For a time they pondered the situation. The Colonel was the first to break the ruminating silence, and said:
"Of course your bail would be forfeited, and that would leave your daughter penniless."
This remark was for Leslie's benefit. Nevertheless he knew that after Wilkinson had gone, some way could be found in which his huge fortune might gradually be used for her.
"I don't care at all about being penniless!" cried Leslie, springing to her feet. "All I care for, is—but can't I go with father?"
"That's out of the question—they'd get me in an hour if you did." There was nothing paternal in Wilkinson's voice, for the primal principle had him in its clutch. Leslie was hurt by this seeming indifference to her; it was not given to her to comprehend fully that her father was making, in actuality, a fight for his life.
"You must understand, Leslie, that this means an absolute loss of identity, or ten years behind the bars for your father," explained Colonel Morehead.
Wilkinson rose, and walking to the window glanced down at the fruit man on the other side of the street, and then came back.
"How long time have I, Colonel, before——"
"There'll be no trouble about time," was the Colonel's reply. "I can still string it on for months. Summer is coming on—the long vacation——"
Wilkinson rewarded him with a crafty, exultant smile. He saw in this plan nothing save success. Firmly he believed that there was some way after all by which, whether he was in Paris, San Francisco or some other place, he could draw back his millions, even if it had to be accomplished in the slow way that formerly he had drawn them from his depositors.