John continued to walk until he reached the corner of the square, then he turned, and as he did so he saw the tall young man flit up the steps of a house a considerable distance away. John fixed his eyes on the portico of this particular house and walked towards it. And as he neared the door he realised that the young man had entered the very house at which he also had an appointment—Number 208. For a moment Manton paused, hesitated, then passed on. Before making the plunge into whatever adventure awaited him, he wanted still further to consider the situation.
In the meantime the stranger, who had alighted from the taxi, was now within the hall of Mr. Manners's residence. He had opened the door with a Yale key and had admitted himself. The hall was narrow and somewhat dark, and the young man laid his gold-headed cane noisily on a little table, and began to draw off his grey gloves. A door at the back of the house opened noiselessly, and a sombre-faced, sallow-complexioned butler advanced.
"Mr. Manners is in, of course?" demanded the young man in a voice that rasped a little.
"Yes, Herr Baron, in the library."
The visitor nodded curtly, ran swiftly up the stairs, turned to the left, and opened a door on the first landing. He entered a room where the curtains had already been drawn. Two electric chandeliers, one on either side of the hearth, illuminated the apartment. A large bookcase occupied one wall of the room, and in the middle of the floor was a business-like table, scattered with papers. On the table was a green-shaded reading lamp, and by its illumination a man sat at work busily writing. He looked up as the stranger entered, then sprang quickly to his feet. He was a tall man of fifty, uncomfortably stout, with a fleshy neck that protruded over his collar at the back. The big man's iron-grey hair was short, his nose broad and short, and his lips thick and pouting. Despite his inelegance of figure, he was dressed, with an attempt at smartness, in a well-cut frock coat and newly-creased trousers. His heavy eyebrows shielded his eyes, hiding his expression from any but the closest scrutiny. For a man of his excessive bulk he showed extreme activity on his feet.
"I didn't expect you to-night," he said. He placed a chair near the desk for the younger man to seat himself.
His visitor, however, stood still and fixed him with a direct, cold stare.
"Well, Manners," he demanded, "what have you to say for yourself?"
Manners shrugged his heavy shoulders, and displayed the palms of his hands.
"Nothing, Herr Baron," he said, "except that I have done my best. Won't you sit down?"