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Meekins alone, looking more like a prize fighter than ever in his somber evening clothes, had taken the place of the butler behind his master's chair. "We shall see," Mr. Fentolin said quietly. Mr. Fentolin pointed to the little pile of books upon the table, the deep easy-chair, the green-shaded lamps, the decanter of wine. He had insisted upon a visit, however brief, to the library.
"You will excuse me, sir," he objected doubtfully, "but I am not at all sure that he is safe." Mr. Fentolin smiled faintly. "You need have no fear, Meekins," he declared. "I am quite sure that you are mistaken. I think that Mr. Dunster is incapable of any act of violence towards a person in my unfortunate position. I am willing to trust myself with him perfectly willing, Meekins."
Behind was the faithful Meekins, with an easel under his arm. "I trust that your first night in your new abode has been a pleasant one?" Mr. Fentolin asked. "I slept quite well, thanks," Hamel replied. "Glad to see you're going to paint." Mr. Fentolin shook his head gloomily. "It is, alas!" he declared, "one of my weaknesses. I can work only in solitude.
It's simply what I feel around, the whole atmosphere of the place, the whole atmosphere you seem to create around you with these brutes Sarson and Meekins; and those white-faced, smooth-tongued Marconi men of yours, who can't talk decent English; and the post-office man, who can't look you in the face; and Miss Price, who looks as though she were one of the creatures, too, of your torture chamber.
"Very good very good, Meekins," he said, "but not quite good enough. You are a trifle out of practice, perhaps. Take your breath, take time. Remember that you have another chance. I am not angry with you, Meekins. I know there are many enterprises upon which one does not succeed the first time. Get your breath; there is no hurry. Next time you try, see that you succeed.
One man is driving, another is sitting by his side. They are coming this way." Mr. Fentolin blew his whistle. Meekins appeared almost directly. His master whispered a word in his ear. The man at once departed. "Let me make use of your eyes once more," Mr. Fentolin begged. "About these two men in the trap, Mr. Hamel. Is one of them, by any chance, wearing a uniform?"
There was a stealthy tap at the door. Meekins entered with the small dressing-case in his hand. He brought it over to his master's chair. Mr. Fentolin pointed to the floor. "Open it there, Meekins," he directed. "I fancy that the pocket-book you are carrying will prove more interesting. We will just glance through the dressing-case first. Thank you. Yes, you can lay the things upon the floor.
Dunster has brought across the seas, and which I hold in my hands, is the most amazing message of modern times." Gerald rose to his feet. "What are you going to do about it?" he asked abruptly. "Do you want any one in from the telegraph room?" Mr. Fentolin shook his head slowly. "At present," he announced, "I am going to reflect. Meekins, my chair to the north window so.
"I heard the bolts go," Doctor Sarson remarked uneasily. "In that case," Mr. Fentolin declared, "it will indeed be an interesting test of our friend Meekins' boasted strength. Meekins holds his place a very desirable place, too chiefly for two reasons: first his discretion and secondly his muscles. He has never before had a real opportunity of testing the latter. We shall see."
See that they are not alone." The doctor silently withdrew, and Mr. Fentolin promptly glided past him into the room. Mr. John P. Dunster, in his night clothes, was sitting on the side of the bed. Standing within a few feet of him, watching him all the time with the subtle intentness of a cat watching a mouse, stood Meekins. Mr.
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