Bansemer leaped to his feet, his mood changing like a flash.
"I don't want your pity. I want your love and loyalty. I didn't mean to be weak. Will you leave Chicago with me? I must go. We'll go at once—anywhere, only together. We can escape if we start now. Come!"
"I won't go that way!" exclaimed Graydon. "Not like a criminal."
"No? You won't?" There was no answer. "Then, there's nothing more to say. Go! Leave me alone. I had prayed that you might not have been like this. Go! I have important business to attend to at once." He cast his gaze toward the drawer in which the pistol lay. "I don't expect to see you again. Take this message to the Cables. Say that I am the only living soul who knows the names of that girl's father and mother. God alone can drag them from me."
Graydon was silent, stunned, bewildered. His father was trembling before him, and he opened his lips to utter the question that meant so much if the answer came.
"Don't ask me!" cried Bansemer. "You would be the last I'd tell. Marry her, and be dammed!"
"I don't believe you know," cried Graydon.
"Ah, you think I'll tell you?" triumphantly.
"I don't want to know." He sat down, his moody gaze upon his father. Neither spoke for many minutes. Neither had the courage. James Bansemer finally started up with a quick look at the door. Droom was speaking to someone in the outer office.
"Go now," he said harshly; "I want to be alone."