Jennison rose quickly from his seat on the window-ledge and stepped forward. "Hallet," he said, "there's something I ought to tell you. Two or three years ago Dan Winterslip and I were walking along King Street, and we passed Mr. Egan here. Winterslip nodded toward him. 'I'm afraid of that man, Harry,' he said. I waited to hear more, but he didn't go on, and he wasn't the sort of client one would prompt. 'I'm afraid of that man, Harry.' Just that, and nothing further."
"It's enough," remarked Hallet grimly. "Egan, you're going with me."
Egan's eyes flashed. "Of course," he cried bitterly. "Of course I'm going with you. You're all against me, the whole town is against me, I've been sneered at and belittled for twenty years. Because I was poor. An out-cast, my daughter humiliated, not good enough to associate with these New England blue-bloods—these thin-lipped Puritans with a touch of sun—"
At sound of that familiar phrase, John Quincy sat up. Where, where—oh, yes, on the Oakland ferry—
"Never mind that," Hallet was saying. "I'll give you one last chance. Will you tell me what I want to know?"
"I will not," cried Egan.
"All right. Then come along."
"Am I under arrest?" asked Egan.
"I didn't say that," replied Hallet, suddenly cautious. "The investigation is young yet. You are withholding much needed information, and I believe that after you've spent a few hours at the station, you'll change your mind and talk. In fact, I'm sure of it. I haven't any warrant, but your position will be a lot more dignified if you come willingly without one."
Egan considered a moment. "I fancy you're right," he said. "I have certain orders to give the servants, if you don't mind—"