Before I had been itching to get back to the Front; now I wanted to get on to Ivery's trail, though it should take me through the nether pit.

Peter was right; fortitude was the thing a man must possess if he would save his soul.
The hours passed, and, as I expected, there came no word from Macgillivray.

I had some dinner sent up to me at seven o'clock, and about eight I was thinking of looking up Blenkiron.

Just then came a telephone call asking me to go round to Sir Walter Bullivant's house in Queen Anne's Gate.
Ten minutes later I was ringing the bell, and the door was opened to me by the same impassive butler who had admitted me on that famous night three years before.

Nothing had changed in the pleasant green-panelled hall; the alcove was the same as when I had watched from it the departure of the man who now called himself Ivery; the telephone book lay in the very place from which I had snatched it in order to ring up the First Sea Lord.