"He certainly doesn't lack pluck," mused John.
Five minutes later he reached the large house wherein Cherriton had his abode.
"I want to see Captain Cherriton at once," he said, when the door was opened to him.
He found Cherriton alone in the big drawing-room. He was in evening clothes, and was wearing comfortable house slippers.
"So it's you, Treves?" exclaimed the German as the door closed. "Come in, and I'll give you a drink of whisky; that is always acceptable, eh?"
"Always," answered John.
Cherriton was looking at him intently.
"There is a slight cut on your forehead."
"Is there? It must be a scratch."
John applied his handkerchief to the slight abrasion, then slipped off his overcoat and took a drink of whisky and soda.