"How do you know he did, girlie?" he asked suspiciously.
At that instant the lean and cat-like Flomerfelt entered the room and stood beside the girl. Immediately, with a feminine aversion written on her face, Leslie withdrew and stood in the doorway, still trembling and afraid.
"How do you know that he meant murder?" persisted Wilkinson.
"I'll come back later, father, and tell you why," she said, leaving the room, and hastening toward the staircase.
Flomerfelt moved slowly in the direction of the door and watched her go, then noiselessly retraced his steps, and seated himself opposite the financier. There was no cringing in the manner of this confidential man of Wilkinson's; on the contrary, his attitude toward his employer was that of man to man.
"The only decent thing about you, Peter V.," he said impudently to the multi-millionaire, "is your daughter Leslie."
Wilkinson's face plainly showed his annoyance, nevertheless he said:
"Flomerfelt, it would be well for you to leave my daughter Leslie out of this—out of everything, you understand?"
Flomerfelt smiled.
"Leaving her out, then, I will revise my former statement. There are two good things about you: one is Flomerfelt, your very necessary confidant; the other is——" he started to say "your chiefest luxury, Miss Madeline Braine,"—but he didn't say it; for Wilkinson brought his clenched hand down upon the desk with great force.