CHAPTER XII
From where Hamel stood a queer object came strangely into sight. Belowthe terrace of St. David's Hall--from a spot, in fact, at the base ofthe solid wall--it seemed as though a gate had been opened, and therecame towards him what he at first took to be a tricycle. As it camenearer, it presented even a weirder appearance. Mr. Fentolin, in a blackcape and black skull cap, sat a little forward in his electric carriage,with his hand upon the guiding lever. His head came scarcely abovethe back of the little vehicle, his hands and body were motionless.He seemed to be progressing without the slightest effort, personal ormechanical, as though he rode, in deed, in some ghostly vehicle. Fromthe same place in the wall had issued, a moment or two later, a man upona bicycle, who was also coming towards him. Hamel was scarcely consciousof this secondary figure. His eyes were fixed upon the strange personagenow rapidly approaching him. There was something which seemed scarcelyhuman in that shrunken fragment of body, the pale face with its wavingwhite hair, the strange expression with which he was being regarded. Thelittle vehicle came to a standstill only a few feet away. Mr. Fentolinleaned forward. His features had lost their delicately benevolentaspect; his words were minatory.
"I am under the impression, sir," he said, "that I saw you with myglasses from the window attempting to force an entrance into thatbuilding."
Hamel nodded.
"I not only tried but I succeeded," he remarked. "I got in through thewindow."
Mr. Fentolin's eyes glittered for a moment. Hamel, who had resumed hisplace upon the rock close at hand, had been mixed up during his lifetimein many wild escapades. Yet at that moment he had a sudden feeling thatthere were dangers in life which as yet he had not faced.
"May I ask for your explanation or your excuse?"
"You can call it an explanation or an excuse, whichever you like," Hamelreplied steadily, "but the fact is that this little building, whichsome one else seems to have appropriated, is mine. If I had not beena good-natured person, I should be engaged, at the present moment, inturning out its furniture on to the beach."
"What is your name?" Mr. Fentolin asked suddenly.
"My name is Hamel--Richard Hamel."
For several moments there was silence. Mr. Fentolin was still leaningforward in his strange little vehicle. The colour seemed to have lefteven his lips. The hard glitter in his eyes had given place to anexpression almost like fear. He looked at Richard Hamel as though hewere some strange sea-monster come up from underneath the sands.
"Richard Hamel," he repeated. "Do you mean that you are the son ofHamel, the R.A., who used to be in these parts so often? He was mybrother's friend."
"I am his son."
"But his son was killed in the San Francisco earthquake. I saw his namein all the lists. It was copied into the local papers here."
Hamel knocked the ashes from his pipe.
"I take a lot of killing," he observed. "I was in that earthquake, rightenough, and in the hospital afterwards, but it was a man named Hamel ofPhiladelphia who died."
Mr. Fentolin sat quite motionless for several moments. He seemed, ifpossible, to have shrunken into something smaller still. A few yardsbehind, Meekins had alighted from his bicycle and was standing waiting.
"So you are Richard Hamel," Mr. Fentolin said at last very softly."Welcome back to England, Richard Hamel! I knew your father slightly,although we were never very friendly."
He stretched out his hand from underneath the coverlet of his littlevehicle--a hand with long, white fingers, slim and white and shapelyas a woman's. A single ring with a dull green stone was on his fourthfinger. Hamel shook hands with him as he would have shaken hands witha woman. Afterwards he rubbed his fingers slowly together. There wassomething about the touch which worried him.
"You have been making use of this little shanty, haven't you?" he askedbluntly.
Mr. Fentolin nodded. He was apparently beginning to recover himself.
"You must remember," he explained suavely, "that it was built by mygrandfather, and that we have had rights over the whole of the foreshorehere from time immemorial. I know quite well that my brother gave it toyour father--or rather he sold it to him for a nominal sum. I must tellyou that it was a most complicated transaction. He had the greatestdifficulty in getting any lawyer to draft the deed of sale. There wereso many ancient rights and privileges which it was impossible todeal with. Even now there are grave doubts as to the validity of thetransaction. When nothing was heard of you, and we all concluded thatyou were dead, I ventured to take back what I honestly believed to bemy own. Owing," he continued slowly, "to my unfortunate affliction, Iam obliged to depend for interest in my life upon various hobbies. Thislittle place, queerly enough, has become one of them. I have furnishedit, in a way; installed the telephone to the house, connected it with myelectric plant, and I come down here when I want to be quite alone, andpaint. I watch the sea--such a sea sometimes, such storms, such colour!You notice that ridge of sand out yonder? It forms a sort of naturalbreakwater. Even on the calmest day you can trace that white line offoam."
"It is a strange coast," Hamel admitted.
Mr. Fentolin pointed with his forefinger northwards.
"Somewhere about there," he indicated, "is the entrance to the tidalriver which flows up to the village of St. David's yonder. You see?"
His finger traced its course until it came to a certain point near thebeach, where a tall black pillar stood, surmounted by a globe.
