“Not a criminal at all?”
“Not as I know of,” the inspector assented. “That isn’t the way I read the enquiries at all.”
“You relieve me,” Mr. Fentolin declared. “Now what about his possessions?”
“There’s a man coming down shortly from Scotland Yard,” the inspector announced, a little gloomily. “My orders were to touch nothing, but to locate him.”
“Well, you’ve succeeded so far,” Mr. Fentolin remarked. “Here he is, and here I think he will stay until some days after your friend from Scotland Yard can get here.”
“It does seem so, indeed,” the inspector agreed. “To me he looks terrible ill. But there’s one thing sure, he’s having all the care and attention that’s possible. And now, sir, I’ll not intrude further upon your time. I’ll just make my report, and you’ll probably have a visit from the Scotland Yard man sometime within the next few days.”
Mr. Fentolin escorted the inspector to his dog-cart, shook hands with him, and watched him drive off. Only Mrs. Seymour Fentolin remained upon the terrace. He glided over to her side.
“My dear Florence,” he asked, “where are the others?”
“Mr. Hamel and Esther have gone for a walk,” she answered. “Gerald has disappeared somewhere. Has anything—is everything all right?”
“Naturally,” Mr. Fentolin replied easily. “All that the inspector desired was to see Mr. Dunster. He has seen him. The poor fellow was unfortunately unconscious, but our friend will at least be able to report that he was in good hands and well cared for.”