"To-day," Hamel declared, as he stood at the sideboard the following morning at breakfast-time and helped himself to bacon and eggs, "I am positively going to begin reading. I have a case full of books down at the Tower which I haven't unpacked yet."
Esther made a little grimace.
"Look at the sunshine," she said. "There isn't a breath of wind, either. I think to-day that I could play from the men's tees."
Hamel sighed as he returned to his place.
"My good intentions are already half dissipated," he admitted.
She laughed.
"How can we attack the other half?" she asked.
Gerald, who was also on his way to the sideboard, suddenly stopped.
"Hullo!" he exclaimed, looking out of the window. "Who's going away this morning, I wonder? There's the Rolls-Royce at the door."
Hamel, too, rose once more to his feet. The two exchanged swift glances. Moved by a common thought, they both started for the door, only to find it suddenly opened before them. Mr. Fentolin glided into the room.
"Uncle!" Gerald exclaimed.
Mr. Fentolin glanced keenly around the room.
"Good morning, everybody," he said. "My appearance at this hour of the morning naturally surprises you. As a matter of fact, I have been up for quite a long time. Esther dear, give me some coffee, will you, and be sure that it is hot. If any of you want to say good-by to Mr. John P. Dunster, you'd better hurry out."
"You mean that he is going?" Hamel asked incredulously.
"He is going," Mr. Fentolin admitted. "I wash my hands of the man.
He has given us an infinite amount of trouble, has monopolised Doctor Sarson when he ought to have been attending upon me - a little more hot milk, if you please, Esther - and now, although he really is not fit to leave his room, he insists upon hurrying off to keep an appointment somewhere on the Continent. The little operation we spoke of last night was successful, as Doctor Sarson prophesied, and Mr. Dunster was quite conscious and able to sit up early this morning. We telephoned at six o'clock to Norwich for a surgeon, who is now on his way over here, but he will not wait even to see him. What can you do with a man so obstinate!"
Neither Hamel nor Gerald had resumed their places. The former, after a moment's hesitation, turned towards the door.
"I think," he said, "that I should like to see the last of Mr.
Dunster."
"Pray do," Mr. Fentolin begged. "I have said good-by to him myself, and all that I hope is that next time you offer a wayfarer the hospitality of St. David's Hall, Gerald, he may be a more tractable person. This morning I shall give myself a treat. I shall eat an old-fashioned English breakfast. Close the door after you, if you please, Gerald."
Hamel, with Gerald by his side, hurried out into the hall. Just as they crossed the threshold they saw Mr. Dunster, wrapped from head to foot in his long ulster, a soft hat upon his head and one of Mr. Fentolin's cigars in his mouth, step from the bottom stair into the hall and make his way with somewhat uncertain footsteps towards the front door. Doctor Sarson walked on one side, and Meekins held him by the arm. He glanced towards Gerald and his companion and waved the hand which held his cigar.
"So long, my young friend!" he exclaimed. You see, I've got them to let me make a start. Next time we go about the country in a saloon car together, I hope we'll have better luck. Say, but I'm groggy about the knees!"
"You'd better save your breath," Doctor Sarson advised him grimly.
"You haven't any to spare now, and you'll want more than you have before you get to the end of your journey. Carefully down the steps, mind."
They helped him into the car. Hamel and Gerald stood under the great stone portico, watching.
"Well, I'm jiggered!" the boy exclaimed, under his breath.
Hamel was watching the proceedings with a puzzled frown. To his surprise, neither Doctor Sarson nor Meekins were accompanying the departing man.
"He's off, right enough," Hamel declared, as the car glided away.
"Do you understand it? I don't."
Gerald did not speak for several moments. His eyes were still fixed upon the back of the disappearing car. Then he turned towards Hamel.
"There isn't much," he said softly, "that Mr. Fentolin doesn't know.
If that detective was really on his way here, there wasn't any chance of keeping Mr. Dunster to himself. You see, the whole story is common property. And yet, there's something about the affair that bothers me."
"And me," Hamel admitted, watching the car until it became a speck in the distance.
"He was fairly well cornered," Gerald concluded, as they made their way back to the dining-room, "but it isn't like him to let go of anything so easily."
"So you've seen the last of our guest," Mr. Fentolin remarked, as amel and Gerald re-entered the dining-room. "A queer fellow - almost a new type to me. Dogged and industrious, I should think. He hadn't the least right to travel, you know, and I think so long as we had taken the trouble to telephone to Norwich, he might have waited to see the physician. Sarson was very angry about it, but what can you do with these fellows who are never ill? They scarcely know what physical disability means. Well, Mr. Hamel, and how are you goin to amuse yourself to-day?"
"I had thought of commencing some reading I brought with me," Hamel replied, "but Miss Esther has challenged me to another game of golf."
"Excellent!" Mr. Fentolin declared. "It is very kind of you indeed, Mr. Hamel. It is always a matter of regret for me that society in these parts is so restricted. My nephew and niece have little opportunity for enjoying themselves. Play golf with Mr. Hamel, by all means, my dear child," he continued, turning to his niece. "Make the most of this glorious spring weather. And what about you, Gerald?
What are you doing to-day?"
"I haven't made up my mind yet, sir," the boy replied.
Mr. Fentolin sighed.
"Always that lack of initiative," he remarked. "A lack of initiative is one of your worst faults, I am afraid, dear Gerald."