"I have had a light fixed there for the benefit of the fishermen," hesaid, "a light which I work from my own dynamo. Between where we aresitting now and there--only a little way out to sea--is a jaggedcluster of cruel rocks. You can see them if you care to swim out incalm weather. Fishermen who tried to come in by night were often trappedthere and, in a rough sea, drowned. That is why I had that pillar oflight built. On stormy nights it shows the exact entrance to the watercauseway."
"Very kind of you indeed," Hamel remarked, "very benevolent."
Mr. Fentolin sighed.
"So few people have any real feeling for sailors," he continued. "Thefishermen around here are certainly rather a casual class. Do you knowthat there is scarcely one of them who can swim? There isn't one of themwho isn't too lazy to learn even the simplest stroke. My brother used tosay--dear Gerald--that it served them right if they were drowned. I havenever been able to feel like that, Mr. Hamel. Life is such a wonderfulthing. One night," he went on, dropping his voice and leaning a littleforward in his carriage--"it was just before, or was it just after Ihad fixed that light--I was down here one dark winter night. There was agreat north wind and a huge sea running. It was as black as pitch, but Iheard a boat making for St. David's causeway strike on those rocksjust hidden in front there. I heard those fishermen shriek as they wentunder. I heard their shouts for help, I heard their death cries. Veryterrible, Mr. Hamel! Very terrible!"
Hamel looked at the speaker curiously. Mr. Fentolin seemed absorbed inhis subject. He had spoken with relish, as one who loves the things hespeaks about. Quite unaccountably, Hamel found himself shivering.
"It was their mother," Mr. Fentolin continued, leaning again a littleforward in his chair, "their mother whom I saw pass along the beach justnow--a widow, too, poor thing. She comes here often--a morbid taste. Shespoke to you, I think?"
"She spoke to me strangely," Hamel admitted. "She gave me the impressionof a woman whose brain had been turned with grief."
"Too true," Mr. Fentolin sighed. "The poor creature! I offered her asmall pension, but she would have none of it. A superior woman in herway once, filled now with queer fancies," he went on, eyeing Hamelsteadily,--"the very strangest fancies. She spends her life prowlingabout here. No one in the village even knows how she lives. Did shespeak of me, by-the-by?"
"She spoke of you as being a very kind-hearted man."
Mr. Fentolin sighed.
"The poor creature! Well, well, let us revert to the object of yourcoming here. Do you really wish to occupy this little shanty, Mr.Ha
mel?"
"That was my idea," Hamel confessed. "I only came back from Mexico lastmonth, and I very soon got fed up with life in town. I am going abroadagain next year. Till then, I am rather at a loose end. My father wasalways very keen indeed about this place, and very anxious that I shouldcome and stay here for a little time, so I made up my mind to run down.I've got some things waiting at Norwich. I thought I might hire a womanto look after me and spend a few weeks here. They tell me that the earlyspring is almost the best time for this coast."
Mr. Fentolin nodded slowly. He moistened his lips for a moment. Onemight have imagined that he was anxious.
"Mr. Hamel," he said softly, "you are quite right. It is the best timeto visit this coast. But why make a hermit of yourself? You are a familyfriend. Come and stay with us at the Hall for as long as you like.It will give me the utmost pleasure to welcome you there," he went onearnestly, "and as for this little place, of what use is it to you? Letme buy it from you. You are a man of the world, I can see. You may berich, yet money has a definite value. To me it has none. That littleplace, as it stands, is probably worth--say a hundred pounds. Yourfather gave, if I remember rightly, a five pound note for it. I willgive you a thousand for it sooner than be disturbed."
Hamel frowned slightly.
"I could not possibly think," he said, "of selling what was practicallya gift to my father. You are welcome to occupy the place during myabsence in any way you wish. On the other hand, I do not think that Icare to part with it altogether, and I should really like to spendjust a day or so here. I am used to roughing it under all sorts ofconditions--much more used to roughing it than I am to staying atcountry houses."
Mr. Fentolin leaned a little out of his carriage. He reached the youngerman's shoulder with his hand.
"Ah! Mr. Hamel," he pleaded, "don't make up your mind too suddenly. Am Ia little spoilt, I wonder? Well, you see what sort of a creature I am. Ihave to go through life as best I may, and people are kind to me. It isvery seldom I am crossed. It is quite astonishing how often people letme have my own way. Do not make up your mind too suddenly. I have aniece and a nephew whom you must meet. There are some treasures, too, atSt. David's Hall. Look at it. There isn't another house quite like it inEngland. It is worth looking over."
"It is most impressive," Hamel agreed, "and wonderfully beautiful. Itseems odd," he added, with a laugh, "that you should care about thislittle shanty here, with all the beautiful rooms you must have of yourown."
"It's Naboth's vineyard," Mr. Fentolin groaned. "Now, Mr. Hamel, youare going to be gracious, aren't you? Let us leave the question of yourlittle habitation here alone for the present. Come back with me. Myniece shall give you some tea, and you shall choose your room fromforty. You can sleep in a haunted chamber, or a historical chamber, inQueen Elizabeth's room, a Victorian chamber, or a Louis Quinze room. Allmy people have spent their substance in furniture. Don't look at yourbag. Clothes are unnecessary. I can supply you with everything. Or, ifyou prefer it, I can send a fast car into Norwich for your own things.Come and be my guest, please."
