Mr. John Burkett Ryder,

Dear Sir.—­I do not call upon gentlemen at their business office.

Yours, etc.,

Shirley green.

Her letter was abrupt and at first glance seemed hardly calculated to bring about what she wanted—­an invitation to call at the Ryder home, but she was shrewd enough to see that if Ryder wrote to her at all it was because he was most anxious to see her and her abruptness would not deter him from trying again.  On the contrary, the very unusualness of anyone thus dictating to him would make him more than ever desirous of making her acquaintance.  So Shirley mailed the letter and awaited with confidence for Ryder’s reply.  So certain was she that one would come that she at once began to form her plan of action.  She would leave Massapequa at once, and her whereabouts must remain a secret even from her own family.  As she intended to go to the Ryder house in the assumed character of Shirley Green, it would never do to run the risk of being followed home by a Ryder detective to the Rossmore cottage.  She would confide in one person only—­Judge Stott.  He would know where she was and would be in constant communication with her.  But, otherwise, she must be alone to conduct the campaign as she judged fit.  She would go at once to New York and take rooms in a boarding house where she would be known as Shirley Green.  As for funds to meet her expenses, she had her diamonds, and would they not be filling a more useful purpose if sold to defray the cost of saving her father than in mere personal adornment?  So that evening, while her mother was talking with the judge, she beckoned Stott over to the corner where she was sitting: 

“Judge Stott,” she began, “I have a plan.”

He smiled indulgently at her.

“Another friend like that of yesterday?” he asked.

“No,” replied the girl, “listen.  I am in earnest now and I want you to help me.  You said that no one on earth could resist John Burkett Ryder, that no one could fight against the Money Power.  Well, do you know what I am going to do?”

There was a quiver in her voice and her nostrils were dilated like those of a thoroughbred eager to run the race.  She had risen from her seat and stood facing him, her fists clenched, her face set and determined.  Stott had never seen her in this mood and he gazed at her half admiringly, half curiously.

“What will you do?” he asked with a slightly ironical inflection in his voice.

“I am going to fight John Burkett Ryder!” she cried.

Stott looked at her open-mouthed.

“You?” he said.

“Yes, I,” said Shirley.  “I’m going to him and I intend to get those letters if he has them.”

Stott shook his head.

“My dear child,” he said, “what are you talking about?  How can you expect to reach Ryder?  We couldn’t.”

“I don’t know just how yet,” replied Shirley, “but I’m going to try.  I love my father and I’m going to leave nothing untried to save him.”