“I propose to pay a little informal visit to Mr. Abel Slattin, to-night.”
“At his office?”
“No; at his private residence. If, as I more than suspect, his object is to draw us into some trap, he will probably report his favorable progress to his employer to-night!”
“Then we should have followed him!”
Nayland Smith stood up and divested himself of the old shooting-jacket.
“He has been followed, Petrie,” he replied, with one of his rare smiles. “Two C.I.D. men have been watching the house all night!”
This was entirely characteristic of my friend’s farseeing methods.
“By the way,” I said, “you saw Eltham this morning. He will soon be convalescent. Where, in heaven’s name, can he—”
“Don’t be alarmed on his behalf, Petrie,” interrupted Smith. “His life is no longer in danger.”
I stared, stupidly.