What would you do now?" he asked, after a pause.

"I don't see that there's anything to do," said the Major, "except
to hold on tight to your stock. Perhaps if you go on talking out
loud about your extension, some of the Steel people will buy you out
at your own price."

"I gave them a scare, anyhow," said Montague, laughing.

"I can wager one thing," said the other. "There has been a fine
shaking up in somebody's office down town! There's a man who comes
here every night, who's probably heard of it. That's Will Roberts."

And the Major looked about the dining-room. "Here he comes now," he
said.

At the farther end of the room there had entered a tall, dark-haired
man, with a keen expression and a brisk step. "Roberts the Silent,"
said the Major. "Let's have a try at him." And as the man passed
near, he hailed him. "Hello! Roberts, where are you going? Let me
introduce my friend, Mr. Allan Montague."

The man looked at Montague. "Good evening, sir," he said. "How are
you, Venable?"

"Couldn't be worse, thank you," said the Major. "How are things with
you on the Street?"

"Dull, very dull," said Roberts, as he passed on. "Matters look bad,
I'm afraid. Too many people making money rapidly."

The Major chuckled. "A fine sentiment," he said, when Roberts had
passed out of hearing--"from a man who has made sixty millions in
the last ten years!"

"It did not appear that he had ever heard of me," said Montague.

"Oh, trust him for that!" said the Major. "He might have been
planning to have your throat cut to-night, but you wouldn't have
seen him turn an eyelid. He is that sort; he's made of steel
himself, I believe."

He paused, and then went on, in a reminiscent mood, "You've read of
the great strike, I suppose? It was Roberts put that job through. He
made himself the worst-hated man in the country--Gad! how the
newspapers and the politicians used to rage at him! But he stood his
ground--he would win that strike or die in the attempt. And he very
nearly did both, you know. An Anarchist came to his office and shot
him twice; but he got the fellow down and nearly choked the life out
of him, and he ran the strike on his sick-bed, and two weeks later
he was back in his office again."

And now the Major's store-rooms of gossip were unlocked. He told
Montague about the kings of Steel, and about the men they had hated
and the women they had loved, and about the inmost affairs and
secrets of their lives. William H. Roberts had begun his career in
the service of the great iron-master, whose deadly rival he had
afterwards become; and now he lived but to dispute that rival's
claims to glory. Let the rival build a library, Roberts would build
two. Let the rival put up a great office building, Roberts would buy
all the land about it, and put up half a dozen, and completely shut
out its light. And day and night "Roberts the Silent" was plotting
and planning, and some day he would be the master of the Steel
Trust, and his rival would be nowhere.

"They are lively chaps, the Steel crowd," said the Major, chuckling.
"You will have to keep your eyes open when you do business with
them."

"What would you advise me to do?" asked the other, smiling. "Set
detectives after them?"

"Why not?" asked the Major, seriously. "Why not find out who sent
that Colonel Cole to see you? And find out how badly he needs your
little railroad, and make him pay for it accordingly."

"That is not QUITE in my line," said Montague.

"It's time you were learning," said the Major. "I can start you. I
know a detective whom you can trust.--At any rate," he added
cautiously, "I don't know that he's ever played me false."

Montague sat for a while in thought. "You said something about their
getting after one's telephone," he observed. "Did you really mean
that?"

"Of course," said the other.

"Do you mean to tell me that they could find out what goes over my
'phone?"

"I mean to tell you," was the reply, "that for two hundred and fifty
dollars, I can get you a stenographic report of every word that you
say over your 'phone for twenty-four hours, and of every word that
anybody says to you."

"That sounds incredible!" said Montague. "Who does it?"

"Wire tappers. It's dangerous work, but the pay is big. I have a
friend who once upon a time was putting through a deal in which the
telephone company was interested, and they transferred his wire to
another branch, and he finished up his business before the other
side got on to the trick. To this day you'll notice that his
telephone is 'Spring,' though every other 'phone in the
neighbourhood is 'John.'"

"And mail, too?" asked Montague.

"Mail!" echoed the Major. "What's easier than that? You can hold up
a man's mail for twenty-four hours and take a photograph of every
letter. You can do the same with every letter that he mails, unless
he is very careful. He can be followed, you understand, and every
time he drops a letter, a blue or yellow envelope is dropped on
top--for a signal to the post-office people."

"But then, so many persons would have to know about that!"

"Nothing of the kind. That's a regular branch of the post-office
work. There are Secret Service men who are watching criminals that
way all the time. And what could be easier than to pay one of them,
and to have your enemy listed with the suspects?"

The Major smiled in amusement. It always gave him delight to witness
Montague's consternation over his pictures of the city's corruption.

"There are things even stranger than that," he said. "I can
introduce you to a man who's in this room now, who was fighting the
Ship-building swindle, and he got hold of a lot of important
papers, and he took them to his office, and sat by while his clerks
made thirty-two copies of them. And he put the originals and
thirty-one of the copies in thirty-two different safe-deposit vaults
in the city, and took the other copy to his home in a valise. And
that night burglars broke in, and the valise was missing. The next
day he wrote to the people he was fighting, 'I was going to send you
a copy of the papers which have come into my possession, but as you
already have a copy, I will simply proceed to outline my
proposition.' And that was all. They settled for a million or two."

The Major paused a moment and looked across the dining-room. "There
goes Dick Sanderson," he said, pointing to a dapper young man with a
handsome, smooth-shaven face. "He represents the New Jersey Southern
Railroad. And one day another lawyer who met him at dinner remarked,
'I am going to bring a stockholders' suit against your road
to-morrow.' He went on to outline the case, which was a big one.
Sanderson said nothing, but he went out and telephoned to their
agent in Trenton, and the next morning a bill went through both
houses of the Legislature providing a statute of limitations that
outlawed the case. The man who was the victim of that trick is now
the Governor of New York State, and if you ever meet him, you can
ask him about it."

There was a pause for a while; then suddenly the Major remarked,
"Oh, by the way, this beautiful widow you have brought up from
Mississippi--Mrs. Taylor--is that the name?"

"That's it," said Montague.

"I hear that Stanley Ryder has taken quite a fancy to her," said the
other.

A grave look came upon Montague's face. "I am sorry, indeed, that
you have heard it," he said.

"Why," said the other, "that's all right. He will give her a good
time."

"Lucy is new to New York," said Montague. "I don't think she quite
realises the sort of man that Ryder is."

The Major thought for a moment, then suddenly began to laugh. "It
might be just as well for her to be careful," he said. "I happened
to think of it--they say that Mrs. Stanley is getting ready to free
herself from the matrimonial bond; and if your fascinating widow
doesn't want to get into the newspapers, she had better be a little
careful with her favours."






CHAPTER IV





Two or three days after this Montague met Jim Hegan at a directors'
meeting. He watched him closely, but Hegan gave no sign of
constraint. He was courteous and serene as ever. "By the way, Mr.
Montague," he said, "I mentioned that railroad matter to a friend
who is interested. You may hear from him in a few days."

"I am obliged to you," said the other, and that was all.

The next day was Sunday, and Montague came to take Lucy to church,
and told her of this remark. He did not tell her about the episode
with Colonel Cole, for he thought there was ho use disturbing her.

She, for her part, had other matters to talk about. "By the way,
Allan," she said, "I presume you know that the coaching parade is
to-morrow."

"Yes," said he.

"Mr. Ryder has offered me a seat on his coach," said Lucy.--"I
suppose you are going to be angry with me," she added quickly,
seeing his frown.

"You said you would go?" he asked.

"Yes," said Lucy. "I did not think it would be any harm. It is such
a public matter--"

"A public matter!" exclaimed Montague. "I should think so! To sit up
on top of a coach for the crowds to stare at, and for thirty or
forty newspaper reporters to take snap-shots of! And to have
yourself blazoned as the fascinating young widow from Mississippi
who was one of Stanley Ryder's party, and then to have all Society
looking at the picture and winking and making remarks about it!"

"You take such a cynical view of everything," protested Lucy. "How
can people help it if the crowds will stare, and if the newspapers
will take pictures? Surely one cannot give up the pleasure of going
for a drive--"

"Oh, pshaw, Lucy!" said Montague. "You have too much sense to talk
like that. If you want to drive, go ahead and drive. But when a lot
of people get together and pay ten or twenty thousand dollars apiece
for fancy coaches and horses, and then appoint a day and send out
notice to the whole city, and dress themselves up in fancy costumes
and go out and make a public parade of themselves, they have no
right to talk about driving for pleasure."

"Well," said she, dubiously, "it's nice to be noticed."

"It is for those who like it," said he; "and if a woman chooses to
set out on a publicity campaign, and run a press bureau, and make
herself a public character, why, that's her privilege. But for
heaven's sake let her drop the sickly pretence that she is only
driving beautiful horses, or listening to music, or entertaining her
friends. I suppose a Society woman has as much right to advertise
her personality as a politician or a manufacturer of pills; all I
object to is the sham of it, the everlasting twaddle about her love
of privacy. Take Mrs. Winnie Duval, for instance. You would think to
hear her that her one ideal in life was to be a simple shepherdess
and to raise flowers; but, as a matter of fact, she keeps a
scrap-album, and if a week passes that the newspapers do not have
some paragraphs about her doings, she begins to get restless."

Lucy broke into a laugh. "I was at Mrs. Robbie Walling's last
night," she said. "She was talking about the crowds at the opera,
and she said she was going to withdraw to some place where she
wouldn't have to see such mobs of ugly people."

"Yes," said he. "But you can't tell me anything about Mrs. Robbie
Walling. I have been there. There's nothing that lady does from the
time she opens her eyes in the morning until the time she goes to
bed the next morning that she would ever care to do if it were not
for the mobs of ugly people looking on."

--"You seem to be going everywhere," said Montague, after a pause.

"Oh, I guess I'm a success," said Lucy. "I am certainly having a
gorgeous time. I never saw so many beautiful houses or such dazzling
costumes in my life."

"It's very fine," said Montague. "But take it slowly and make it
last. When one has got used to it, the life seems rather dull and
grey."

"I am invited to the Wymans' to-night," said Lucy,--"to play bridge.
Fancy giving a bridge party on Sunday night!"

