off his journey. You do not really wish me to believe that
you have brought him here as a guest?"

"I was at Liverpool Street Station last night," Gerald declared. "I had
no idea how to accost him, and as to stealing any of his belongings, I
couldn't have done it. You must hear how fortune helped me, though. Mr.
Dunster missed the train; so did I--purposely. He ordered a special.
I asked permission to travel with him. I told him a lie as to how I had
missed the train. I hated it, but it was necessary."

Mr. Fentolin nodded approvingly.

"My dear boy," he said, "to trifle with the truth is always unpleasant.
Besides, you are a Fentolin, and our love of truth is proverbial. But
there are times, you know, when for the good of others we must sacrifice
our scruples. So you told Mr. Dunster a falsehood."

"He let me travel with him," Gerald continued. "We were all night
getting about half-way here. Then--you know about the storm, I suppose?"

Mr. Fentolin spread out his hands.

"Could one avoid the knowledge of it?" he asked. "Such a sight has never
been seen."

"We found we couldn't get to Harwich," Gerald went on. "They telegraphed
to London and got permission to bring us to Yarmouth. We were on our way
to Norwich, and the train ran off the line."

"An accident?" Mr. Fentolin exclaimed.

Gerald nodded.

"Our train ran off the line and pitched down an embankment. Mr. Dunster
has concussion of the brain. He and I were taken to a miserable little
inn near Wymondham. From there I hired a motor-car and brought him
here."

"You hired a motor-car and brought him here," Mr. Fentolin repeated
softly. "My dear boy--forgive me if I find this a little hard to
understand. You say that you have brought him here. Had he nothing to
say about it?"

"He was unconscious when we picked him up," Gerald explained. "He
is unconscious now. The doctor said he would remain so for at least
twenty-four hours, and it didn't seem to me that the journey would do
him any particular harm. The roof had been stripped off the inn where
we were, and the place was quite uninhabitable, so we should have had
to have moved him somewhere. We put him in the tonneau of the car and
covered him up. They have carried him now into a bedroom, and Sarson is
looking after him."

Mr. Fentolin sat quite silent. His eyes blinked once or twice, and there
was a curious curve about his lips.

"You have done well, my boy," he pronounced slowly. "Your scheme of