"Wasn't you feeling well, sir, last night?" she asked.
"Quite," answered Manton, who was busy with an excellent breakfast.
She went away wondering. Until that day she had never known Mr. Treves to drink less than half a bottle of whisky in the course of an evening.
During the morning John went for a stroll in the town, and on his return the landlady handed him a letter which had arrived by the post in his absence. Manton took it up to his room, and noticed that the handwriting was sprawling and shaky. Twice he read the superscription, "Bernard Treves, Esq., 15, Sade Road, Lymington." He hesitated several minutes before breaking open the envelope. He felt as though he were stepping beyond the pale of decency in opening the letter addressed to another man, then he recalled Treves's admonition, "Everything that is mine is yours." He tore open the envelope. Within was a single sheet of paper headed, "Heatherfield Grange, Freshwater." Manton quickly scanned the contents.
"Dear Bernard,—They tell me you are in hiding, as well you may be, but if you have a spark of decency left in you, you will come here to me at the first opportunity. There are things I have to say to you.
"You have dishonoured and disgraced the family name, but I have still a faint hope that you will retrieve yourself at the last moment.—Your affectionate father,
"R.T."
For many minutes John Manton sat staring at this letter, staring from the stiff, sprawling writing out into the little street and back again.
All that day he pondered upon the missive he had received from Treves's father. He wondered what it was Treves had done, and why he should have been skulking in hiding at that address? A sense of uneasiness swept over him, and was succeeded by a violent curiosity. For the first time he felt vividly interested in Treves and Treves's history, and at the same time doubtful and uneasy. Unpleasant and difficult situations presented themselves to his mind.
Next morning, as a result of a decision he had taken, he was on his way to Freshwater by midday. At three o'clock in the afternoon he walked through the town and out to Heatherfield Grange, which he discovered to be a large, many-chimneyed, many-windowed Elizabethan mansion, standing in a spacious, heavily-wooded park. The mansion itself was approached by a long carriage drive, too much overshadowed by trees, and when Manton reached the lodge gates a bent old man, who was sweeping leaves from the path, hurried forward and drew open the gate for him to enter. The man drew himself up and saluted.