"What is your particular business?" inquired Gilbert.
"I want to get back into the army."
Gilbert looked at him for a moment.
"Of course—of course," he said hastily. "I'd forgotten that; we will discuss the subject at lunch time."
Until lunch time Manton was free to stroll upon the pier and consider his situation. He felt a deep curiosity to know what had happened to the man whose clothes he was wearing; to Treves, whose money he was jingling in his pocket, whose excellent cigarettes he had smoked.
At a quarter to one he threw his cigarette end over the rail into the water, and turning, made his way to the hotel where Gilbert was staying. He found the Captain already there, busy mixing a salad at a table in the corner of a small dining-room. There were half a dozen tables in the room, none of which were as yet occupied.
"Sit down, Manton," invited Captain Gilbert, as John entered. "I always mix my own salads. What will you have? There's the menu."
John chose a dish and accepted his host's invitation to divide with him a bottle of Chablis. During the meal Captain Gilbert talked on general matters. But at length the conversation appeared to drift round to the subject of Treves.
"Old Treves took you for granted, eh?" asked the Captain.
"His eyesight isn't good," answered John, "but he suspected nothing."