Montague shrugged his shoulders. "_CosГ­ fan tutti_," he said.

"What do you make of Betty Wyman?" asked the other.

"She is having a good time," said he. "I don't think she has much
conscience about it."

"Is she very much in love with Ollie?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said. "I can't make them out. It doesn't seem to
trouble them very much."

This was after church while they were strolling down the Avenue,
gazing at the procession of new spring costumes.--"Who is that
stately creature you just bowed to?" inquired Lucy.

"That?" said Montague. "That is Miss Hegan--Jim Hegan's daughter."

"Oh!" said Lucy. "I remember--Betty Wyman told me about her."

"Nothing very good, I imagine," said Montague, with a smile.

"It was interesting," said Lucy. "Fancy having a father with a
hundred millions, and talking about going in for settlement work!"

"Well," he answered, "I told you one could get tired of the
splurge."

Lucy looked at him quizzically. "I should think that kind of a girl
would rather appeal to you," she said.

"I would like to know her very much," said he, "but she didn't seem
to like me."

"Not like you!" cried the other. "Why, how perfectly outrageous!"

"It was not her fault," said Montague, smiling; "I am afraid I got
myself a bad reputation."

"Oh, you mean about Mrs. Winnie!" exclaimed Lucy.

"Yes," said he, "that's it."

"I wish you would tell me about it," said she.

"There is nothing much to tell. Mrs. Winnie proceeded to take me up
and make a social success of me, and I was fool enough to come when
she invited me. Then the first thing I knew, all the gossips were
wagging their tongues."

"That didn't do you any harm, did it?" asked Lucy.

"Not particularly," said he, shrugging his shoulders. "Only here is
a woman whom I would have liked to know, and I don't know her.
That's all."

Lucy gave him a sly glance. "You need a sister," she said, smiling.
"Somebody to fight for you!"

* * *

According to Jim Hegan's prediction, it was not long before Montague
received an offer. It came from a firm of lawyers of whom he had
never heard. "We understand," ran the letter, "that you have a block
of five thousand shares of the stock of the Northern Mississippi
Railroad. We have a client on whose behalf we are authorised to
offer you fifty thousand dollars cash for these shares. Will you
kindly consult with your client, and advise us at your earliest
convenience?"

He called up Lucy on the 'phone and told her that the offer had
come.

"How much?" she asked eagerly.

"It is not satisfactory," he said. "But I would rather not discuss
the matter over the 'phone. How can I arrange to see you?"

"Can't you send me up the letter by a messenger?" she asked.

"I could," said Montague, "but I would like to talk with you about
it; and also I have that mortgage, and the other papers for you to
sign. There are some things to be explained about these, also.
Couldn't you come to my office this morning?"

"I would, Allan," she said, "but I have just made a most important
engagement, and I don't know what to do about it."

"Couldn't it be postponed?" he asked.

"No," she said. "It's an invitation to join a party on Mr.
Waterman's new yacht."

"The _BrГјnnhilde_!" exclaimed Montague. "You don't say so!"

"Yes, and I hate to miss it," said she.

"How long shall you be gone?" he asked.

"I shall be back sometime this evening," she answered. "We are going
up the Sound. The yacht has just been put into commission, you
know."

"Where is she lying?"

"Off the Battery. I am to be on board in an hour, and I was just
about to start. Couldn't you possibly meet me there?"

"Yes," said Montague. "I will come over. I suppose they will wait a
few minutes."

"I am half dying to know about the offer," said Lucy.

Montague had a couple of callers, which delayed him somewhat;
finally he jumped into a cab and drove to the Battery.

Here, in the neighbourhood of Castle Garden, was a sheltered place
popularly known as the "Millionaires' Basin," being the favourite
anchorage of the private yachts of the "Wall Street flotilla." At
this time of the year most of the great men had already moved out to
their country places, and those of them who lived on the Hudson or
up the Sound would come to their offices in vessels of every size,
from racing motor-boats to huge private steamships. They would have
their breakfasts served on board, and would have their secretaries
and their mail.

Many of these yachts were floating palaces of incredible
magnificence; one, upon which Montague had been a guest, had a
glass-domed library extending entirely around its upper deck. This
one was the property of the Lester Todds, and the main purpose it
served was to carry them upon their various hunting trips; its
equipment included such luxuries as a French laundry, a model dairy
and poultry-yard, an ice-machine and a shooting-gallery.

And here lay the _BrГјnnhilde_, the wonderful new toy of old Waterman.
Montague knew all about her, for she had just been completed that
spring, and not a newspaper in the Metropolis but had had her
picture, and full particulars about her cost. Waterman had purchased
her from the King of Belgium, who had thought she was everything the
soul of a monarch could desire. Great had been his consternation
when he learned that the new owner had given orders to strip her
down to the bare steel hull and refit and refurnish her. The saloon
was now done with Louis Quinze decorations, said the newspapers. Its
walls were panelled in satinwood and inlaid walnut, and under foot
were velvet carpets twelve feet wide and woven without seam. Its
closets were automatically lighted, and opened at the touch of a
button; even the drawers of its bureaus were upon ball-bearings. The
owner's private bedroom measured the entire width of the vessel,
twenty-eight feet, and opened upon a Roman bath of white marble.

