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Updated: June 1, 2025
"Is that Bullen?" Hamel asked. The man admitted the fact. "Can you tell me if any of the people with whom Mr. Kinsley left London were connected with the police?" he inquired. The man hesitated. "I believe so, sir," he admitted. "The gentlemen started in a motor-car and were going to drive all night." Hamel laid down the receiver.
He has had wireless telegraphy installed; he has a telegraph office in the house, half-a-dozen private wires, and they say that he spends an immense amount of money keeping in touch with foreign politics. His excuse is that he speculates largely, as I dare say he does; but just lately," Kinsley went on more slowly, "he has been an object of anxiety to all of us.
According to his report, Seay's in jail yet at a little town down the road called Kinsley. Now, I'm going to take a conveyance to Spearville, and catch the first train out of there East. Settle my bill with this hotel, and say that I may be out of town for a few days, meeting a herd which I'm expecting.
She dismissed him with a little smile. He strolled along the village street and plunged into the mysterious recesses of the one tiny shop. Hamel met Kinsley shortly before one o'clock the following afternoon, in the lounge of the Royal Hotel at Norwich. "You got my wire, then?" the latter asked, as he held out his hand. "I had it sent by special messenger from Wells."
Hamel enquired eagerly. Kinsley shrugged his shoulders and paused while their glasses were filled with wine. "It will be in the nature of a diplomatic coup," he said presently. "Of that much I feel sure. England will be forced into such a position that she will have no alternative left but to declare war. That, of course, will be the end of us.
That written message is addressed to the delegates at The Hague, who are now sitting. Nothing had been heard of Dunster or the document he carries. No word has come from him of any sort since he left St. David's Hall." "Have you tried to trace him from there?" Hamel asked. "Trace him?" Kinsley repeated.
Say, when Florry Kinsley and me she was the girl I roomed with would get home at night, often we'd just lie down and laugh and cry, we were so tired, and our feet hurt so. We were too used up sometimes to get up and cook supper on the little stove we had. And sitting around a back bedroom all evening was worse than Madison. We'd go out, tired as we were, and walk the streets."
Kinsley nodded. There was a slight flush upon his pallid cheeks. "He not only has it, but he doesn't mean to part with it. A few hundred years ago, when the rulers of this country were men with blood in their veins, he'd have been given just one chance to tell all he knew, and hung as a traitor if he hesitated. We don't do that sort of thing nowadays. We rather go in for preserving traitors.
"It arrived directly after breakfast," Hamel replied. "It wasn't the easiest matter to get here, even then, for there are only about two trains a day, and I didn't want to borrow a car from Mr. Fentolin." "Quite right," Kinsley agreed. "I wanted you to come absolutely on your own. Let's get into the coffee-room and have some lunch now. I want to catch the afternoon train hack to town."
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.
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