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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!
David's Hall." Kinsley, for a moment, was singularly and eloquently profane. "That's why Mr. Fentolin let him go, then. If Saxthorpe had only held his tongue, or if those infernal police hadn't got chattering with the magistrates, we might have made a coup. As it is, the game's up. Mr. Dunster left for Yarmouth, you say, yesterday morning?" "I saw him go myself.
"His judgment is really wonderful." "Wish we could get him to come and sit on the bench sometimes, then," Lord Saxthorpe remarked heartily. "Our neighbours in this part of the world are not overburdened with brains. By-the-by," he went on, "that reminds me. You haven't got such a thing as a mysterious invalid in the house, have you?" There was a moment's rather curious silence. Mr.
Fentolin murmured, "such as his religious convictions and his size in boots, which I could not swear about, but so far as regards his name and his occupation, I think I can gratify your curiosity. He is a Mr. John P. Dunster, and he appears to be the representative of an American firm of bankers, on his way to Germany to conclude a loan." "God bless my soul!" Lord Saxthorpe exclaimed wonderingly.
Fentolin was sitting like a carved figure, with a glass of wine half raised to his lips. Gerald had broken off in the middle of a sentence and was staring at Lord Saxthorpe. Esther was sitting perfectly still, her face grave and calm, her eyes alone full of fear. Lord Saxthorpe was not an observant man and he continued, quite unconscious of the sensation which his question had aroused.
"A thousand pounds! Just fancy that a thousand pounds! And some people say he is so difficult," she went on, dropping her voice. "Mrs. Hungerford came all the way over from Norwich to beg for the infirmary there, and he gave her nothing." "What was his excuse?" Hamel asked. "I think he told her that it was against his principles to give to hospitals," Lady Saxthorpe replied.
This is Mr. Hamel, son of Peter Hamel, R.A. the Countess of Saxthorpe." Lady Saxthorpe, who had been engaged in greeting Esther, held out her hand and smiled good-humouredly at Hamel. "I know your father's work quite well," she declared, "and I don't wonder that you have made a pilgrimage here.
Fentolin never seems to have got over the loss of her husband, does she? How long is it since he died?" "Eight years," Mr. Fentolin replied. "It was just six months after my own accident." "I am losing a great deal of sympathy for you, Mr. Fentolin," Lady Saxthorpe confessed, coming over to his side. "You have so many resources, there is so much in life which you can do.
"Absolutely," Lord Saxthorpe declared. "The idea seems to be that the fellow was brought to one of the houses in the neighbourhood, and we were all rather chaffing one another this morning about it. Inspector Yardley the stout fellow with the beard, you know was just starting off in his dog-cart to make enquiries round the neighbourhood.
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.
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