The Vanished Messenger

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER XXII

  Mr. Fentolin sat for a moment in his chair with immovable face. Then hepointed to the door, which Gerald had left open behind him.

  "Close that door, Gerald."

  The boy obeyed. Mr. Fentolin waited until he had turned around again.

  "Come and stand over here by the side of the table," he directed.

  Gerald came without hesitation. He stood before his uncle with foldedarms. There was something else besides sullenness in his face thismorning, something which Mr. Fentolin was quick to recognise.

  "I do not quite understand the nature of your question, Gerald," Mr.Fentolin began. "It is unlike you. You do not seem yourself. Is thereanything in particular the matter?"

  "Only this," Gerald answered firmly. "I don't understand why this navalfellow should come here and ask you to close up your wireless becausesecrets have been leaking out, and a few moments afterwards you shouldbe picking up a message and telephoning to London information which wassurely meant to be private. That's all. I've come to ask you about it."

  "You heard the message, then?"

  "I did."

  "You listened--at the keyhole?"

  "I listened outside," Gerald assented doggedly. "I am glad I listened.Do you mind answering my question?"

  "Do I mind!" Mr. Fentolin repeated softly. "Really, Gerald, yourpoliteness, your consideration, your good manners, astound me. I ampositively deprived of the power of speech."

  "I'll wait here till it comes to you again, then," the boy declaredbluntly. "I've waited on you hand and foot, done dirty work for you, putup with your ill-humours and your tyranny, and never grumbled. But thereis a limit! You've made a poor sort of creature of me, but even theworm turns, you know. When it comes to giving away secrets about themovements of our navy at a time when we are almost at war, I strike."

  "Melodramatic, almost dramatic, but, alas! so inaccurate," Mr. Fentolinsighed. "Is this a fit of the heroics, boy, or what has come over you?Have you by any chance--forgotten?"

  Mr. Fentolin's voice seemed suddenly to have grown in volume. His eyesdilated, he himself seemed to have grown in size. Gerald stepped alittle back. He was trembling, but his expression had not changed.

  "No, I haven't forgotten. There's a great debt we are doing our best topay, but there's such a thing as asking too much, there's such a thingas drawing the cords to snapping point. I'm speaking for Esther andmother as well as myself. We have been your slaves; in a way I supposewe are willing to go on being your slaves. It's the burden that Fatehas placed around our necks, and we'll go through with it. All I wantto point out is that there are limits, and it seems to me that we are upagainst them now."

  Mr. Fentolin nodded. He had the air of a man who wishes to bereasonable.

  "You are very young, my boy," he said, "very young indeed. Perhaps thatis my fault for not having let you see more of the world. You have gotsome very queer ideas into your head. A little too much novel readinglately, eh? I might treat you differently. I might laugh at you and sendyou out of the room. I won't. I'll tell you what you ask. I'll explainwhat you find so mysterious. The person to whom I have been speaking ismy stockbroker."

  "Your stockbroker!" Gerald exclaimed.

  Mr. Fentolin nodded.

  "Mr. Bayliss," he continued, "of the firm of Bayliss, Hundercombe &Dunn, Throgmorton Court. Mr. Bayliss is a man of keen perceptions.He understands exactly the effect of certain classes of news upon themarket. The message which I have just sent to him is practically commonproperty. It will be in the Daily Mail to-morrow morning. The only thingis that I have sent it to him just a few minutes sooner than any oneelse can get it. There is a good deal of value in that, Gerald. I do notmind telling you that I have made a large fortune through studying thepolitical situation and securing advance information upon matters ofthis sort. That fortune some day will probably be yours. It will be youwho will benefit. Meanwhile, I am enriching myself and doing no one anyharm."

  "But how do you know," Gerald persisted, "that this message wouldever have found its way to the Press? It was simply a message from onebattleship to another. It was not intended to be picked up on land.There is no other installation but ours that could have picked it up.Besides, it was in code. I know that you have the code, but the othershaven't."

  Mr. Fentolin yawned slightly.

