“A rat, if there ever was one,” thought Nick. “No need to tell him more definitely what business brought me here. He will infer that I suspect Garland of having stolen the plans, however, and that will throw him off his guard. He will feel dead sure, too, that I do not suspect him, or I would not have confided in him. No sane man could reason otherwise.” Nick left the restaurant before Senator Barclay and his party, but he did not go far. He waited outside in disguise, one easily and quickly adjusted, until the suspects emerged. He saw the hairy foreigner, in company with the corpulent woman and the said Verona Warren, part from the others and ride away in a limousine. Senator Barclay and his daughter left in another, after shaking hands with Garland and Captain Dillon, who then hailed a taxicab and rode away together. Nick had one waiting near by, to which he hastened and gave the driver his instructions. “To the Grayling, Vermont Avenue. Drop me there as quickly as possible.” Ten minutes served to turn the trick. Nick waited in the doorway of an opposite dwelling. His watch said one o’clock when Garland put in an appearance. He came on foot, walking slowly, staggering at times as if drunk. Nick had noticed, however, that the young man drank nothing in the restaurant. He crossed over and intercepted him at his door. “You return late, Garland,” said he. “I have been waiting for you.” Garland stared at him with feverish eyes, as white as a sheet, with that terrible expression of anguish and anxiety on his drawn features that Nick had noticed in the afternoon. “Beg pardon!” he muttered, pulling himself together. “I don’t think I know you.” “Yes, you do,” said Nick. “We met this afternoon in Welden’s office. I am Nick Carter.” “Oh, good heavens!” Garland seized the detective’s arm. “Welden said I would not have known you. Tell me--do you bring me good news? You have been waiting for me. You must, then, have learned something.” “Invite me in,” Nick replied. “There will be time enough for me to tell you.” “Pardon! Certainly,” Garland said, fishing out his keys. “I’m so frightfully upset that I scarce know what I’m doing. I started for home in a taxi, but couldn’t remain in it. I was so infernally nervous. I wanted to walk--walk--walk. I shall go stark mad, Carter, unless those plans are recovered. Come up to my room.” Nick followed him to a handsomely furnished double room on the second floor. Garland switched on the lights, throwing off his hat and inverness, and then placing cigars and cigarettes on the table. “Help yourself, Mr. Carter, but don’t keep me in suspense,” he pleaded. “What have you learned?” Nick did not hurry. He settled back in an armchair, lighting a cigar, and inquired: “Where have you been?”