"Sit down, Manton," invited Captain Gilbert, as John entered. "I always mix my own salads. What will you have? There's the menu."
John chose a dish and accepted his host's invitation to divide with him a bottle of Chablis. During the meal Captain Gilbert talked on general matters. But at length the conversation appeared to drift round to the subject of Treves.
"Old Treves took you for granted, eh?" asked the Captain.
"His eyesight isn't good," answered John, "but he suspected nothing."
"He called me 'Mr. Bernard' the moment he saw me. Also, he gave me Treves's letters and a telegram. I didn't read the letters, but the telegram----" Manton put his hand in his inner pocket. "Perhaps I'd better hand them all over to you now."
"Not so fast," Gilbert said, pushing the letters and the telegram back across the table towards Manton. "As a matter of fact, I can't hand them to Treves just now, as I have persuaded him to go to a nursing home for a time. A very good friend of his father's, General Whiston, recommended that something of the sort should be done with him months ago."
"Treves did not give me the impression of being actually ill," Manton observed.
"He wasn't, but his nerves were all to rags. He was in such a state of acute neurasthenia that I expected him to lay hands on himself any minute. Anyway, where he is he will be safe for a while; he will be out of his father's way and the discipline of this particular nursing home may pull him together."
John lit a cigarette and smoked thoughtfully. There was evidently something on Gilbert's mind, something of which he wished to unburden himself. John waited, and at last the elder man broke the silence again:
"Manton," he said earnestly, "I want you to do me a particular favour."
"I want you," went on the Captain, "to sustain Treves's personality for a little longer. He is in good hands in the nursing home, and for the time being has vanished from the public gaze." Gilbert paused, and again appeared to hesitate. What he had to say was very difficult to frame in words. He wished to hint at something that was the merest suspicion in his own mind. Two or three times he was on the verge of putting his thoughts into words, and each time the effort appeared too much for his gift of expression. Finally he leaned back in his chair. "Manton," he said, "I cannot tell you all I think and suspect, but I will give you such confidences as I can."