Such was the _BrГјnnhilde_, Montague looked about him for one of the
yacht's launches, but he could not find any, so he hailed a boatman
and had himself rowed out. A man in uniform met him at the steps.
"Is Mrs. Taylor on board?" he asked.

"She is," the other answered. "Is this Mr. Montague? She left word
for you."

Montague had begun to ascend; but a half a second later he stopped
short in consternation.

Through one of the portholes of the vessel he heard distinctly a
muffled cry,--

"Help! help!"

And he recognised the voice. It was Lucy's!






CHAPTER V





Montague hesitated only an instant. He sprang up to the deck. "Where
is Mrs. Taylor?" he cried.

"She went below, sir," said the man, hesitating; but Montague sprang
past him and down the companionway.

At the foot of the stairs he found himself in a broad entrance-hall,
lighted by a glass dome above. He sprang toward a door which opened
in the direction of the cry he had heard, and shouted aloud, "Lucy!
Lucy!" He heard her answer beyond the doorway, and he seized the
knob and tried it. The door was locked.

"Open the door!" he shouted.

There was no sound. "Open the door!" he called again, "or I'll break
it down."

Suiting his action to the word, he flung his weight upon it. The
barrier cracked; and then suddenly he heard a man's voice. "All
right. Wait."

Someone fumbled at the knob; and Montague stood crouching and
watching breathlessly, prepared for anything. The door opened, and
he found himself confronted by Dan Waterman.

Montague recoiled a step in consternation; and the other strode out,
and without a word went past him down the hall. There was just time
enough for Montague to receive one look--of the most furious rage
that he had ever seen upon a human face.

He rushed into the room. Lucy was standing at the farther end,
leaning upon a table to support herself. Her clothing was in
disarray, and her hair was falling about her ears; her face was
flushed, and she was panting in great agitation.

"Lucy!" he gasped, running to her. She caught at his arm to steady
herself.

"What is the matter?" he cried. She turned her face away, making not
a sound.

For a minute or so he stood staring at her. Then she whispered,
"Quick! let us go from here!"

And with a sudden movement of her hands, she swept her hair back
from her forehead, and straightened her clothing, and started to the
door, leaning upon her friend.

They went up to the deck, where the officer was still standing in
perplexity.

"Mrs. Taylor wishes to go ashore," said Montague. "Will you get us a
boat?"

"The launch will be back in a few minutes, sir--" the man began.

"We wish to go at once," said Montague. "Will you let us have one of
those rowboats? Otherwise I shall hail that tug."

The man hesitated but a moment. Montague's voice was determined, and
so he turned and gave orders to lower a small boat.

In the meantime, Lucy stood, breathing heavily, and gazing about her
nervously. When at last they had left the yacht, he heard her sigh
with relief.

They sat in silence until she had stepped upon the landing. Then she
said, "Get me a cab, Allan."

He led her to the street and hailed a vehicle. When they were
seated, Lucy sank back with a gasp. "Please don't ask me to talk,
Allan," she said. And she made not another sound during the long
drive to the hotel.

* * *

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he said, after he had seen her
safely to her apartment.

"No," she answered. "I am all right. Wait for me."

She retired to her dressing-room, and when she came back, all traces
of her excitement had been removed. Then she seated herself in a
chair opposite Montague and gazed at him.

"Allan," she began, "I have been trying to think. What can I do to
that man?"

"I am sure I don't know," he answered.

"Why, I can hardly believe that this is New York," she gasped. "I
feel as though I had got back into the Middle Ages!"

"You forget, Lucy," he replied, "that I don't know what happened."

Again she fell silent. They sat staring at each other, and then
suddenly she leaned back in her chair and began to laugh. Once she
had started, burst after burst of merriment swept over her. "I try
to stay angry, Allan!" she gasped. "It seems as if I ought to. But,
honestly, it was perfectly absurd!"

"I am sure you'd much better laugh than cry," said he.

"I will tell you about it, Allan," the girl went on. "I know I shall
have to tell somebody, or I shall simply explode. You will have to
advise me about it, for I was never more bewildered in my life."

"Go ahead," said he. "Begin at the beginning."

"I told you how I met Waterman at his art gallery," said Lucy. "Mr.
David Alden took me, and the old man was so polite, and so
dignified--why, I never had the slightest idea! And then he wrote me
a little note--in his own hand, mind you--inviting me to be one of a
party for the first trip of the _BrГјnnhilde_. Of course, I thought it
was all right. I told you I was going, you know, and you didn't have
any objections either.

"I went down there, and the launch met me and took me on board, and
a steward took me down into that room and left me, and a second
later the old man himself came in. And he shut the door behind him
and locked it!

"How do you do, Mrs. Taylor?' he said, and before I had a chance
even to open my mouth and reply, he came to me and calmly put his
arms around me.

"You can fancy my feelings. I was simply paralysed!

"Mr. Waterman?' I gasped.

"I didn't hear what he said; I was almost dazed with anger and
fright. I remember I cried several times, 'Let me go!' but he paid
not the slightest attention to me. He just held me tight in his
arms.

