He repeated this last sentence as he turned out the lights and got into bed. His thoughts were very much on the detective and his doings. Nick Carter had got the better of him on more than one occasion, and, in spite of his boastful promise to himself that this was the time when he would win, John Garrison Rayne did not feel any too sure. CHAPTER VIII. IN THE SOUNDPROOF ROOM. It was evening of the day after Nick Carter’s encounter with the Cuban whom he had recognized as John Garrison Rayne, and Acting Governor Portersham, who temporarily represented the United States in San Juan, had just finished dinner. Jabez Portersham was a young man, considering the importance of the office he held, and, as he was a bachelor, he had taken dinner alone. Afterward he had strolled into his library, lighted a cigar, and sat himself down for an hour or two of reading. The palace, which was the governor’s official residence, was well supplied with books, so that it would be easy for Mr. Portersham to find something that would interest him. He could have gone into the billiard room if he had cared for a game, and a touch of his electric bell would have brought somebody to play with him. His official family included several bright, companionable men of about his own age, somewhere in the thirties, and very often he had one of the heads of departments to dine with him and spend the evening afterward. This happened to be an evening when he was disinclined for society, and he was quite alone when he sank into a well-cushioned rocker, with a novel in his hand. Jabez Portersham had lived in a Middle State, and had been prominent in the affairs of his own city. Also, he had had experience in the government service in Washington. Natural ability, plus some influence, had put him where he was. He had hardly got well into the first page of his book, when there was a discreet tap at the door, followed by the entrance of a soft-footed butler, who had a card on a salver. The acting governor took up the card, with a slight frown at being interrupted at this hour of privacy, but with the knowledge that Briggs would not have come unless he had felt sure that he had a sound excuse. “Senator Micah Garnford” was the name on the card. Portersham threw his book on the table at his elbow and sat up in his chair, as he told the butler, in a sharp, businesslike tone, to “Show the senator in.” Senator Garnford was an influential man. Portersham had met him only once, and then but for a minute or two, in company with many other people, at a reception at the senator’s house in Washington, but he knew that he was largely indebted to Garnford for his present appointment. It must be urgent business of some sort that had induced the senator to come to the palace at this hour.