“What do you infer?”
“Perhaps I don’t quite know what I infer,” said Ilam. “All I can tell you is that this City has been getting rather peculiar this last day or two.”
“It has,” Carpentaria agreed pointedly.
“And as you went to the trouble of taking me up in that thing”—he indicated overhead, where the captive balloon was darting a searchlight to and fro across the expanse of the grounds—“I thought I’d go to the trouble of bringing you up here. It’s safer.”
Carpentaria noticed how pale the man was, how changed his visage, and how nervous his demeanour.
“I hope it is,” said Carpentaria. “What do you want?”
“Let’s sit down,” replied Ilam, clearing his throat, and they sat down on opposite sides of the car. “I’ll explain what I want in three words. How much will you take to clear out? I’m a plain man—how much will you take to clear out?”
“Clear out of the City? I won’t take anything,” said Carpentaria. “All the gold of all the Rockefellers won’t clear me out. I’ve got the largest audience for my band that any bandmaster ever had, and I like it. It’s worth more than money to——”
“Is it worth more than life to you?” asked the heavy President, gloomily.
“No; but I reckon I can keep my life and my audience, too,” said Carpentaria. “At any rate, you’ve tried to have my life twice and failed, and that hasn’t frightened me. I’m less frightened than you are, even.”