Hargreave bowed his head in his hands. Many times he had journeyed to the school and hung about the gates, straining his eyes toward the merry groups of young girls. Which among them was his, heart of his heart, blood of his blood? That she might never be drawn into this abominable tangle, he had resolutely torn her out of his life completely. The happiness of watching the child grow into girlhood he had denied himself. She at least would be safe. Only when she was safe in a far country would he dare tell her. He tried in vain to conjure up a picture of her; he always saw the mother whom he had loved and hated with all the ardor of his youth.
Many things happened the next day. There was a visit to the hangar of one William Orts, the aviator, famous for his daredevil exploits. There were two visitors, in fact, and the second visitor was knocked down for his pains. He had tried to bribe Orts.
There were several excited bankers, who protested against such large withdrawals without the usual formal announcement. But a check was a check, and they had to pay.
FIENDS FROM TOPHET
Hargreave covered a good deal of ground, but during all this time his right hand never left the automatic in his overcoat pocket, except at those moments when he was obliged to sign his checks. He would shoot and make inquiries afterward.
Far away a young girl and her companion got on the train which was to carry her to New York, the great dream city she was always longing to see.
And the spider wove his web.
Hargreave reached home at night. He put the money in the safe and was telephoning when Jones entered and handed his master an unstamped note.