"I hope it won't be my destiny to run across one of these gentry," thought John; "for even the chief himself would find it hard to make me keep my hands off him."
And yet that night, in a few brief hours, he was to find himself in contact with just such a traitor.
Reaching the corner of Jermyn Street, after his departure from Dacent Smith's rooms, John hailed a taxi and drove to Hampstead Tube at Tottenham Court Road. Here he took train to Hampstead, and made his way towards the address Manwitz had given him. The address was Cherriton's, and when John arrived there he found that the unamiable captain occupied a suite of rooms in a large, old-fashioned house near the Heath. The house was maintained by a retired butler, who received John at the door. The butler ascended to a handsomely furnished, spacious drawing-room on the first floor. Here Manners was seated at a grand piano, and Cherriton, deep in an arm-chair, was reading an English Pacifist pamphlet.
"Is that a telegram?" asked Cherriton, as the door opened.
"No, sir," answered the man; "it is a Mr. Bernard Treves called in to see Mr. Manners."
Two minutes later John stepped into the room.
"Did you get your overcoat?" he asked, shaking hands with Cherriton.
The fair man nodded.
"Many thanks," he said.
He had spent the earlier part of that day inquiring into the existence, status, and habits of John Manton. He was still not quite satisfied as to his visitor's release from Scotland Yard, and at that very moment he was awaiting a telegram from the Isle of Wight which would either increase his suspicions or remove them altogether. In the meantime, he preferred to trust John to a certain extent.