“Friends? I had renounced them. I was ready to betray them — once. But I wanted to square myself. You had to be reached — at once. So I sent you the letter. Don’t you understand?”
“I understand.”
THE lawyer’s voice was not only reassuring to Jerry Middleton. It also relieved Cardona’s qualms. The detective was high in his admiration for Charles Blefken.
Middleton was going to open up; that was evident. The man was under a tremendous strain. He was rapidly becoming more coherent.
“I understand,” repeated Blefken. “I would not be here listening to you if I did not understand. I can assure you, Middleton, that I am quite safe. Take my word for that; I will take yours for whatever you have to say. Consider me as your attorney for the time.”
“I never placed much trust in lawyers,” declared Middleton suddenly, “but I know I can count on you, Blefken. What I have to say weighs very heavily on me. I’m beginning to feel better now, though. Give me a few moments.”
“Middleton,” said the lawyer, “I am not alone here tonight” — Joe Cardona repressed a gasp, fearing that the lawyer was about to commit the mistake of betraying his presence — “not alone. I have friends, in another room. They do not know that you are here. They think I am telephoning.”
“Friends?” quizzed Middleton. “A man has no friends!”
Joe Cardona felt relief because Blefken had not made the error which he feared. But he was also surprised by the bitterness of Middleton’s reply.
“I can trust these friends,” said the lawyer. “One of them is my family physician. Perhaps you would like to see him; he might be able to prescribe something that would make you feel more like yourself—”