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Updated: June 26, 2025
Suddenly they heard the sound of a sharp report, as of a door above being slammed. "Some one was in the boat-house when I broke the trap-door," Meekins muttered. "I heard them moving about." Mr. Fentolin frowned. "Then let us hurry," he said. "Sarson, what about your patient?" Mr. Dunster was lying upon his side, watching them. The doctor went over to the bedside and felt his pulse and head.
He started a little as he saw the two whispering together. Gerald addressed him almost apologetically. "We both heard the same sound, Meekins. Is any one ill? It sounded like some one in pain." The man hesitated. Then from behind his shoulder came Mr. Fentolin's still, soft voice. There was a little click, and Meekins, as though obeying an unseen gesture, stepped back. Mr.
The ladder down which they had descended was slowly disappearing. Meekins, with a jump, missed the last rung by only a few inches. Some unseen hand was drawing it up. Already the last few feet were vanishing in mid-air. Mr. Fentolin sat quite quiet and still. He looked through the trap-door and saw Hamel.
I guess I can get from here to Yarmouth, and from there I can charter something which will take me to the other side." Mr. Fentolin raised the little gold whistle to his lips and blew it very softly. Meekins at once entered, closing the door behind him.
Let us abandon this subject for the present. Have you solved the puzzle yet?" he asked Meekins. Meekins was standing below the closed trap-door. He had already dragged up a wooden case underneath and was piling it with various articles of furniture. "Not yet, sir," he replied. "When I have made this steadier, I am just going to see what pressure I can bring to bear on the trap-door."
I decline to accept any longer the hospitality of your roof. I insist upon leaving it. If you will not provide me with any means of doing so, I will walk." He made a motion as though to rise from the bed. Meekins' hand very gently closed upon his arm. One could judge that the grip was like a grip of iron. "Dear me," Mr. Fentolin said, "this is really very unreasonable of you!
Both Meekins and Doctor Sarson, however, were intent upon the task of steering Mr. Fentolin's little carriage down below. They placed the wheels in the two grooves, and Meekins secured the carriage with a rope which he let run through his fingers.
A great pink fungus stood out within a few inches of the bed, a grim mixture of exquisite colouring and loathsome imperfections. The atmosphere was fetid. Meekins suddenly struck a match and lit some grains of powder in a saucer. A curious odour of incense stole through the place. Mr. Fentolin nodded appreciatively. "That is better," he declared.
He dispensed so far as he could with the services of the men and descended, as soon as he was dressed, into the hall. Meekins was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, dressed now in somber black. "Mr. Fentolin will be glad if you will step into his room, sir," he announced, leading the way. Mr. Fentolin was seated in his chair, reading the Times in a corner of his library.
What name shall I say, sir?" "You need not mind announcing me, I'm an old acquaintance, just show me the room." "I beg pardon, sir, but Mr. Meekins, the editor of the 'Telegraph, is engaged with him at present; and positive orders are given not to suffer any interruption." "No matter; do as I bid you. Is that it? Oh, I hear his voice. There, that will do.
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