“Yes, well,—intimately. He WAS my friend, but I would give up my brother if he were one of the ‘indulgents.’ I am not ashamed to say that I have received favours from this man.”
“Aha!—and thou dost honestly hold the doctrine that where a man threatens my life all personal favours are to be forgotten?”
“All!”
“Good citizen!—kind Nicot!—oblige me by writing the address of this Glyndon.”
Nicot stooped to the table; and suddenly when the pen was in his hand, a thought flashed across him, and he paused, embarrassed and confused.
“Write on, KIND Nicot!”
The painter slowly obeyed.
“Who are the other familiars of Glyndon?”
“It was on that point I was about to speak to thee, Representant,” said Nicot. “He visits daily a woman, a foreigner, who knows all his secrets; she affects to be poor, and to support her child by industry. But she is the wife of an Italian of immense wealth, and there is no doubt that she has moneys which are spent in corrupting the citizens. She should be seized and arrested.”
“Write down her name also.”