"Good day, Master Bernard."
Manton nodded and smiled. As he walked along the drive towards the grand old house, his pulse-beat quickened. After all, had he a right to act the part; was it honourable and fair that he should thus step into another man's shoes? The under-gardener had taken him for Bernard Treves; the whole world evidently was prepared to believe in the deception. But there was Treves's father to face. Naturally Treves's father would detect an impostor in a moment. But was he an impostor; was it not probable that the elder Treves also was aware of what had occurred?
The broad front door of the mansion was opened to him. A white-haired butler, with pouches under his eyes, and a general air of world-weariness, looked at him from the threshold, and slowly lifted his eyes in surprise.
"Good afternoon, sir," said the butler. He took Manton's hat and stick, and deferentially stood aside. "Your father will indeed be pleased and surprised to see you, sir," he said, as he closed the door. His manner was studiously civil, and yet somehow Manton felt a lack of cordiality towards himself in the butler's tone.
"Possibly he's a privileged servant," he thought, "and does not like Mr. Bernard."
"Where is—is the Colonel?" he asked after a moment's hesitation.
"In the library, sir, as usual. Will you go up at once?"
"Yes." He wondered consumedly where the Colonel's room might be, and experienced a pleasant thrill of impending event. He attempted a little harmless finesse to discover the way. "Perhaps you will go first and tell him I am here."
"Very good, sir." The butler looked at him meditatively for a moment, then went to a side-table and took up a silver salver containing three letters and a telegram. Manton seized the moment to survey the heavy splendour of the dark antique furniture, the wide spaces of the hall and the richness of the rugs scattered over the polished floor. High above the mantelshelf hung a portrait in oils of a personage in eighteenth century costume. Descending to the middle of the hall was a wide oak balustraded staircase, carpeted in scarlet, a single flight ascended to the first floor, then branched to right and left.
"Your letters, sir." The butler was standing at Manton's elbow with the silver salver extended. John took up the three letters and the telegram. A renewed and intensified disinclination to pry into Bernard Treves's affairs seized him. He was about to put letters and telegram into his pocket when the butler spoke in his firm, polite voice. There was a note of reproach in his tone, however, "The telegram came two days ago, sir."