Читать книгу The Running Fight онлайн

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"Elinor," he groaned half to himself.

"Mr. Ilingsworth," Leslie began, breaking in on his musings, "may I ask what you want with Leslie Wilkinson?"

Her question roused him. The blood forced itself into his temples until the veins stood out like whipcords on his skull; desperation furrowed his brow and lined his face.

"I want nothing of Leslie Wilkinson except my own," he answered sullenly. "There's a quarter of a million dollars that belongs to me—a quarter of a million dollars—every dollar that I've got in this world—every dollar that I ever had."

"But," protested the girl, "I haven't your money."

Ilingsworth raised his eyebrows. It was plain that he doubted her, though she spoke with every indication of honesty and frankness.

"You haven't any money, any stocks, bonds, deeds, or anything of the kind?"

"I have what my mother left me," was her quiet answer. "She died some time ago."

"How much was it?" he persisted.

"Why do you ask?" she returned, annoyed.

Ilingsworth made a gesture of impatience and again he asked: