xplained 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 cooeperation to make any
further opposition, and soon they were far away from beaten
highways, down on the banks of the historic stream, picking
flowers and laughing merrily like two truant children bent on a
self-made holiday. The place they had reached was just outside the
northern boundaries of Harlem, a sylvan spot still unspoiled by
the rude invasion of the flat-house builder. The land, thickly
wooded, sloped down sharply to the water, and the perfect quiet
was broken only by the washing of the tiny surf against the river
bank and the shrill notes of the birds in the trees.

Although it was late in October the day was warm, and Shirley soon
tired of climbing over bramble-entangled verdure. The rich grass
underfoot looked coo