"Finally I got myself together, a little. I didn't want to bite and
scratch like a kitchen-wench. I tried to speak calmly.

"'Mr. Waterman,' I said, 'I want you to release me.'

"'I love you,' he said.

"'But I don't love you,' I protested. I remember thinking even then
how absurd it sounded. I can't think of anything that wouldn't have
sounded absurd in such a situation.

"'You will learn to love me,' he said. 'Many women have.'

"'I am not that sort of a woman,' I said. 'I tell you, you have made
a mistake. Let me go.'

"'I want you,' he said. 'And when I want a thing, I get it. I never
take any refusal--understand that. You don't realise the situation.
It will be no disgrace to you. Women think it an honour to have me
love them. Think what I can do for you. You can have anything you
want. You can go anywhere you wish. I will never stint you.'

"I remember his going on like that for some time. And fancy, there I
was! I might as well have been in the grip of a bear. You would not
think it, you know, but he is terribly strong. I could not move. I
could hardly think. I was suffocated, and all the time I could feel
his breath on my face, and he was glaring into my eyes like some
terrible wild beast.

"'Mr. Waterman,' I protested, 'I am not used to being treated in
this way.'

"'I know, I know,' he said. 'If you were, I should not want you. But
I am different from other men. Think of it--think of all that I have
on my hands. I have no time to make love to women. But I love you. I
loved you the minute I saw you. Is not that enough? What more can
you ask?'

"'You have brought me here under false pretences,' I cried. 'You
have taken cowardly advantage of me. If you have a spark of decency
in you, you should be ashamed of yourself.'

"'Tut, tut,' he said, 'don't talk that kind of nonsense. You know
the world. You are no spring chicken.'--Yes, he did, Allan--I
remember that very phrase. And it made me so furious--you can't
imagine! I tried to get away again, but the more I struggled, the
more it seemed to enrage him. I was positively terrified. You know,
I don't believe there was another person on board that yacht except
his servants.

"'Mr. Waterman,' I cried, 'I tell you to take your hands off me. If
you don't, I will make a disturbance. I will scream.'

"'It won't do you any good,' he said savagely.

"'But what do you want me to do?" I protested.

"'I want you to love me,' he said.

"And then I began to struggle again. I shouted once or twice,--I am
not sure,--and then he clapped his hand over my mouth. Then I began
to fight for my life. I really believe I would have scratched the
old creature's eyes out if he had not heard you out in the hall.
When you called my name, he dropped me and sprang back. I never saw
such furious hatred on a man's countenance in my life.

"When I answered you, I tried to run to the door, but he stood in my
way.

"'I will follow you!' he whispered. 'Do you understand me? I will
never give you up!'

"And then you flung yourself against the door, and he turned and
opened it and went out."

* * *

Lucy had turned scarlet over the recalling of the scene, and she was
breathing quickly in her agitation. Montague sat staring in front of
him, without a sound.

"Did you ever hear of anything like that in your life before?" she
asked.

"Yes," said he, gravely, "I am sorry to say that I have heard of it
several times. I have heard of things even worse."

"But what am I to do?" she cried. "Surely a man can't behave like
that with impunity."

Montague said nothing.

"He is a monster!" cried Lucy. "I ought to have him put in jail."

Montague shook his head. "You couldn't do that," he said.

"I couldn't!" exclaimed the other. "Why not?"

"You couldn't prove it," said Montague.

"It would be your word against his, and they would take his every
time. You can't go and have Dan Waterman arrested as you could any
ordinary man. And think of the notoriety it would mean!"

"I would like to expose him," protested Lucy. "It would serve him
right!"

"It would not do him the least harm in the world," said Montague. "I
can speak quite positively there, for I have seen it tried. You
couldn't get a newspaper in New York to publish that story. All that
you could do would be to have yourself blazoned as an adventuress."

Lucy was staring, with clenched hands. "Why, I might as well be
living in Turkey," she cried.

"Very nearly," said he. "There's an old man in this town who has
spent his lifetime lending money and hoarding it; he has something
like eighty or a hundred millions now, I believe, and once every six
months or so you will read in the newspapers that some woman has
made an attempt to blackmail him. That is because he does to every
pretty girl who comes into his office just exactly what old Waterman
did to you; and those who are arrested for blackmail are simply the
ones who are so unwise as to make a disturbance."

"You see, Lucy," continued Montague, after a pause, "you must
realise the situation. This man is a god in New York. He controls
all the avenues of wealth; he can make or break any person he
chooses. It is really the truth--I believe he could ruin any man in
the city whom he chose to set out after. He can have anything that
he wants done, so far as the police are concerned. It is simply a
matter of paying them. And he is accustomed to rule in everything;
his lightest whim is law. If he wants a thing, he buys it, and that
is his attitude toward women. He is used to being treated as a
master; women seek him, and vie for his favour. If you had been able
to hold it, you might have had a million-dollar palace on Riverside
Drive, or a cottage with a million-dollar pier at Newport. You might
have had carte blanche at all the shops, and all the yachting trips
and private trains that you wanted. That is all that other women
want, and he could not understand what more you could want."
Montague paused.

"Is that the way he spends his money?" Lucy asked.

