“Where is he, then?” Kinsley demanded. “Come, I will let you a little further into our confidence. We have reason to believe that he carries with him a written message which is practically the only chance we have of avoiding disaster during the next few days. That written message is addressed to the delegates at The Hague, who are now sitting. Nothing had been heard of Dunster or the document he carries. No word has come from him of any sort since he left St. David’s Hall.”
“Have you tried to trace him from there?” Hamel asked.
“Trace him?” Kinsley repeated. “By heavens, you don’t seem to understand, Dick, the immense, the extraordinary importance of this man to us! The cleverest detective in England spent yesterday under your nose at St. David’s Hall. There are a dozen others working upon the job as hard as they can. All the reports confirm what you say—that Dunster left St. David’s Hall at half-past nine yesterday morning, and he certainly arrived in Yarmouth at a little before twelve. From there he seems, however, to have completely disappeared. The car went back to St. David’s Hall empty; the man only stayed long enough in Yarmouth, in fact, to have his dinner. We cannot find a single smack owner who was approached in any way for the hire of a boat. Yarmouth has been ransacked in vain. He certainly has not arrived at The Hague or we should have heard news at once. As a last resource, I ran down here to see you on the chance of your having picked up any information.”
Hamel shook his head.
“You seem to know a good deal more than I do, already,” he said.
“What do you think of Mr. Fentolin? You have stayed in his house. You have had an opportunity of studying him.”
“So far as my impressions go,” Hamel replied, “everything which you have suggested might very well be true. I think that either out of sheer love of mischief, or from some subtler motive, he is capable of anything. Every one in the place, except one poor woman, seems to look upon him as a sort of supernatural being. He gives money away to worthless people with both hands. Yet I share your opinion of him. I believe that he is a creature without conscience or morals. I have sat at his table and shivered when he has smiled.”
“Are you staying at St. David’s Hall now?”
“I left yesterday.”
“Where are you now, then?”