Nick Carter had spent much less time at the St. Lawrence rectory than one might infer from the nature and extent of his investigations. He had covered the ground rapidly, despite the numerous deductions and explanations with which he had assisted Detective Fallon, from whom he parted shortly before ten o’clock. Something like twenty minutes later, Nick alighted from a taxicab at a handsome stone residence in Massachusetts Avenue. It was that of Senator Ambrose Barclay, one of the leading statesmen then in the higher house, and the man directly responsible for Nick Carter’s arrival in Washington late the previous night. A butler admitted the detective and at once ushered him into a richly furnished library, where Nick was almost immediately joined by both Senator Barclay and his daughter Estella, a beautiful brunette in the twenties. The great service already done them by the detective was fresh in their minds, only a month having elapsed, and their greeting was extremely cordial. “I got your wire saying you would see me this morning,” Senator Barclay then said, while Stella quietly closed the door. “I’m very glad you could make it convenient to comply with my request. I have not forgotten how deeply I am indebted to you, Carter, for having saved my reputation in that foreign-spy affair. I will not say my honor, of course, for I was in no degree culpable, though malicious persons, or an uninformed public, might have thought differently.” “I was very well aware of it, Senator Barclay, and I made sure that your name did not appear in the matter,” Nick replied. “But let the dead bury the dead. What’s the trouble, now, that you again need my aid?” “I am in a quandary, possibly in an equally bad mess,” said the statesman. “It concerns, to begin with, the same young man who was robbed of the government coast-defense plans by those infernal foreigners, aided by that traitor, Dillon, all of whom woolly-eyed me into friendly relations with them for more than a year. I cringe with chagrin when I think of it.” “But how is Harold Garland involved in your present trouble?” questioned Nick, keeping him to the point. “Involved in it!” blurted Senator Barclay. “Damn it--excuse me, Stella; I forgot you were here. How is Garland involved in my present trouble? Hang it, Carter, he is something more than involved in it. He is the trouble.” Nick laughed, while Stella Barclay blushed profusely. “Suppose you explain, senator, without any expletives,” Nick suggested. “Yes, dad, dear, do,” pleaded Stella. “Tell Mr. Carter the whole business. Don’t mind me, I shall survive it.”