While he was still talking the girl's father had leaped from his seat and began pacing the little room like a caged wild beast. His cigar was forgotten, and every now and then he paused abruptly as Gordon made some definite point. His eyes were darkly furious, his nostrils quivered, his great hands clenched at his sides, and in the end, when the story was told, he stood towering before the desk with a pair of murderous eyes shining down upon the younger man.
"God in heaven!" he cried furiously; "and he's still alive?"
Then he turned away abruptly. A revolver-belt was hanging on the wall, and he moved towards it. But Gordon was on his feet in a moment.
"That gun's mine, and—you can't have it!"
Gordon was standing in front of the weapon, facing the furious eyes of the father.
"Stand aside! I'm—going to kill him—now."
But Gordon made no movement.
"No," he said, with a stony calmness.
It was a painful moment. It was a moment full of threat and intense crisis. One false move on Gordon's part, and the maddened father's fury would be turned on him.
The younger man forced a smile to his eyes.