ose, the delighted
directors tumbling over each other in their eagerness to shake
hands with the man who had saved them. Ryder had given no hint
that he had been a factor in the working up of this case against
their common enemy, in fact he had appeared to sympathise with
him, but the directors knew well that he and he alone had been the
master mind which had brought about the happy result.

On a motion to adjourn, the meeting broke up, and everyone began
to troop towards the elevators. Outside the rain was now coming
down in torrents and the lights that everywhere dotted the great
city only paled when every few moments a vivid flash of lightning
rent the enveloping gloom.

Ryder and Senator Roberts went down in the elevator together. When
they reached the street the senator inquired in a low tone:

"Do you think they really believed Rossmore was influenced in his
decision?"

Ryder glanced from the lowering clouds overhead to his electric
brougham which awaited him at the curb and replied indifferently:

"Not they. They don't care. All they want to believe is that he is
to be impeached. The man was dangerous and had to be removed--no
matter by what means. He is our enemy--my enemy--and I never give
quarter to my enemies!"

As he spoke his prognathous jaw snapped to with a click-like
sound, and in his eyes now coal-black were glints of fire. At the
same instant there was a blinding flash, accompanied by a terrific
crash, and the splinters of the flag-pole on the building
opposite, which had been struck by a bolt, fell at their feet.

"A good or a bad omen?" asked the senator with a nervous laugh. He
was secretly afraid of lightning; but was ashamed to admit it.

"A bad omen for Judge Rossmore!" rejoined Ryder coolly, as he
slammed to the door of the cab, and the two men drove rapidly off
in the direction of Fifth Avenue.

CHAPTER III

Of all the spots on this fair, broad earth where the jaded globe
wanderer, surfeited with hackneyed sight-seeing, may sit in
perfect peace and watch the world go by, there is none more
fascinating nor one presenting a more brilliant panorama of
cosmopolitan life than that famous corner on the Paris boulevards,
formed by the angle of the Boulevard des Capucines and the Place
de l'Opera. Here, on the "terrace" of the Cafe de la Paix, with
its white and gold facade and long French windows, and its
innumerable little marble-topped tables and rattan chairs, one may
sit for h