"He buys everything he takes a fancy to," said Montague. "They say
he spends five thousand dollars a day. One of the stories they tell
in the clubs is that he loved the wife of a physician, and he gave a
million dollars to found a hospital, and one of the conditions of
the endowment was that this physician should go abroad for three
years and study all the hospitals of Europe."

Lucy sat buried in thought. "Allan," she asked suddenly, "what do
you suppose he meant by saying he would follow me? What could he
do?"

"I don't know," said Allan, "it is something which we shall have to
think over very carefully."

"He made a remark to me that I thought was very strange," she said.
"I just happened to recall it. He said, 'You have no money. You
cannot keep up the pace in New York. What you own is worth nothing.'
Do you suppose, Allan, that he can know anything about my affairs?"

Montague was staring at her in consternation. "Lucy!" he exclaimed.

"What is it?" she cried.

"Nothing," he said; and he added to himself, "No, it is absurd. It
could not be." The idea that it could have been Dan Waterman who had
set the detectives to follow him seemed too grotesque for
consideration. "It was nothing but a chance shot," he said to Lucy,
"but you must be careful. He is a dangerous man."

"And I am powerless to punish him!" whispered Lucy, after a pause.

"It seems to me," said Montague, "that you are very well out of it.
You will know better next time; and as for punishing him, I fancy
that Nature will attend to that. He is getting old, you know; and
they say he is morose and wretched."

"But, Allan!" protested Lucy. "I can't help thinking what would have
happened to me if you had not come on board! I can't help thinking
about other women who must have been caught in such a trap. Why,
Allan, I would have been equally helpless--no matter what he had
done!"

"I am afraid so," said he, gravely. "Many a woman has discovered it,
I imagine. I understand how you feel, but what can you do about it?
You can't punish men like Waterman. You can't punish them for
anything they do, whether it is monopolising a necessity of life and
starving thousands of people to death, or whether it is an attack
upon a defenceless woman. There are rich men in this city who make
it their diversion to answer advertisements and decoy young girls. A
stenographer in my office told me that she had had over twenty
positions in one year, and that she had left every one because some
man in the office had approached her."

He paused for a moment. "You see," he added, "I have been finding
out these things. You thought I was unreasonable, but I know what
your dangers are. You are a stranger here; you have no friends and
no influence, and so you will always be the one to suffer. I don't
mean merely in a case like this, where it comes to the police and
the newspapers; I mean in social matters--where it is a question of
your reputation, of the interpretation which people will place upon
your actions. They have their wealth and their prestige and their
privileges, and they stand at bay. They are perfectly willing to
give a stranger a good time, if the stranger has a pretty face and a
lively wit to entertain them; but when you come to trespass, or to
threaten their power, then you find out how they can hate you, and
how mercilessly they will slander and ruin you!"






CHAPTER VI





Lucy's adventure had so taken up the attention of them both that
they had forgotten all about the matter of the stock. Afterwards,
however, Montague mentioned it, and Lucy exclaimed indignantly at
the smallness of the offer.

"That is only ten cents on the dollar!" she cried. "You surely would
not advise me to sell for that!"

"No, I should not," he answered. "I should reject the offer. It
might be well, however, to set a price for them to consider."

They had talked this matter over before, and had agreed upon a
hundred and eighty thousand dollars. "I think it will be best to
state that figure," he said, "and give them to understand that it is
final. I imagine they would expect to bargain, but I am not much of
a hand at that, and would prefer to say what I mean and stick by
it."

"Very well!" said Lucy, "you use your own judgment."

There was a pause; then Montague, seeing the look on Lucy's face,
started to his feet. "It won't do you any good to think about
to-day's mishap," he said. "Let's start over again, and not make any
more mistakes. Come with me this evening. I have some friends who
have been begging me to bring you around ever since you came."

"Who are they?" asked Lucy.

"General Prentice and his wife. Do you know of them?"

"I have heard Mr. Ryder speak of Prentice the banker. Is that the
one you mean?"

"Yes," said Montague,--"the president of the Trust Company of the
Republic. He was an old comrade of my father's, and they were the
first people I met here in New York. I have got to know them very
well since. I told them I would bring you up to dinner sometime, and
I will telephone them, if you say so. I don't think it's a good idea
for you to sit here by yourself and think about Dan Waterman."

"Oh, I don't mind it now," said Lucy. "But I will go with you, if
you like."

* * *

They went to the Prentices'. There were the General himself, and
Mrs. Prentice, and their two daughters, one of whom was a student in
college, and the other a violinist of considerable talent. General
Prentice was now over seventy, and his beard was snow-white, but he
still had the erect carriage and the commanding presence of a
soldier. Mrs. Prentice Montague had first met one evening when he
had been their guest at the opera, and she had impressed him as a
lady with a great many diamonds, who talked to him about other
people while he was trying to listen to the music. But she was, as
Lucy phrased it afterwards, "a motherly soul, when one got
underneath her war-paint." She was always inviting Montague to her
home and introducing him to people whom she thought would be of
assistance to him.

