“I am safe, and he never will know. The lovely ‘Red Rose’ is only another flower in _le Jardin Secret_.” He realized, at last, that the daring imprudence of Alida Hathorn’s visit was but a jealous wife’s device, at any risk, to break the lines of her husband’s enemies. “She got my secret far too easily,” he gloomily reflected, “and without paying the price. “I wonder if she was playing me as a lone fish,” he pondered—and then a flash came to enlighten him. “Could Elaine Willoughby fancy that the news of her plunging would leak out and ruin them? “By heaven! She may have crossed this gigantic trade by secret orders to Endicott. Hathorn ruined, she may have no further use for me. “And if the Lady of the Red Rose should ever speak I would be ruined, even held at arms length as I am.” He shuddered under the curse of the burning words of that last telegram. “She believes me a liar and traitor to her, and I will never dare to undeceive her.” He felt that he had missed the finest play of his life. But the “special delivery” letter still stared him in the face. He carelessly tore it open and then a smile wreathed his lips. “To meet Senator Alynton, Senator Garston, and Miss Katharine VanDyke Norreys at dinner.” He instantly wrote out and dispatched his acceptance. A glow of joy lit up his anxious face. “I must get Justine at work soon on my secret lines. I see it all. These Senators are of the ‘Inner Guild,’ the true illuminati. “Who the devil is this Garston—some Western fellow?” A few moments’ reference gave him the news: “Senator-elect from one of the newly knocked together Western States”—the “means to an end” in balancing National elections. The trick of warring plutocrats and democrats. He paced the room in deep thought, after dispatching his reply. “The battle will be on again soon. The Trust is reorganized and conveniently removed to little Jersey. The courts have now done their worst, and the small holders are all squeezed out. “Now for a game of high ball. Yes, my lady, that’s your trick. A new deal. And the beautiful Californian heiress is only a bright lay-figure. “Your real hold on the Street is the secret chain linking these statesmen, through you and Endicott, to the secret chiefs of the Sugar Syndicate. “I’ll get myself into your current, as a ‘transmitter,’ and you, Madame Elaine, shall yet learn to bow and bend. The child, the secrets of this dangerous partnership, the story of your past life, I can soon get it all, bit by bit. And, then, marriage and ‘dominion over you.’ That’s my game!” There was an unpleasant menace lingering in the last words of the departing Potter. Vreeland knew that should the generous-hearted ex-banker, in time, marry Fred Hathorn’s widow, the few hundred thousands lost in saving Hathorn’s personal honor would not in any way impair their united estates. He lingered long on the subject. He feared this new alliance.