Mr. Fentolin, having succeeded in getting rid of his niece and his somewhat embarrassing guest for at least two hours, was seated in his study, planning out a somewhat strenuous morning, when his privacy was invaded by Doctor Sarson.
"Our guest," the latter announced, in his usual cold and measured tones, "has sent me to request that you will favour him with an interview."
Mr. Fentolin laid his pen deliberately down.
"So soon," he murmured. "Very well, Sarson, I am at his service.
Say that I will come at once."
Mr. Fentolin lost no time in paying this suggested visit. Mr. John P. Dunster, shaved and clothed, was seated in an easy-chair drawn up to the window of his room, smoking what he was forced to confess was a very excellent cigar. He turned his head as the door opened, and Mr. Fentolin waved his hand pleasantly.
"Really," he declared, "this is most agreeable. I had an idea, Mr.
Dunster, that I should find you a reasonable person. Men of your eminence in their profession usually are."
Mr. Dunster looked at the speaker curiously.
"And what might my profession be, Mr. Fentolin?" he asked. "You seem to know a great deal about me."
"It is true," Mr. Fentolin admitted. "I do know a great deal."
Mr. Dunster knocked the ash from his cigar.
"Well," he said, "I have been the hearer of several important communications from my side of the Atlantic to England and to the Continent, and I have always known that there was a certain amount of risk in the business. Once I had an exceedingly narrow shave," he continued reminiscently, "but this is the first time I have ever been dead up against it, and I don't mind confessing that you've fairly got me puzzled. Who the mischief are you, Mr. Fentolin, and what are you interfering about?"
Mr. Fentolinn smiled queerly.
"I am what you see," he replied. "I am one of those unfortunate human beings who, by reason of their physical misfortunes, are cut off from the world of actual life. I have been compelled to seek distraction in strange quarters. I have wealth - great wealth I suppose I should say; an inordinate curiosity, a talent for intrigue.
As to the direction in which I carry on my intrigues, or even as to the direct interests which I study, that is a matter, Mr. Dunster, upon which I shall not gratify your curiosity nor anybody else's.
But, you see, I am admitting freely that it does interest me to interfere in great affairs."
"But how on earth did you get to know about me," Mr. Dunster asked, "and my errand? You couldn't possibly have got me here in an ordinary way. It was an entire fluke."
"There, you speak with some show of reason. I have a nephew whom you have met, who is devoted to me."
"Mr. Gerald Fentolin," Mr. Dunster remarked drily.
"Precisely," Mr. Fentolin declared. "Well, I admit frankly the truth of what you say. Your - shall we say capture, was by way of being a gigantic fluke. My nephew's instructions simply were to travel down by the train to Harwich with you, to endeavour to make your acquaintance, to follow you on to your destination, and, if any chance to do so occurred, to relieve you of your pocket-book.
That, however, I never ventured to expect. What really happened was, as you have yourself suggested, almost in the nature of a miracle. My nephew showed himself to be possessed of gifts which were a revelation to me. He not only succeeded in travelling with you by the special train, but after its wreck he was clever enough to bring you here, instead of delivering you over to the mercies of a village doctor. I really cannot find words to express my appreciation of my nephew's conduct."
"I could," Mr. Dunster muttered, "very easily!"
Mr. Fentolin sighed gently.
"Perhaps our points of view might differ."
"We have spent a very agreeable few minutes in explanations," Mr.
Dunster continued. "Would it be asking too much if I now suggest that we remove the buttons from our foils?"
"Why not?" Mr. Fentolin assented smoothly. "Your first question to yourself, under these circumstances, would naturally be: 'What does Mr. Fentolin want with me?' I will answer that question for you. All that I ask - it is really very little - is the word agreed upon."
Mr. Dunster held his cigar a little way off and looked steadfastly at his host for a moment. So you have interpreted my cipher?"
Mr. Fentolin spread out the palms of his hands in a delicate gesture.
"My dear Mr. Dunster," he said, "one of the ******st, I think, that was ever strung together. I am somewhat of an authority upon ciphers."
"I gather," Mr. Dunster went on, although his cigar was burning itself out, "that you have broken the seal of my dispatches?"
Mr. Fentolin closed his eyes as though he had heard a discord.
"Nothing so clumsy as that, I hope," he murmured gently. "I will not insult a person of your experience and intelligence by enumerating the various ways in which the seal of a dispatch may be liquefied. It is quite true that I have read with much pleasure the letter which you are carrying from a certain group of very distinguished men to a certain person now in The Hague. The letter, however, is replaced in its envelope; the seal is still there. You need have no fears whatever concerning it. All that I require is that one word from you."
"And if I give you that one word?" Mr. Dunster asked.
"If you give it me, as I think you will," Mr. Fentolin replied suavely, "I shall then telegraph to my agent, or rather I should say to a dear friend of mine who lives at The Hague, and that single word will be cabled by him from The Hague to New York."
"And in that case," Mr. Dunster enquired, "what would become of me?"
"You would give us the great pleasure of your company here for a very brief visit," Mr. Fentolin answered. "We should, I can assure you, do our very best to entertain you."
"And the dispatch which I am carrying to The Hague?"
"Would remain here with you."
