“Where have you been?”
“To the opera.” Garland swung round from the roller shades he had lowered. “God above! isn’t it ghastly! Think of it! To the opera—with a heart of lead and blood like ice in one’s veins. But I had to go, have to keep up appearances, or the truth might leak out. On the dead, Carter, I think I am booked for the bug house. Do tell me what you have——”
“Patience,” Nick interrupted. “Sit down and be calm. When I talk with a man I want him to have a level head on his shoulders. That’s right; light a cigarette. It will steady you—temporarily. Where did you go after the opera?”
“To supper with a party of friends.”
“Including whom?”
“Senator Barclay and his daughter, the Baron Esterveldt and his wife, with Miss Warren, whom I mentioned to you this afternoon. Captain Casper Dillon, an ex-army[{24}] officer, joined us in our box and accompanied us to supper. He is a friend of the Esterveldts.”
“Captain Dillon,” Nick observed, blowing a wreath of smoke toward the ceiling. “Ex-army officer, did you say?”
“Yes.”
“Are you well acquainted with him?”
“Quite well. I meet him frequently at the home of the Esterveldts, when I go there to see Miss Warren. She is their niece, you know, and Captain Dillon is an intimate friend of the family.”