Hamel hesitated. He had not the slightest desire to go to St. David'sHall, and though he strove to ignore it, he was conscious of an aversionof which he was heartily ashamed for this strange fragment of humanity.On the other hand, his mission, the actual mission which had brought himdown to these parts, could certainly best be served by an entree intothe Hall itself--and there was the girl, whom he felt sure belongedthere. He had never for a moment been able to dismiss her from histhoughts. Her still, cold face, the delicate perfection of her clothesand figure, the grey eyes which had rested upon his so curiously,haunted him. He was desperately anxious to see her again. If he refusedthis invitation, if he rejected Mr. Fentolin's proffered friendship, itwould be all the more difficult.
"You are really very kind," he began hesitatingly--.
"It is settled," Mr. Fentolin interrupted, "settled. Meekins, you canride back again. I shall not paint to-day. Mr. Hamel, you will walk bymy side, will you not? I can run my little machine quite slowly. Yousee, I have an electric battery. It needs charging often, but I havea dynamo of my own. You never saw a vehicle like this in all yourtravellings, did you?"
Hamel shook his head.
"An electrical bath-chair," Mr. Fentolin continued. "Practice has mademe remarkably skilful in its manipulation. You see, I can steer to aninch."
He was already turning around. Hamel rose to his feet.
"You are really very kind," he said. "I should like to come up and seethe Hall, at any rate, but in the meantime, as we are here, could I justlook over the inside of this little place? I found the large shed wherethe lifeboat used to be kept, locked up."
Mr. Fentolin was manoeuvring his carriage. His back was towards Hamel.
"By all means," he declared. "We will go in together. I have had theentrance widened so that I can ride straight into the sitting-room. Butwait."
He paused suddenly. He felt in all his pockets.
"Dear me," he exclaimed, "I find that I have left the keys! We willcome down a little later, if you do not mind, Mr. Hamel. Or to-morrow,perhaps. You will not mind? It is very careless of me, but seeing youabout the place and imagining that you were an intruder, made me angry,and I started off in a hurry. Now walk by my side up to the house,please, and talk to me. It is so interesting for me to meet men," hewent on, as they started along the straight path, "who do things inlife; who go to foreign countries, meet strange people, and have newexperiences. I have been a good many years like this, you know."
"It is a great affliction," Hamel murmured sympathetically.
"In my youth I was an athlete," Mr. Fentolin continued. "I playedcricket for the Varsity and for my county. I hunted, too, and shot. Idid all the things a man loves to do. I might still shoot, they tell me,but my strength has ebbed away. I am too weak to lift a gun, too weakeven to handle a fishing-rod. I have just a few hobbies in life whichkeep me alive. Are you a politician, Mr. Hamel?"
"Not in the least," Hamel replied. "I have been out of England too longto keep in touch with politics."
"Naturally," Mr. Fentolin agreed. "It amuses me to follow the course ofevents. I have a good many friends in London and abroad who are kind tome, who keep me informed, send me odd bits of information not availablefor every one, and it amuses me to put these things together in my mindand to try and play the prophet. I was in the Foreign Office once,you know. I take up my paper every morning, and it is one of my chiefinterests to see how near my own speculations come to the truth. Justnow for example, there are strange things doing on the Continent."
"In America," Hamel remarked, "they affect to look upon England as adoomed Power."
"Not altogether supine yet," Mr. Fentolin observed, "yet even thislast generation has seen weakening. We have lost so much self-reliance.Perhaps it is having these grown-up children who we think can take careof us--Canada and Australia, and the others. However, we will not talkof politics. It bores you, I can see. We will try and find some othersubject. Now tell me, don't you think this is ingenious?"
They had reached the foot of the hill upon which the Hall was situated.In front of them, underneath the terrace, was a little iron gate, heldopen now by Meekins, who had gone on ahead and dismounted from hisbicycle.
"I have a subterranean way from here into the Hall," Mr. Fentolinexplained. "Come with me. You will only have to stoop a little, and itmay amuse you. You need not be afraid. There are electric lights everyten yards. I turn them on with this switch--see."
Mr. Fentolin touched a button in the wall, and the place was at oncebrilliantly illuminated. A little row of lights from the ceiling and thewalls stretched away as far as one could see. They passed through theiron gates, which shut behind them with a click. Stooping a little,Hamel was still able to walk by the side of the man in the chair. Theytraversed about a hundred yards of subterranean way. Here and there afungus hung down from the wall, otherwise it was beautifully kept anddry. By and by, with a little turn, they came to an
incline and anotheriron gate, held open for them by a footman. Mr. Fentolin sped up thelast few feet into the great hall, which seemed more imposing than everby reason of this unexpected entrance. Hamel, blinking a little, steppedto his side.
"Welcome!" Mr. Fentolin cried gaily. "Welcome, my friend Mr. Hamel, toSt. David's Hall!"
The Vanished Messenger Page 12