“Am I to understand that they are to be restored to me, then?” Mr. Dunster demanded.
“Without a doubt, yes!” Mr. Fentolin assured him. “You, however, are not fit for anything, at the present moment, but to return to your bed, from which I understand you rose rather suddenly a few minutes ago.”
“On the contrary,” Mr. Dunster insisted, “I am feeling absolutely well enough to travel. I have an appointment on the Continent of great importance, as you may judge by the fact that at Liverpool Street I chartered a special train. I trust that nothing in my manner may have given you offence, but I am anxious to get through with the business which brought me over to this side of the water. I have sent for you to ask that my pocket-book, dressing-case, and clothes be at once restored to me, and that I be provided with the means of continuing my journey without a moment’s further delay.”
Mr. Fentolin shook his head very gently, very regretfully, but also firmly.
“Mr. Dunster,” he pleaded, “do be reasonable. Think of all you have been through. I can quite sympathise with you in your impatience, but I am forced to tell you that the doctor who has been attending you since the moment you were brought into this house has absolutely forbidden anything of the sort.”
Mr. Dunster seemed, for a moment, to struggle for composure.
“I am an American citizen,” he declared. “I am willing to listen to the advice of any physician, but so long as I take the risk, I am not bound to follow it.
“In the present case I decline to follow it. I ask for facilities to leave this house at once.”
Mr. Fentolin sighed.
“In your own interests,” he said calmly, “they will not be granted to you.”