She was so deeply engrossed in her thoughts that she had not noticed a hansom cab which suddenly drew up with a jerk at the curb opposite her bench.  A man jumped out.  It was Jefferson.

“Hello, Shirley,” he cried gaily; “who would have expected to find you rusticating on a bench here?  I pictured you grinding away at home doing literary stunts for the governor.”  He grinned and then added:  “Come for a drive.  I want to talk to you.”

Shirley demurred.  No, she could not spare the time.  Yet, she thought to herself, why was not this a good opportunity to explain to Jefferson how he came to find her in his father’s library masquerading under another name, and also to ask him to secure the letters for her?  While she pondered Jefferson insisted, and a few minutes later she found herself sitting beside him in the cab.  They started off at a brisk pace, Shirley sitting with her head back, enjoying the strong breeze caused by the rapid motion.

“Now tell me,” he said, “what does it all mean?  I was so startled at seeing you in the library the other day that I almost betrayed you.  How did you come to call on father?”

Briefly Shirley explained everything.  She told him how Mr. Ryder had written to her asking her to call and see him, and how she had eagerly seized at this last straw in the hope of helping her father, She told him about the letters, explaining how necessary they were for her father’s defence and how she had discovered them.  Mr. Ryder, she said, had seemed to take a fancy to her and had asked her to remain in the house as his guest while she was compiling his biography, and she had accepted the offer, not so much for the amount of money involved as for the splendid opportunity it afforded her to gain possession of the letters.

“So that is the mysterious work you spoke of—­to get those letters?” said Jefferson.

“Yes, that is my mission.  It was a secret.  I couldn’t tell you; I couldn’t tell anyone.  Only Judge Stott knows.  He is aware I have found them and is hourly expecting to receive them from me.  And now,” she said, “I want your help.”

His only answer was to grasp tighter the hand she had laid in his.  She knew that she would not have to explain the nature of the service she wanted.  He understood.

“Where are the letters?” he demanded.

“In the left-hand drawer of your father’s desk,” she answered.

He was silent for a few moments, and then he said simply: 

“I will get them.”

The cab by this time had got as far as Claremont, and from the hill summit they had a splendid view of the broad sweep of the majestic Hudson and the towering walls of the blue palisades.  The day was so beautiful and the air so invigorating that Jefferson suggested a ramble along the banks of the river.  They could leave the cab at Claremont and drive back to the city later.  Shirley was too grateful to him for his promise of cooperation to make any further