The Big Mogul by Joseph C. Lincoln — Read

Foster Townsend drove straight home, turned the horses and carriage over to the care of Varunas and went into the house. There, in the library, with the portières drawn and the hall door tightly closed, he sprawled in the big chair and, chewing an unlighted cigar, set himself to the task of facing this entirely unforeseen setback. His carefully laid plan had gone to smash; that fact could not be dodged. Paris with Esther in Jane Carter's company, three thousand miles away from young Griffin, was one thing. Paris, with those two together, and he, Townsend, on this side of the water, was quite another. No, if it was true that Griffin was going there, then Esther was not. So much was certain.

It was a galling conclusion, his pride winced under it. To think that a boy in his twenties had forced a wily, shrewd veteran of his years and experience to back water was almost too much to bear. It was humiliating and the more he pondered over it the angrier he became. The plan had been a good one. He had given it careful consideration before he adopted it. He had tried to think of every possible objection, but such a one as this he would have considered beyond the bounds of possibility. And yet it was so simple. How that Griffin cub must be chuckling in his sleeve. Of course he had seen through the strategy behind the move and with one move of his own had checkmated it. Esther was being sent to Paris to get her away from him, was she? All right, he would go there, too. Easy enough!