“Yes.”
“I don’t understand you,” snapped Kate. “Come across plainly, Mr. Carter, if you wish me to continue this interview. I’ll not stand for any beating around a bush. What friend of mine do you mean?”
“The man you talked with on the street a short time ago,” Nick said bluntly. “The man who told you he had seen my touring car at the Darling residence this afternoon.”
Kate Crandall’s eyes dilated perceptibly under her knitted brows. The shot was evidently not expected, but it did not appear to disturb her seriously. She tossed away her cigarette, nevertheless, asking, a bit resentfully:
“What is it to you, Carter, anyway? Why are you putting me through the wringer in this fashion? What are you trying to dig up? I tell you right here and now that you’ve got nothing on me. My relations with Cyrus Darling were open and above board. He was the only one guilty of any duplicity. I was the one deceived—and his wife! What are you out after, anyway?”
“You are evading my question,” Nick said pointedly.
“What question?”
“Who is the man with whom you talked this afternoon?” Nick repeated. “If you are strictly on the level, as you assert, you should be willing to tell me.”
“Willing be hanged!” snapped Kate inelegantly. “You make me tired, Carter, when you get one of these meddlesome wasps in your bonnet. Why, I am more than willing to tell you, if you are really anxious to know.”
“Tell me, then.”