"Because," said his counsel, "if you so much as plank down a ten-dollar bill for a railroad ticket after you disappear, you will be suspected. The county men, the police in other cities will be on the look-out for a man with money; they will not search the lodging-houses. You must not be caught. It takes nerve, but you've got to do it. You've got to say good-bye to everything." There was a moment's silence; then Wilkinson answered: "Where could I go?" "Anywhere you like. Disappear. But don't buy a railroad ticket if you can help it. Don't try to leave the country, for if you do they'll get you. Don't do anything that a man with a roll of bills might do. Play the part of a tramp." For a time they pondered the situation. The Colonel was the first to break the ruminating silence, and said: "Of course your bail would be forfeited, and that would leave your daughter penniless." This remark was for Leslie's benefit. Nevertheless he knew that after Wilkinson had gone, some way could be found in which his huge fortune might gradually be used for her. "I don't care at all about being penniless!" cried Leslie, springing to her feet. "All I care for, is--but can't I go with father?" "That's out of the question--they'd get me in an hour if you did." There was nothing paternal in Wilkinson's voice, for the primal principle had him in its clutch. Leslie was hurt by this seeming indifference to her; it was not given to her to comprehend fully that her father was making, in actuality, a fight for his life. "You must understand, Leslie, that this means an absolute loss of identity, or ten years behind the bars for your father," explained Colonel Morehead. Wilkinson rose, and walking to the window glanced down at the fruit man on the other side of the street, and then came back. "How long time have I, Colonel, before----" "There'll be no trouble about time," was the Colonel's reply. "I can still string it on for months. Summer is coming on--the long vacation----" Wilkinson rewarded him with a crafty, exultant smile. He saw in this plan nothing save success. Firmly he believed that there was some way after all by which, whether he was in Paris, San Francisco or some other place, he could draw back his millions, even if it had to be accomplished in the slow way that formerly he had drawn them from his depositors. "Liberty first, then----" he said half-aloud; and turning to his daughter, whose presence for the moment he had forgotten, he added: "Isn't it more than bedtime, child? You must be mighty tired, little girl. You're a mighty loyal one, anyhow." Leslie held out her hand to Colonel Morehead. "Don't worry, my girl," said the Colonel, kindly, "it's going to come out all right. I feel it, somehow, and I know you do, too. Good-night!" But the Colonel's words did not banish the look of worriment on Leslie's face; and going over to her father, now, she clung to him insistently, pressing her flushed face against his breast, saying: