The elder German—Gottfried Manwitz by name, though he figured in the London directory as Godfrey Manners—turned nervously towards his desk and began to search among the papers. An expression of relief crossed his face as he took up a particular sheet of paper.
"That is the date, Herr Baron," he said, "when the expedition will sail, and also the place of departure."
The young man took the sheet, scrutinised it with frowning brows for a moment, then lifted his eyes and looked into Manwitz's fat face with cold, contemptuous gaze.
"Excellent!" he said, cuttingly; "wonderful and utterly useless! You provide Headquarters with all this detail, and fail to give the one vital, useful piece of information—the sole item that Headquarters requires."
"It is very difficult, Herr Baron," apologised Manners.
"You and I, Manwitz," retorted the younger man, "are retained in London for the sole purpose of overcoming difficulties." He paused a moment, and looked complacently for the first time in the elder man's face. "For instance, I myself have overcome quite a number of difficulties."
"Indeed, that is true, Herr Baron," conceded Manners.
"I expect you to do the same. Since you let the Inflexible and the Invincible vanish to the Falkland Islands without any one of us being aware of the fact, Berlin doesn't think so highly of your attainments as before the war. For my part," he went on, "I find you too much of a dreamer." He paused; some one had knocked lightly on the door of the room. "Open it, Manwitz!" he commanded.
The big man crossed lightly to the door and drew it open. Upon the threshold stood the sombre-countenanced butler. The tall young man from the hearth called aloud to him:
"Well, Conrad, what is it?"