“It is,” said he.  “He must be found at once.”

She stared at him for a moment, hesitating; then, her anxiety overcoming every other emotion, she said, “He is in the next room.”

“Call him,” said Montague.

Lucy ran to the door.  “Come in.  Quickly!” she called, and Ryder appeared.

Montague saw that he was very pale; and there was nothing left of his air of aristocratic serenity.

“Mr. Ryder,” he began, “I have just come into possession of some news which concerns you very closely.  I felt that you ought to know.  There is to be a directors’ meeting to-morrow morning, at which it is to be decided that the bank which clears for the Gotham Trust Company will discontinue to do it.”

Ryder started as if he had been shot; his face turned grey.  There was no sound except a faint cry of fright from Lucy.

“My information is quite positive,” continued Montague.  “It has been determined to wreck your institution!”

Ryder caught at a chair to support himself.  “Who?  Who?” he stammered.

“It is Duval and Waterman,” said Montague.

“Dan Waterman!” It was Lucy who spoke.

Montague turned to look at her, and saw her eyes, wide open with terror.

“Yes, Lucy,” he said.

“Oh, oh!” she gasped, choking; then suddenly she cried wildly, “Tell me!  I don’t understand—­what does it mean?”

“It means that I am ruined,” exclaimed Ryder.

“Ruined?” she echoed.

“Absolutely!” he said.  “They’ve got me!  I knew they were after me, but I didn’t think they’d dare!”

He ended with a furious imprecation; but Montague had kept his eyes fixed upon Lucy.  It was her suffering that he cared about.

He heard her whisper, under her breath, “It’s for me!” And then again, “It’s for me!”

“Lucy,” he began; but suddenly she put up her hand, and rushed toward him.

“Hush! he doesn’t know!” she panted breathlessly.  “I haven’t told him.”

And then she turned toward Ryder again.  “Oh, surely there must be some way,” she cried, wildly.  “Surely—­”

Ryder had sunk down in a chair and buried his face in his hands.  “Ruined!” he exclaimed.  “Utterly ruined!  I won’t have a dollar left in the world.”

“No, no,” cried Lucy, “it cannot be!” And she put her hands to her forehead, striving to think.  “It must be stopped.  I’ll go and see him.  I’ll plead with him.”

“You must not, Lucy!” cried Montague, starting toward her.

But again she whirled upon him.  “Not a word!” she whispered, with fierce intensity.  “Not a word!”

And she rushed into the next room, and half a minute later came back with her hat and wrap.

“Allan,” she said, “tell them to call me a cab!”

He tried to protest again; but she would not hear him.  “You can ride with me,” she said.  “You can talk then.  Call me a cab!  Please—­save me that trouble.”