Leslie took her father's arm and led him into the Den. With almost a mother's anxious gaze she looked him over. "Are you hurt?" she inquired. "I saw--I could just make out something--somebody attacking--it was all so quick--but I heard your voice, and then I ran downstairs. But you're safe--safe!" and she patted his arm affectionately. "Oh, what was the trouble?" Wilkinson sank down into his desk-chair. "Let me pull myself together first," he said. His heavy form sprawled itself across the seat, and he panted with the unwonted fright he had had. Now he lit a black cigar. "Confound it, Leslie!" he returned at length, "the man scared me--blamed if he didn't. There was murder in his eyes." Leslie had not seen Ilingsworth, neither did she know that he was a prisoner in another room. "Whose eyes?" she asked, eagerly. "What man?" Wilkinson turned his glance full upon her. "A man you never heard of, girlie--a man you never saw--a business man, Giles Ilingsworth----" He got no further, for she was at his side now, her hand upon his arm. "Then he _did_ mean murder! He did, I know he did!" she exclaimed, greatly excited. Wilkinson had been wiping his brow; this operation ceased with a start and he searched her face. "How do you know he did, girlie?" he asked suspiciously. At that instant the lean and cat-like Flomerfelt entered the room and stood beside the girl. Immediately, with a feminine aversion written on her face, Leslie withdrew and stood in the doorway, still trembling and afraid. "How do you know that he meant murder?" persisted Wilkinson. "I'll come back later, father, and tell you why," she said, leaving the room, and hastening toward the staircase. Flomerfelt moved slowly in the direction of the door and watched her go, then noiselessly retraced his steps, and seated himself opposite the financier. There was no cringing in the manner of this confidential man of Wilkinson's; on the contrary, his attitude toward his employer was that of man to man. "The only decent thing about you, Peter V.," he said impudently to the multi-millionaire, "is your daughter Leslie." Wilkinson's face plainly showed his annoyance, nevertheless he said: "Flomerfelt, it would be well for you to leave my daughter Leslie out of this--out of everything, you understand?" Flomerfelt smiled. "Leaving her out, then, I will revise my former statement. There are two good things about you: one is Flomerfelt, your very necessary confidant; the other is----" he started to say "your chiefest luxury, Miss Madeline Braine,"--but he didn't say it; for Wilkinson brought his clenched hand down upon the desk with great force. "Come, get down to the business in hand! Remember that you are dealing with Peter V. Wilkinson." He paused, and then added with a smile full of meaning: "Despite his being a ruined bank president." Flomerfelt shook off his air of sinister sarcasm, squared his elbows on the desk, and was all attention.