Also there came that evening young Harry Curtiss, the General's
nephew. Montague had never met him before, but he knew him as a
junior partner in the firm of William E. Davenant, the famous
corporation lawyer--the man whom Montague had found opposed to him
in his suit against the Fidelity Insurance Company. Harry Curtiss,
whom Montague was to know quite well before long, was a handsome
fellow, with frank and winning manners. He had met Alice Montague at
an affair a week or so ago, and he sent word that he was coming to
see her.

After dinner they sat and smoked, and talked about the condition of
the market. It was a time of great agitation in Wall Street. There
had been a violent slump in stocks, and matters seemed to be going
from bad to worse.

"They say that Wyman has got caught," said Curtiss, repeating one of
the wild tales of the "Street." "I was talking with one of his
brokers yesterday."

"Wyman is not an easy man to catch," said the General. "His own
brokers are often the last men to know his real situation. There is
good reason to believe that some of the big insiders are loaded up,
for the public is very uneasy, as you know; but with the situation
as it is just now in Wall Street, you can't tell anything. The men
who are really on the inside have matters so completely in their own
hands that they are practically omnipotent."

"You mean that you think this slump may be the result of
manipulation?" asked Montague, wonderingly.

"Why not?" asked the General.

"It seems to be such a widespread movement," said Montague. "It
seems incredible that any one man could cause such an upset."

"It is not one man," said the General, "it is a group of men. I
don't say that it's true, mind you. I wouldn't be at liberty to say
it even if I knew it; but there are certain things that I have seen,
and I have my suspicions of others. And you must realise that a
half-dozen men now control about ninety per cent of the banks of
this city."

"Things will get worse before they get any better, I believe," said
Curtiss, after a pause.

"Something has got to be done," replied the General. "The banking
situation in this country at the present moment is simply
unendurable; the legitimate banker is practically driven from the
field by the speculator. A man finds himself in the position where
he has either to submit to the dictation of such men, or else permit
himself to be supplanted. It is a new element that has forced itself
in. Apparently all a man needs in order to start a bank is credit
enough to put up a building with marble columns and bronze gates. I
could name you a man who at this moment owns eight banks, and when
he started in, three years ago, I don't believe he owned a million
dollars."

"But how in the world could he manage it?" gasped Montague.

"Just as I stated," said the General. "You buy a piece of land, with
as big a mortgage as you can get, and you put up a million-dollar
building and mortgage that. You start a trust company, and you get
out imposing advertisements, and promise high rates of interest, and
the public comes in. Then you hypothecate your stock in company
number one, and you have your dummy directors lend you more money,
and you buy another trust company. They call that pyramiding--you
have heard the term, no doubt, with regard to stocks; it is a
fascinating game to play with banks, because the more of them you
get, the more prominent you become in the newspapers, and the more
the public trusts you."

And the General went on to tell of some of the cases of which he
knew. There was Stewart, the young Lochinvar out of the West. He had
tried to buy the Trust Company of the Republic long ago, and so the
General knew him and his methods. He had fought the Copper Trust to
a standstill in Montana; the Trust had bought up the Legislature and
both political machines, but Cummings had appealed to the public in
a series of sensational campaigns, and had got his judges into
office, and in the end the Trust had been forced to buy him out. And
now he had come to New York to play this new game of bank-gambling,
which paid even quicker profits than buying courts.--And then there
was Holt, a sporting character, a vulgar man-about-town, who was
identified with everything that was low and vile in the city; he,
too, had turned his millions into banks.--And there was Cummings,
the Ice King, who for years had financed the political machine in
the city, and, by securing a monopoly of the docking-privileges, had
forced all his rivals to the wall. He had set out to monopolise the
coastwise steamship trade of the country, and had bought line after
line of vessels by this same device of "pyramiding"; and now,
finding that he needed still more money to buy out his rivals, he
had purchased or started a dozen or so of trust companies and banks.

"Anyone ought to realise that such things cannot go on
indefinitely," said the General. "I know that the big men realise
it. I was at a directors' meeting the other day, and I heard
Waterman remark that it would have to be ended very soon. Anyone who
knows Waterman would not expect to get a second hint."

"What could he do?" asked Montague.

"Waterman!" exclaimed young Curtiss.

"He would find a way," said the General, simply. "That is the one
hope that I see in the situation--the power of a conservative man
like him."

"You trust him, then?" asked Montague.

"Yes," said the General, "I trust him.--One has to trust somebody."

"I heard a curious story," put in Harry Curtiss. "My uncle had
dinner at the old man's house the other night, and asked him what he
thought of the market. 'I can tell you in a sentence,' was the
answer. 'For the first time in my life I don't own a security.'"

The General gave an exclamation of surprise. "Did he really say
that?" he asked. "Then one can imagine that things will happen
before long!"

"And one can imagine why the stock market is weak!" added the other,
laughing.

At that moment the door of the dining-room was opened, and Mrs.
Prentice appeared. "Are you men going to talk business all evening?"
she asked. "If so, come into the drawing-room, and talk it to us."

They arose and followed her, and Montague seated himself upon a sofa
with Mrs. Prentice and the younger man.

"What were you saying of Dan Waterman?" she asked of the latter.

"Oh, it's a long story," said Curtiss. "You ladies don't care
anything about Waterman."

Montague had been watching Lucy out of the corner of his eye, and he
could not forbear a slight smile.

"What a wonderful man he is!" said Mrs. Prentice. "I admire him more
than any man I know of in Wall Street." Then she turned to Montague.
"Have you met him?"

"Yes," said he; and added with a mischievous smile, "I saw him
to-day."

"I saw him last Sunday night," said Mrs. Prentice, guilelessly. "It
was at the Church of the Holy Virgin, where he passes the
collection-plate. Isn't it admirable that a man who has as much on
his mind as Mr. Waterman has, should still save time for the affairs
of his church?"

And Montague looked again at Lucy, and saw that she was biting her
lip.






CHAPTER VII





It was a week before Montague saw Lucy again. She came in to lunch
with Alice one day, when he happened to be home early.

"I went to dinner at Mrs. Frank Landis's last night," she said. "And
who do you think was there--your friend, Mrs. Winnie Duval."

"Indeed," said Montague.

"I had quite a long talk with her," said she. "I liked her very
much."

"She is easy to like," he replied. "What did you talk about?"

"Oh, everything in the world but one thing," said Lucy,
mischievously.

"What do you mean?" asked Montague.

"You, you goose," she answered. "Mrs. Winnie knew that I was your
friend, and I had a feeling that every word she was saying was a
message to you."

"Well, and what did she have to say to me?" he asked, smiling.

"She wants you to understand that she is cheerful, and not pining
away because of you," was the answer. "She told me about all the
things that she was interested in."

"Did she tell you about the Babubanana?"

"The what?" exclaimed Lucy.

"Why, when I saw her last," said Montague, "she was turning into a
Hindoo, and her talk was all about Swamis, and Gnanis, and so on."

"No, she didn't mention them," said Lucy.

"Well, probably she has given it up, then," said he. "What is it
now?"

"She has gone in for anti-vivisection."

"Anti-vivisection!"

"Yes," said the other; "didn't you see in the papers that she had
been elected an honorary vice-president of some society or other,
and had contributed several thousand dollars?"

"One cannot keep track of Mrs. Winnie in the newspapers," said
Montague.

"Well," she continued, "she has heard some dreadful stories about
how surgeons maltreat poor cats and dogs, and she would insist on
telling me all about it. It was the most shocking dinner-table
conversation imaginable."

"She certainly is a magnificent-looking creature," said Lucy, after
a pause. "I don't wonder the men fall in love with her. She had her
hair done up with some kind of a band across the front, and I
declare she might have been an Egyptian princess."

"She has many roles," said Montague.

"Is it really true," asked the other, "that she paid fifty thousand
dollars for a bath-tub?"

"She says she did," he answered. "The newspapers say it, too, so I
suppose it is true. I know Duval told me with his own lips that she
cost him a million dollars a year; but then that may have been
because he was angry."

"Is he so rich as all that?" asked Lucy.

"I don't know how rich he is personally," said Montague. "I know he
is one of the most powerful men in New York. They call him the
'System's' banker."

"I have heard Mr. Ryder speak of him," said she.

"Not very favourably, I imagine," said he, with a smile.

"No," said she, "they had some kind of a quarrel. What was the
matter?"

"I don't know anything about it," was the answer. "But Ryder is a
free lance, and a new man, and Duval works with the big men who
don't like to have trespassers about."

Lucy was silent for a minute; her brows were knit in thought. "Is it
really true that Mr. Ryder's position is so unstable? I thought the
Gotham Trust Company was one of the largest institutions in the
country. What are those huge figures that you see in their
advertisements,--seventy millions--eighty millions--what is it?"

"Something like that," said Montague.

"And is not that true?" she asked.

"Yes, I guess that's true," he said. "I don't know anything about
Ryder's affairs, you know--I simply hear the gossip. Everyone says
he is playing a bold game. You take my advice, and keep your money
somewhere else. You have to be doubly careful because you have
enemies."

"Enemies?" asked Lucy, in perplexity.

"Have you forgotten what Waterman said to you?" Montague asked.

"You don't mean to tell me," cried she, "that you think that
Waterman would interfere with Mr. Ryder on my account."

"It sounds incredible, I know," said Montague, "but such things have
happened before this. If anyone knew the inside stories of the
battles that have shaken Wall Street, he would find that many of
them had some such beginning."

Montague said this casually, and with nothing in particular in mind.
He was not watching his friend closely, and he did not see the
effect which his words had produced upon her. He led the
conversation into other channels; and he had entirely forgotten the
matter the next day, when he received a telephone call from Lucy.

It had been a week since he had written to Smith and Hanson, the
lawyers, in regard to the sale of her stock. "Allan," she asked, "no
letter from those people yet?"

"Nothing at all," he answered.

"I was talking about it with a friend this morning, and he made a
suggestion that I thought was important. Don't you think it might be
well to find out whom they are representing?"

"What good would that do?" asked Montague.

"It might help us to get an idea of the prospects," said she. "I
fancy they know who wants to sell the stock, and we ought to know
who is thinking of buying it. Suppose you write them that you don't
care to negotiate with agents."

"But I am in no position to do that," said Montague. "I have already
set the people a figure, and they have not replied. We should only
weaken our position by writing again. It would be much better to try
to interest someone else."