“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?” “Did you see Captain Dillon talk with a man at another table this evening?” “Yes, of course.” “Did you see the man?” “Certainly.” “Could you identify him if you were to see him again?” “Yes, yes, surely! But why----” “Have a look.” Nick removed his disguise and thrust it into his pocket. Garland swayed unsteadily, staring with wide, dilated eyes and twitching lips. He did not speak for a moment. He seemed to be trying to grasp the situation, to take in the full significance of what Nick had said, and evidently had done. He made a desperate effort to steady himself, clenching his hands till the nails ate into the palms. Then, suddenly, he hurled his cigarette into the fireplace and spoke with a sort of fierce composure, as a man might who had clutched his heart with his hand and held it with an iron grip. “I have heard that you are a man of many faces,” said he. “I now can believe it. I know, too, that you are one man in a million, that you are above dramatic claptraps and needless subterfuge. I’m nerved for whatever you may say to me. Come across with it.” “Good for you,” said Nick approvingly. “You’re a big man, Garland, big in more ways than one, and a splendid future awaits you. You are so big, in fact, like other men I have known, that you are blind to the servile treachery and dirty trickery of which some are capable, both being so foreign to you. That is one reason why big men are sometimes easily made the dupes of the others.” “Dupes?” “I heard you say to-night, Garland, that you hoped you had not lost your best friend.” “Best--best friend! You don’t mean--you don’t mean----” Garland choked and loosened the collar on his throbbing neck. “I mean the woman you know as Verona Warren,” said Nick. “I am going to take her away from you--for your own good.” “You mean----” “I mean that her name is not Verona Warren,” Nick went on impressively. “I saw her in St. Petersburg three years ago, while engaged on a case for this government. She did not see me, or know of my presence there, but I learned all about her. She then was a spy in the Russian secret service, one of their cleverest, bar none. Her name is Irma Valaska. She is the widow of a Russian soldier who was killed in Korea. Two years ago she failed in a mission intrusted to her, and she fled from Russia. She then entered the secret service of one of the Balkan states. I don’t know just what European power she now is serving, but I do know----” Nick leaned forward and spoke with redoubled earnestness.