“By all means,” Mr. Fentolin agreed. “Gerald, will you take the inspector up to Mr. Dunster’s rooms? Or stop, I will go myself.”
Mr. Fentolin started his chair and beckoned the inspector to follow him. Meekins, who was waiting inside the hall, escorted them by means of the lift to the second floor. They made their way to Mr. Dunster’s room. Mr. Fentolin knocked softly at the door. It was opened by the nurse.
“How is the patient?” Mr. Fentolin enquired.
Doctor Sarson appeared from the interior of the room.
“Still unconscious,” he reported. “Otherwise, the symptoms are favourable. He is quite unfit,” the doctor added, looking steadily at the inspector, “to be removed or questioned.”
“There is no idea of anything of the sort,” Mr. Fentolin explained. “It is Inspector Yardley’s duty to satisfy himself that Mr. Dunster is here. It is necessary for the inspector to see your patient, so that he can make his report at headquarters.”
Doctor Sarson bowed.
“That is quite simple, sir,” he said. “Please step in.”
They all entered the room, which was large and handsomely furnished. Through the open windows came a gentle current of fresh air. Mr. Dunster lay in the midst of all the luxury of fine linen sheets and embroidered pillow-cases. The inspector looked at him stolidly.
“Is he asleep?” he asked.