“Would remain here with you.”
Mr. Dunster knocked the ash from his cigar. Without being a man of great parts, he was a shrewd person, possessed of an abundant stock of common sense. He applied himself, for a few moments, to a consideration of this affair, without arriving at any satisfactory conclusion.
“Come, Mr. Fentolin,” he said at last, “you must really forgive me, but I can’t see what you’re driving at. You are an Englishman, are you not?”
“I am an Englishman,” Mr. Fentolin confessed “or rather,” he added, with ghastly humour, “I am half an Englishman.”
“You are, I am sure,” Mr. Dunster continued, “a person of intelligence, a well-read person, a person of perceptions. Surely you can see and appreciate the danger with which your country is threatened?”
“With regard to political affairs,” Mr. Fentolin admitted, “I consider myself unusually well posted—in fact, the study of the diplomatic methods of the various great Powers is rather a hobby of mine.”
“Yet,” Mr. Dunster persisted, “you do not wish this letter delivered to that little conference in The Hague, which you must be aware is now sitting practically to determine the fate of your nation?”
“I do not wish,” Mr. Fentolin replied, “I do not intend, that that letter shall be delivered. Why do you worry about my point of view? I may have a dozen reasons. I may believe that it will be good for my country to suffer a little chastisement.”
“Or you may,” Mr. Dunster suggested, glancing keenly at his host, “be the paid agent of some foreign Power.”
Mr. Fentolin shook his head.