"Just a moment, until I get his photograph," whispered the Assistant District Attorney, opening the inside door; presently he returned, closing the door again behind him, and advancing towards them he resumed confidingly: "The fact is, I've got Ilingsworth's daughter inside there. I shouldn't be surprised if she knew where the old man is, either, though she insists that she does not, and----" Wilkinson grunted. "And you're practising third-degree tactics on her, I suppose," he said. "Well, not exactly that, but persuasion--polite persuasion, that's all," explained the Assistant District Attorney, smiling. He stepped once more toward the inner door, and Leslie, obeying some hidden impulse, darted quickly to his side. "Will you let me see her without being seen," she pleaded. "He told me all about her--her name is Elinor." "Stand here, then," whispered Leech, and opening the door swiftly, he passed over to the window and held the girl within in conversation while he searched among his papers, and in such a manner that three-quarters of her countenance was turned toward Leslie. One glance at the pretty face of the girl was sufficient to satisfy Leslie that Elinor Ilingsworth was in great distress, and taking her place beside her father, she whispered: "Oh, father, you should see her. She's in great trouble, and yet she looks so--so pretty." Genuine anguish shone from Leslie's eyes as she now turned from her father to Colonel Morehead, and asked: "Who's going to take care of her? What's to become of her now?" Leech had returned by this time and was holding before Leslie a half-tone photograph of Giles Ilingsworth. "That's the man!" cried Leslie, seizing the picture. She turned it over and glanced involuntarily at the inscription on the back. "Taken particularly for my daughter Elinor," it said. "Affectionately her father, G. I. Sept. 190----" Leslie's eyes reproached Leech. "You make this girl an instrument in her father's destruction," she said indignantly, little understanding what part she might play later in her own father's affairs. Leech, who seemed to take a very business-like pleasure in feasting his eyes upon Leslie's face, merely nodded, and after a moment's silence he said: "You forget, Miss Wilkinson, that we have our duty to perform. A man who murders is not entitled to so very much consideration, after all." He looked at the photograph in her hand. "If you're sure that this is the man you know as Giles Ilingsworth, you might tell me briefly what he said. It is not vital," he went on hastily, "that is, we can make a case without it. But we want--and Mr. Wilkinson is good enough to offer----"