"Colonel Morehead, why can't father go away?" suddenly said the girl. "Why not, Morehead?" asked Wilkinson, fairly jumping at her words. But the Colonel was still sullen. He was beaten, or thought he was, which is very much the same thing. Wilkinson, on the contrary, seemed to find new life in the moroseness of the other. And for the first time in the struggle Wilkinson seemed to feel that the whole fight rested on his own shoulders, and Wilkinson was one who dearly loved to fight alone and single-handed. "Why not run away, Morehead?" he repeated. "How?" demanded the Colonel with little interest. "The _Marchioness_ ..." suggested Leslie. "And forfeit a million dollars bail?" "Yes. Why not?" "Don't make any mistake," declared Wilkinson, "they'll never get me behind the bars again! Never! Not even if I have to----" A new strange note had forced itself into his tone. Leslie, feeling suddenly cold, crept closer to him. "Don't, don't talk that way, father!" she cried. "It shall never come to that." Morehead, even, was alarmed. "Peter, you don't mean----" he began. "I mean," repeated the other, looking sturdily at him, "that if they ever put me behind the bars, it will be after life has left my body." Leslie uttered a half-strangled cry and buried her face in her hands. But Wilkinson only braced himself. "We haven't got to that yet, Colonel," he observed. There was a pause, after which he repeated his question: "Why not run away, eh?" The Colonel thought a moment. Then, taking both Wilkinson and Leslie by the arm marched them to the window and drew back the curtain. "Do you see that Italian fruit-vender over there selling figs to the swell? They're Murgatroyd's men, both of them. Murgatroyd's got you surrounded, sewed up, tied in. One of the elevator boys in the Remsen here is a New York County man; the chambermaid of this suite is a detective. Murgatroyd has sworn that you won't get away. It may cost the County of New York a million dollars, but you know Murgatroyd! And, besides, behind him stand the National Banks. How much will they put up to break you, eh? Murgatroyd will put you behind the bars as sure as guns--unless----" He stopped, his eyes were half shut. "Unless----" repeated father and daughter, leaning forward. Morehead did not answer at once. His mind was working fast; he was evidently feeling his way clear before committing himself. Suddenly he said: "Peter, how long have you worn a beard?" The question seemed so irrelevant that the millionaire started. "Why, nearly all my life," he answered. "I've--I've never shaved. But----" "It was so bristly," explained the Colonel, "that I thought it might be the result of shaving; but everything about you bristles, so I guess it's nature and not art. When you first saw it coming, you let it grow, didn't you--and you've had it ever since?" Peter V. did not like the turn the conversation was taking, and merely nodded.