times--"

"Well, don't let's talk about him," Hamel begged, as her voice faltered.
"Now that I am going to stay in the neighbourhood for a few days, you
must please remember that it is partly your responsibility. You are not
going to shut yourself up, are you? You'll come and play golf again?"

"If he will let me," she promised.

"I think he will let you, right enough," Hamel observed. "Between you
and me, I rather think he hates having me down at the Tower at all.
He will encourage anything that takes me away, even as far as the Golf
Club."

They were approaching the Hall now. She was looking once more as she
had looked last night. She had lost her colour, her walk was no longer
buoyant. She had the air of a prisoner who, after a brief spell of
liberty, enters once more the place of his confinement. Gerald came
out to meet them as they climbed the stone steps which led on to
the terrace. He glanced behind as he greeted them, and then almost
stealthily took a telegram from his pocket.

"This came for you," he remarked, handing it to Hamel. "I met the boy
bringing it out of the office."

Hamel tore it open, with a word of thanks. Gerald stood in front of him
as he read.

"If you wouldn't mind putting it away at once," he asked, a little
uncomfortably. "You see, the telegraph office is in the place, and my
uncle has a queer rule that every telegram is brought to him before it
is delivered."

Hamel did not speak for a moment. He was looking at the few words
scrawled across the pink sheet with a heavy black pencil:

"Make every enquiry in your neighbourhood
for an American, John P. Dunster, entrusted
with message of great importance, addressed to
Von Dusenberg, The Hague. Is believed to
have been in railway accident near Wymondham
and to have been taken from inn by young man
in motor-car. Suggest that he is being
improperly detained."

Hamel crumpled up the telegram and thrust it into his pocket.

"By-the-by," he asked, as they ascended the steps, "what did you say the
name of this poor fellow was who is lying ill up-stairs?"

Gerald hesitated for a moment. Then he answered as though a species of
recklessness had seized him.

"He called himself Mr. John P. Dunster."

CHAPTER XVII

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