"Are we sure, Mr. Wilkinson, that she knows anything of the affair?"
Wilkinson did not deign even to glance at his counsel, and ignoring the girl's protests, and brushing aside or rather pushing his way through her objections, as was his wont, with his shoulders, he repeated:
"Leslie, I want you to tell Assistant District Attorney Leech all that you know about this man Ilingsworth—all—you understand."
Leslie, with difficulty, controlled herself, and cried out:
"Father, this is a—a case of murder. I can't be the accuser.... Don't drag me into it—please...."
A dull red, angry colour crept up over Wilkinson's collar, and his eyes flashed.
"Leslie, don't you understand what this man Ilingsworth has done? He's killed my private secretary Pallister! It's your duty.... How are you going to escape ...?"
Leech tiptoed back to the door of his private office and gently closed the transom, which was open.
"In order to relieve you, Miss Wilkinson," he now said, and his voice was reassuring, "I may as well tell you that we have established, beyond all doubt, proofs of Ilingsworth's guilt. We have people who say they saw him in the crowd; we've found the man who sold him the gun, and we've shown him Ilingsworth's photograph, which he identifies as unquestionably the man."