"I hope that you will not think that I am
officious or in any way abusing your hospitality, but I cannot help
suggesting that as Dr. Sarson is purely your household physician, the
relatives of this man Dunster might be better satisfied if some second
opinion were called in. Might I suggest that you telephone to Norwich
for a surgeon?"

Mr. Fentolin showed no signs of displeasure. He was silent for a moment,
as though considering the matter.

"I am not at all sure, Mr. Hamel, that you are not right," he admitted
frankly. "I believe that the case is quite a simple one, but on the
other hand it would perhaps be more satisfactory to have an outside
opinion. If Mr. Dunster is not conscious in the morning, we will
telephone to the Norwich Infirmary."

"I think it would be advisable," Hamel agreed.

"Good night!" Mr. Fentolin said once more. "I am sorry that your rest
has been disturbed."

Hamel, however, still refused to take the hint. His eyes were fixed upon
that closed door.

"Mr. Fentolin," he asked, "have you any objection to my seeing Mr.
Dunster?"

There was a moment's intense silence. A sudden light had burned in Mr.
Fentolin's eyes. His fingers gripped the side of his chair. Yet when
he spoke there were no signs of anger in his tone. It was a marvellous
effort of self-control.

"There is no reason, Mr. Hamel," he said, "why your curiosity should not
be gratified. Knock softly at the door, Gerald."

The boy obeyed. In a moment or two Doctor Sarson appeared on the
threshold.

"Our guest, Mr. Hamel," Mr. Fentolin explained in a whisper, "has been
awakened by this poor fellow's cry. He would like to see him for a
moment."

Doctor Sarson opened the door. They all passed in on tiptoe. The doctor
led the way towards the bed upon which Mr. Dunster was lying, quite
still. His head was bandaged, and his eyes closed. His face was ghastly.
Gerald gave vent to a little muttered exclamation. Mr. Fentolin turned
to him quickly.

"Gerald!"

The boy stood still, trembling, speechless. Mr. Fentolin's eyes were
riveted upon him. The doctor was standing, still and dark, a motionless
image.

"Is he asleep?" Hamel asked.

"He is under the influence of a mild anaesthetic," Doctor Sarson
explained. "He is doing very well. His case is quite simple. By
to-morrow morning he will be able to sit up and walk about if he wishes
to."

Hamel looked steadily at the figure upon the bed. Mr. Dunster's
breathing was regular, an