“Does he know that you have sent for me?”
“He does not. He might resent it.”
“Possibly,” Nick allowed. “Is he still living at the Grayling?”
“Yes.”
“Does he occupy the same office in the war department?”
“He does.”
“Very good. I will leave immediately, then, and try to see him during the day,” said Nick, rising to go. “I will either call here again this evening, or telephone to you and let you know what I have learned. I think, as you do, that the matter may be serious.”
“You will go right at it?” Barclay anxiously questioned.
“Like a bull at a gate,” Nick assured him. “You will hear from me this evening.”
Nick did not, nevertheless, immediately start in search of Harold Garland. He returned to the Willard, where he was registered under an assumed name, and went up to his apartments. He was thinking of the shocking murder brought to his notice that morning, of the dead priest, of the unknown woman, or girl, who by that time perhaps had suffered a like terrible fate.