“A few days’ rest—” Mr. Fentolin began.
“A few days’ rest be hanged!” Mr. Dunster interrupted fiercely. “Listen, Mr. Fentolin,” he added, with the air of one making a last effort to preserve his temper, “the mission with which I am charged is one of greater importance than you can imagine. So much depends upon it that my own life, if that is in danger, would be a mere trifle in comparison with the issues involved. If I am not allowed to continue upon my journey at once, the consequences may be more serious than I can tell you, to you and yours, to your own country. There!—I am telling you a great deal, but I want you to understand that I am in earnest. I have a mission which I must perform, and which I must perform quickly.”
“You are very mysterious,” Mr. Fentolin murmured.
“I will leave nothing to chance,” Mr. Dunster continued. “Send this man who seems to have constituted himself my jailer out of earshot, and I will tell you even more.”
Mr. Fentolin turned to Meekins.
“You can leave the room for a moment,” he ordered. “Wait upon the threshold.”
Meekins very unwillingly turned to obey.
“You will excuse me, sir,” he objected doubtfully, “but I am not at all sure that he is safe.”
Mr. Fentolin smiled faintly.
“You need have no fear, Meekins,” he declared. “I am quite sure that you are mistaken. I think that Mr. Dunster is incapable of any act of violence towards a person in my unfortunate position. I am willing to trust myself with him—perfectly willing, Meekins.”