“Let me make use of your eyes once more,” Mr. Fentolin begged. “About these two men in the trap, Mr. Hamel. Is one of them, by any chance, wearing a uniform?”
“They both are,” Hamel replied. “The man who is driving is wearing a peaked hat. He looks like a police inspector. The man by his side is an ordinary policeman.”
Mr. Fentolin sighed gently.
“It is very interesting,” he said. “Let us hope that we shall not see an arrest under my roof. I should feel it a reflection upon my hospitality. I trust, I sincerely trust, that this visit does not bode any harm to Mr. John P. Dunster.”
Gerald rose impatiently to his feet and swung across the terrace. Mr. Fentolin, however, called him back.
“Gerald,” he advised, “better not go away. The inspector may desire to ask you questions. You will have nothing to conceal. It was a natural and delightful impulse of yours to bring the man who had befriended you, and who was your companion in that disaster, straight to your own home for treatment and care. It was an admirable impulse, my boy. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Shall I tell him, too—” Gerald began.
“Be careful, Gerald.”
Mr. Fentolin’s words seemed to be charged with a swift, rapier-like note. The boy broke off in his speech. He looked at Hamel and was silent.
“Dear me,” Mrs. Fentolin murmured, “I am sure there is no need for us to talk about this poor man as though anybody had done anything wrong in having him here. This, I suppose, must be the Inspector Yardley whom Lord Saxthorpe spoke of.”