“By their spies who have joined the League.”
“And do the rank and file know the Black Pope at the head of the order?”
“Does Lynch?”
“Certainly.”
“Then he is the scoundrel who placed that note in your room. It is a clumsy attempt to forge an order of the Klan. The white man does not live in this town capable of that act. I know these people.”
“My boy, you are bewitched by the smiles of a woman to deny your own flesh and blood.”
“Nonsense, father—you are possessed by an idea which has become an insane mania——”
“Will you respect my wishes?” the old man broke in angrily.
“I will not,” was the clear answer. Phil turned and left the room, and the old man’s massive head sank on his breast in helpless baffled rage and grief.