At the end of a minute they were glaring into each other's faces like beasts of prey. Wilkinson held up his hand and repeated: "You can take it or leave it, just as you please." "Thirds or nothing," answered the other stubbornly, at which reply Wilkinson thrust his watch into his pocket and strolled toward the door, where he waited until Flomerfelt raised his hand; and in that brief moment it was borne in upon him that he was not the Wilkinson of old, that he had, somehow, lost his grip. "You decline?" asked Flomerfelt. "All right! Then to-morrow the whole story goes to Leslie Wilkinson." "What whole story, Mr. Flomerfelt?" asked a young woman, now entering the room, and so pleasantly that for a moment Flomerfelt fell back aghast. "What story, Mr. Flomerfelt?" she repeated. But again he did not answer. And her father, taking his courage in both hands, came forward and said: "The time has come, girlie, when you've got to make a choice for life--you've got to tell me where you stand--on my side or theirs." Leslie slowly retreated to the door; a man entered and stood beside her. "I've made my choice, father. This is Eliot Beekman, my husband," she announced bravely, a smile on her lips. Wilkinson could not believe his ears. For a moment he did not speak, but looked helplessly from one to the other; and Leslie, waiting for the words that did not come, saw her step-mother grow pale, saw Flomerfelt's fingers stealthily grope into the depths of his sleeves, draw down his cuffs, and heave a sigh as he watched the latter settle into place. "Yes, father, I've made my choice," she repeated, placing her hand in Beekman's. It was indeed an odd-looking pair that Wilkinson looked upon: the girl all smiles and gladness, happy in the love that she had at last won; the man, a scarecrow, almost, his ragged coat revealing a ragged flannel shirt and clothes worn thread-bare. He frowned. For an instant he seemed vengeance personified. "You----" faltered her father. "Mr. Wilkinson," cried Beekman, advancing to that individual, "I've come back to strip you naked as the day you were born, and I'm going to do it, too." "You'll have a good time doing it," Wilkinson answered with bravado, although a growing fear was upon him. "I expect to, I assure you," returned the other, "for I represent the depositors in your rotten banks. Once they sought your life, Mr. Wilkinson,"--for even he didn't know the truth,--"and now they're after money--the money that belongs to them and not to you. I've started in to get it, I've come to get possession of it, to find out where it is." "You'll have a good time doing it," was all that Peter V. could find, apparently, to say. "All I want to know is the name of the safe deposit vault where you keep your securities. I'll be content with that, Mr. Wilkinson." "What securities?" Wilkinson paled. "All of them--everything," answered Beekman.