"Mr. Treves, Herr Baron, to see Herr Manners."
"Thank you, Conrad," said Manners. He closed the door and turned to his superior.
"This is one of my instruments, Herr Baron, arrived to-night from the Isle of Wight. You approved of him when I gave you his dossier a month ago."
"He is the British officer who was cashiered," returned the other, swiftly. "Takes drugs, and generally gone to pieces?"
"The same, Herr Baron."
"Is he quite"—he paused—"er, quite amenable to your orders?"
"I flatter myself that I can do a good deal with him," Manwitz answered, with pride. "He comes here for cocaine, but he is of good English stock, and there are moments when he tries to shake himself free of me. For the last three weeks, as a matter of fact, he has disappeared entirely. I had great difficulty, Herr Baron, rediscovering his hiding place."
"I don't like that!" returned the Baron. "How do you know what he has been up to in the meantime?"
He was silent for a minute; then he looked with his cold, pale eyes into his elder's face. "Manwitz!" he exclaimed suddenly, "this may be the man for our business!"
For the first time a flicker of triumph lit in Manners's eyes. He went to his desk, unlocked a drawer, and produced a single sheet of notepaper. "This is a letter in his own writing, Herr Baron, signed by himself. I think it is satisfactory, eh?"