"You can't do that, Blagden!" he cried. "That's blackmail. And remember his wife is an invalid. It might kill her if she knew." Then silence, and then again, "I tell you you can't, Blagden; I'll leave it to Mills. How about it, Tubby; you wouldn't do that?"
Again silence. In breathless amazement, Marshall Hamilton stood gazing at the prostrate figure on the bed. He could not mistake the meaning of the words; this message was for him; his sin, long cherished in secret, had found him out. But before he could think or act, another portion of the wild phantasmagoria flashed on the clouded brain, and Atherton, trying hard to raise himself from the pillow, exclaimed eagerly, "On the watch; on the watch for these signals. You're right, Blagden, that's the whole question: verb or noun!"
For the first time in many years, the banker wholly lost his composure; his heart seemed suddenly to contract, and instinctively he clutched at the chair beside him for support. Horror was being piled on horror. Was his whole life an open book? Did the whole world know his secret? In what possible way, after the strict precaution of years, had he and his associates thus betrayed themselves, or been betrayed?
Atherton, exhausted, now lay without motion, breathing rapidly and weakly, and presently, as the banker's glance fell upon the paper in his hand, containing the number of the specialist, with a sudden movement, as if seeking to take vengeance on an inanimate object, he crumpled it and thrust it into his pocket. This man had saved his daughter's life, and it was his bullet that had brought down the escaping thief, but he knew far too much and therefore it was better that he should die.
Again footsteps sounded in the hallway; Martin ushered in the nurse; and the banker, thus relieved, went slowly down the stairs to his study, his mind in a turmoil of apprehension and of actual fear. Helen stood awaiting him upon the threshold. "Is he better?" she cried. "Is there any hope?"
Even for Hamilton, with his thoughts intent upon other things, there could be no mistaking the intensity of her tone. And since he was genuinely fond of his daughter, he answered. "He's about the same." And then without wasting words, he added, "Why? Do you care for him?"
She stood regarding him gravely, and without a trace of false shame, she answered simply, "More than for anyone in the world. I can't live without him. Oh, father, he must get well."
Marshall Hamilton hesitated. Through and through, a man of large affairs, he knew well the oath that he had sworn, long years ago; knew it to be his duty to see that by fair means or foul Atherton's mouth was closed forever. Yet knowing all this, here stood his only daughter, agonized, beseeching. There was a moment's tense silence; then the banker turned and pressed the electric bell. "We'll do what we can, dear," he said, and as Martin, immaculate, unruffled and debonair, answered his call, he handed him a crumpled bit of paper. "Get Doctor Carrington at once," he ordered. "Tell him expense doesn't matter; I must have him here at once. Tell him it's a case of life and death."