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Updated: May 27, 2025
She forced him to look once more at the top of the boat-house. "They were right!" she proclaimed, her voice gaining in strength and intensity. "They were neither drunk nor reckless. They steered as straight as human hand could guide a tiller, for Fentolin's light! And there they are, calling and calling at the bottom of the sea my three boys and my man. Do you know for whom they call?" Mr.
"What is there in your work that you are afraid I might see?" She answered him without hesitation. "These are private papers of Mr. Fentolin's. No one has any business to see them. No one has any business to enter this room. Why are you here?" "I came to the Hall to find Miss Fentolin," he replied. "I heard the click of your typewriter. I came to you, I suppose I should say, on impulse."
"It seems a pity for you to do that," Hamel remarked. "You see, I might stay here for some time." Mr. Fentolin's face darkened. He looked at the young man with a sort of pensive wrath. "If," the latter went on, "you say 'yes' to something I am going to ask you, I might even stay in the neighbourhood for longer still." Mr. Fentolin sat quite motionless in his chair; his eyes were fixed upon Hamel.
Fentolin's parasites or bodyguards, or whatever you call them." "You probably have," Kinsley agreed. "What post does he hold in the household?" "I have no idea," Hamel replied. "I saw him the first day I arrived and not since. Sort of secretary, I should think." "He is a queer-looking fellow, anyway," Kinsley muttered. "Look out, Dick. Here he comes back again." Mr.
"You wondered why I have spent so much of my time out here," she said quietly. "Now you will know. If you listen as I am listening, as I have listened for so many weary hours, so many weary years, you will hear them calling to me, David and John and Stephen. 'The light! Do you hear what they are crying? 'The light! Fentolin's light! Look!"
"My dear boy," he said, "tell me why you look as though there were ghosts flitting about the room? You are not ill, I trust?" "Tired, perhaps," Gerald answered shortly. "We were many hours in the car. I have had no sleep." Mr. Fentolin's face was full of kindly sympathy. "My dear fellow," he exclaimed, "I am selfish, indeed! I should not have kept you here for a moment.
Fentolin, I believe sold it to my father. I expect the place has tumbled to pieces by this time, but I thought I'd have a look at it." She was gazing at him steadfastly now, with parted lips. "What is your name?" she demanded. "Richard Hamel." "Hamel." She repeated it lingeringly. It seemed quite unfamiliar. "Was your father a great friend of Mr. Fentolin's, then?" she asked.
The door of the drawing-room stood open, and he heard the sound of Mrs. Fentolin's thin voice singing some little French song. He hesitated and then stepped in. With one hand she beckoned him to her, continuing to play all the time. He stepped over to her side. "I come to make my adieux," he whispered, with a glance towards the door. "You are leaving, then?" she asked quickly. He nodded. "Mr.
Will you see if you can find her?" The man's expression was full of polite regret. "Miss Fentolin went over to Legh Woods early this morning, sir," he announced. "She is staying to lunch with Lady Saxthorpe." Hamel stood quite still for a moment. Then he turned to the window. In the far distance he could catch a glimpse of the Tower. Mr. Fentolin's chair had disappeared from the walk.
Fentolin's fingers disappeared within the pocket of his coat. Something very bright was glistening in his hand when he withdrew it. "Come and parley with us, Mr. Hamel," he begged. "You will not find us unreasonable." Hamel's voice came back in reply, but Hamel himself kept well away from the opening. "The conditions," he said, "are unpropitious. A little time for reflection will do you no harm."
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