ondon profess to know nothing. That, of course, is their
reasonable attitude, but there's no doubt whatever that the conference
has been planned. I should say that to-night we are nearer war, if we
can summon enough spirit to fight, than we have been since Fashoda."

"Queer if I have returned just in time for the scrap," Hamel remarked
thoughtfully. "I was in the Militia once, so I expect I can get a job,
if there's any fighting."

"I can get you a better job than fighting--one you can start on
to-morrow, too," Kinsley announced abruptly, "that is if you really want
to help?"

"Of course I do," Hamel insisted. "I'm on for anything."

"You say that you are entirely your own master for the next six months?"

"Or as much longer as I like," Hamel assented. "No plans at all, except
that I might drift round to the Norfolk coast and look up some of
the places where the governor used to paint. There's a queer little
house--St. David's Tower, I believe they call it--which really belongs
to me. It was given to my father, or rather he bought it, from a man
who I think must have been some relative of your friend. I feel sure the
name was Fentolin."

Reginald Kinsley set down his wine-glass.

"Is your St. David's Tower anywhere near a place called Salthouse?" he
asked reflectively.

"That's the name of the village," Hamel admitted. "My father used to
spend quite a lot of time in those parts, and painted at least a dozen
pictures down there."

"This is a coincidence," Reginald Kinsley declared, lighting a
cigarette. "I think, if I were you, Dick, I'd go down and claim my
property."

"Tired of me already?" Hamel asked, smiling.

Reginald Kinsley knocked the ash from his cigarette.

"It isn't that. The fact is, that job I was speaking to you about was
simply this. We want some one to go down to Salthouse--not exactly as a
spy, you know, but some one who has his wits about him. We are all of us
very curious about this man Fentolin. There are no end of rumours which
I won't mention to you, for they might only put you off the scent. But
the man seems to be always intriguing. It wouldn't matter so much if he
were our friend, or if he were simply a financier, but to tell you the
truth, we have cause to suspect him."

"But he's an Englishman, surely?" Hamel asked. "The Fentolin who was my
father's friend was just a very wealthy Norfolk squire--one of the best,
from all I have heard."

"Miles Fentolin is an Englishman," Kins