"Maybe," Hugo answered icily.
"Safe-crackers—blasters, light fingers educated to the dials, and ears attuned to the tumblers—we can cope with those things, Mr.—"
"Danner."
"But this new stunt of yours. Well, until we find out what it is, we can't let you go. This is business, Mr. Danner. It involves money, millions, the security of American finance, of the very nation. You will understand. Society cannot afford to permit a man like you to go at large until it has a thoroughly effective defence against you. Society must disregard your momentary sacrifice, momentary nobleness. Your process, unknown by us, constitutes a great social danger. I do not dare overlook it. I cannot disregard it even after the service you have done—even if I thought you never intended to put it to malicious use."
Hugo's thoughts were far away—to the fort he had built when he was a child in Colorado, to the wagon he had lifted up, to the long, discouraging gauntlet of hard hearts and frightened eyes that his miracles had met with. His voice was wistful when, at last, he addressed the banker.
"What do you propose to do?"
"I shan't bandy words, Danner. I propose to hang on to you until I get that secret. And I shall be absolutely without mercy. That is frank, is it not?"
"Quite."
"You comprehend the significance of the third degree?"
"Not clearly."