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Almost immediately he stood at one side, out of sight of Mr. Dunster, and nodded to Mr. Fentolin. "If there is any trouble," he whispered, "send for me. I am better away, for the present. My presence only excites him." Mr. Fentolin nodded. "You are right," he said. "Go down into the dining-room. I am not sure about that fellow Hamel, and Gerald is in a queer temper. Stay with them.
I'd like to be on the way back in a quarter of an hour." Mr. Fentolin halted his chair by the side of the bell, and rang it. "Pray make use of my house as your own, sir," he said gravely. "From what you leave unsaid, I gather that things are more serious than the papers would have us believe. Under those circumstances, I need not assure you that any help we can render is entirely yours." Mr.
"The fellow is actually here under this roof! But who brought him? How did he find his way?" "Better ask Gerald," Mr. Fentolin replied. "He is the abductor. It seems that they both missed the train from Liverpool Street, and Mr. Dunster invited Gerald to travel down in his special train. Very kind of him, but might have been very unlucky for Gerald.
When my message has been presented to the person to whom it has been addressed, when my trust is discharged, then and then only shall I send that cablegram. That moment can only arrive at the end of my journey." Mr. Fentolin leaned now a little forward in his chair. His face was still smooth and expressionless, but there was a queer sort of meaning in his words.
"Perhaps I am," he confessed, "but my folly has brought me to you, and you can give me the information if you will." "Where is Mr. Fentolin?" she asked. "Down at the Tower," he replied. "I left him there. He sent me up to see Miss Fentolin. I was looking for her when the click of your typewriter reminded me of other things." She turned composedly back to her work.
"I believe that the case is quite a simple one, but on the other hand it would perhaps be more satisfactory to have an outside opinion. If Mr. Dunster is not conscious in the morning, we will telephone to the Norwich Infirmary." "I think it would be advisable," Hamel agreed. "Good night!" Mr. Fentolin said once more. "I am sorry that your rest has been disturbed."
Neither Gerald nor his servant moved. Somehow, the sense of Mr. Fentolin's suppressed excitement seemed to have become communicated to them. It was a little tableau, broken at last by Mr. Fentolin himself. "I should like," he said, turning to Gerald, "to be alone. It may interest you to know that this document which Mr.
"I was in that earthquake, right enough, and in the hospital afterwards, but it was a man named Hamel of Philadelphia who died." Mr. Fentolin sat quite motionless for several moments. He seemed, if possible, to have shrunken into something smaller still. A few yards behind, Meekins had alighted from his bicycle and was standing waiting. "So you are Richard Hamel," Mr.
If any one in fiction wants a type of the ridiculous detective, there he is, ready-made." "The coincidence of your question," Mr. Fentolin said smoothly, "is certainly a strange one. The mysterious stranger is within our gates." Lady Saxthorpe, who had been out of the conversation for far too long, laid down her knife and fork. "My dear Mr. Fentolin!" she exclaimed. "My dear Mrs. Fentolin!
Fentolin sat in his chair, his hands still gripping the wonderful document, his eyes travelling over the ocean now flecked with sunlight. His eyes were fixed upon the horizon. He looked steadily eastward. Mr. John P. Dunster opened his eyes upon strange surroundings. He found himself lying upon a bed deliciously soft, with lace-edged sheets and lavender-perfumed bed hangings.
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