"So he was," returned the other, "before that accident to his arm. Now the least thing upsets him. He's down at Haberstow's."
That was all; the door was swung to between them. Sweetwater had received his clew, but what a clew! Haberstow's? Where was that?
Thinking the bold course the best one, he re-entered the restaurant and approached the gentlemen he had just seen enter.
"I heard you speak the name of Captain Wattles," said he. "I am hunting for Captain Wattles. Can you tell me where he is?"
He soon saw that he had struck the wrong men for information. They not only refused to answer him, but treated him with open disdain. Unwilling to lose time, he left them, and having no other resource, hastened to the last place mentioned on his list.
It was now late, too late to enter a private house under ordinary circumstances, but this house was lighted up, and a carriage stood in front of it; so he had the courage to run up the steps and consult the large door-plate visible from the sidewalk. It read thus:
HABERSTOW.
Fortune had favoured him better than he expected.
He hesitated a moment, then decided to ring the bell. But before he had done so, the door opened and an old gentleman appeared seeing a younger man out. The latter had his arm in a sling, and bore himself with a fierceness that made his appearance somewhat alarming; the other seemed to be in an irate state of mind.
"No apologies!" the former was saying. "I don't mind the night air; I'm not so ill as that. When I'm myself again we'll have a little more talk. My compliments to your daughter, sir. I wish you a very good evening, or rather night."