“Where do the Esterveldts reside?” Nick interposed.
“They rent a fine place near the Dupont Circle, that of the late General Dexter.”
Nick mentally noted the location, then said a bit bluntly, throwing his half-smoked cigar into a cuspidor:
“That, I infer, is all you know about these people?”
Garland stared at him.
“Know about them?” said he. “What more need one know? Why do you speak like that? Why have you delayed to question me about them? Tell me, Carter, I implore you, what have you learned about——”
Nick checked him with a gesture.
“I have learned enough, Garland, to convince me that I am justified in what I am about to say,” he replied impressively. “It is going to hurt you. It is going to stab you in a tender spot, but it will be for your own good, and I have no alternative but to say it. Your honor is at stake, Garland, and the integrity of a United States senator is in jeopardy.”
Garland lurched forward in his chair.
“Good God!” he gasped hoarsely. “What do you mean, Carter? What do you mean?”