, without doubt, an
obvious turn of mind. He will send for his acquaintance in the Foreign
Office; they will haul out Mr. Dunster here, and he will have a belated
opportunity of delivering his message at The Hague."

"You aren't going to murder me first, then?" Mr. Dunster grunted.

Mr. Fentolin smiled at him benignly.

"My dear and valued guest," he protested, "why so forbidding an idea?
Let me assure you from the bottom of my heart that any bodily harm to
you is the most unlikely thing in the world. You see, though you might
not think it," he went on, "I love life. That is why I keep a doctor
always by my side. That is why I insist upon his making a complete study
of my constitution and treating me in every respect as though I were
indeed an invalid. I am really only fifty-nine years old. It is my
intention to live until I am eighty-nine. An offence against the law of
the nature you indicate might interfere materially with my intentions."

Mr. Dunster struggled for a moment for breath.

"Look here," he said, "that's all right, but do you suppose you won't be
punished for what you've done to me? You laid a deliberate plot to bring
me to St. David's Hall; you've kept me locked up, dosed me with drugs,
brought me down here at the dead of night, kept me a prisoner in a
dungeon. Do you think you can do that for nothing? Do you think you
won't have to suffer for it?"

Mr. Fentolin smiled.

"My dear Mr. Dunster," he reminded him, "you were in a railway accident,
you know; there is no possible doubt about that. And the wound in your
head is still there, in a very dangerous place. Men who have been in
railway accidents, and who have a gaping wound very close to their
brain, are subject to delusions. I have simply done my best to play the
Good Samaritan. Your clothes and papers are all untouched. If my eminent
physician had pronounced you ready to travel a week ago, you would
certainly have been allowed to depart a week ago. Any interference in
your movements has been entirely in the interests of your health."

Mr. Dunster tried to sit up but found himself unable.

"So you think they won't believe my story, eh?" he muttered. "Well, we
shall see."

Mr. Fentolin thoughtfully contemplated the burning end of his cigarette
for a moment.

"If I believed," he said, "that there was any chance of your statements
being accepted, I am afraid I should be compelled, in all our interests,
to ask Doctor Sarson to pursue just a st