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Updated: May 22, 2025
Once more the name of Fentolin seemed somehow familiar to him, seemed somehow to bring with it to his memory a note of warning. He looked around the room fretfully. He looked into the nurse's face, which he disliked exceedingly, and he looked at the doctor, whom he was beginning to detest. "Whose house exactly is this?" he demanded. "This is St. David's Hall the home of Mr.
"Lucy Price sent me here to-night because she was afraid that it was to-night they meant to take him from his hiding-place and kill him. The police have left off searching for Mr. Dunster in Yarmouth and at The Hague. There is a detective in the neighbourhood and another one on his way here. They are afraid to keep him alive any longer." "Where was Mr. Fentolin when you left?" Hamel asked.
"You ask me idle questions," she sighed. "We have gone, perhaps, a little further than I intended. I came to plead with you for all our sakes, if I could, to make things more comfortable by remaining here instead of insisting upon your claim to the Tower." "Mrs. Fentolin," Hamel said firmly. "I like to do what I can to please and benefit my friends, especially those who have been kind to me.
He knew that there were things which she was keeping from him now. "Mr. Fentolin uses one of the rooms as a studio. He likes to paint there and be near the sea," she explained. "But for the rest, I do not know. I never go near the place." "I am afraid," he remarked, after a few moments of silence, "that I shall be a little unpopular with Mr. Fentolin.
He may mean to be honest, but he is at all times subject to temptation. Ah! here is my niece." Mr. Fentolin turned towards the door. Hamel rose at once to his feet. His surmise, then, had been correct. She was coming towards them very quietly.
Living here alone with him, you have all grown under his dominance to an unreasonable extent. Because of his horrible infirmity, you have let yourselves become his slaves. There are limits to this sort of thing, Esther. I come here as a stranger, and I see nothing more in Mr. Fentolin than a very selfish, irritable, domineering, and capricious old man. Humour him, by all means.
Mr. Fentolin nodded gently. "Now I come to think of it, I did have a letter from Mr. Brown," he remarked. "Rather an impertinence for a tutor, I thought it. He devoted three pages towards impressing upon me the necessity of your adopting some sort of a career." "He wrote because he thought it was his duty," the boy said doggedly. "So you want to be a soldier," Mr. Fentolin continued musingly.
Hamel found himself next to Lady Saxthorpe. "Dear Mr. Fentolin has been so kind," she confided to him as they took their places. "I came in fear and trembling to ask for a very small cheque for my dear brother's diocese. My brother is a colonial bishop, you know. Can you imagine what Mr. Fentolin has given me?" Hamel wondered politely. Lady Saxthorpe continued with an air of triumph.
Fentolin laid his pen deliberately down. "So soon," he murmured. "Very well, Sarson, I am at his service. Say that I will come at once." Mr. Fentolin lost no time in paying this suggested visit. Mr. John P. Dunster, shaved and clothed, was seated in an easy-chair drawn up to the window of his room, smoking what he was forced to confess was a very excellent cigar.
"You must leave her," she cried, with a little catch in her throat. "Gerald has broken away. Esther and I must carry still the burden." She motioned him to go. He touched her fingers for a moment. "Mrs. Fentolin," he said, "I have been a good many years making up my mind. Now that I have done so, I do not think that any one will keep Esther from me."
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