  "Ingenious, my dear Gerald, but inaccurate. You do not know that themessage was in code, and in any case it was liable to be picked up byany steamer within the circle. You really do treat me, my boy, rather asthough I were a weird, mischief-making person with a talent for intrigueand crime of every sort. Look at your suspicions last night. I believethat you and Mr. Hamel had quite made up your minds that I meant evilthings for Mr. John P. Dunster. Well, I had my chance. You saw himdepart."

  "What about his papers?"

  "I will admit," Mr. Fentolin replied, "that I read his papers. They wereof no great consequence, however, and he has taken them away with him.Mr. Dunster, as a matter of fact, turned out to be rather a mare's-nest.Now, come, since you are here, finish everything you have to say to me.I am not angry. I am willing to listen quite reasonably."

  Gerald shook his head.

  "Oh, I can't!" he declared bitterly. "You always get the best of it.I'll only ask you one more question. Are you having the wireless hauleddown?"

  Mr. Fentolin pointed out of the window. Gerald followed his finger.Three men were at work upon the towering spars.

  "You see," Mr. Fentolin continued tolerantly, "that I am keeping myword to Lieutenant Godfrey. You are suffering from a little too muchimagination, I am afraid. It is really quite a good fault. By-the-by,how do you get on with our friend Mr. Hamel?"

  "Very well," the boy replied. "I haven't seen much of him."

  "He and Esther are together a great deal, eh?" Mr. Fentolin askedquickly.

  "They seem to be quite friendly."

  "It isn't Mr. Hamel, by any chance, who has been putting these ideasinto your head?"

  "No one has been putting any ideas into my head," Gerald answered hotly."It's simply what I've seen and overheard. It's simply what I feelaround, the whole atmosphere of the place, the whole atmosphere you seemto create around you with these brutes Sarson and Meekins; and thosewhite-faced, smooth-tongued Marconi men of yours, who can't talk decentEnglish; and the post-office man, who can't look you in the face; andMiss Price, who looks as though she were one of the creatures, too, ofyour torture chamber. That's all."

  Mr. Fentolin waited until he had finished. Then he waved him away.

  "Go and take a long walk, Gerald," he advised. "Fresh air is what youneed, fresh air and a little vigorous exercise. Run along now and sendMiss Price to me."

  Gerald overtook Hamel upon the stairs.

  "By this time," the latter remarked, "I suppose that our friend Mr.Dunster is upon the sea."

  Gerald nodded silently. They passed along the corridor. The door ofthe room which Mr. Dunster had occupied was ajar. As though by commonconsent, they both stopped and looked in. The windows were all wideopen, the bed freshly made. The nurse was busy collecting some medicinebottles and fragments of lint. She looked at them in surprise.

  "Mr. Dunster has left, sir," she told them.

  "We saw him go," Gerald replied.

  "Rather a quick recovery, wasn't it, nurse?" Hamel asked.

  "It wasn't a recovery at all, sir," the woman declared sharply. "He'd noright to have been taken away. It's my opinion Doctor Sarson ought to beashamed of himself to have permitted it."

  "They couldn't exactly make a prison of the place, could they?" Hamelpointed out. "The man, after all, was only a guest."

  "That's as it may be, sir," the nurse replied. "All the same, those thatwon't obey their doctors aren't fit to be allowed about alone. That'sthe way I look at it."

  Mrs. Fentolin was passing along the corridor as they issued from theroom. She started a little as she saw them.

  "What have you two been doing in there?" she asked quickly.


  "We were just passing," Hamel explained. "We stopped for a moment tospeak to the nurse."

  "Mr. Dunster has gone," she said. "You saw him go, Gerald. You saw him,too, didn't you, Mr. Hamel?"

  "I certainly did," Hamel admitted.

  Mrs. Fentolin pointed to the great north window near which they werestanding, through which the clear sunlight streamed a little pitilesslyupon her worn face and mass of dyed hair.

  "You ought neither of you to be indoors for a minute on a morning likethis," she declared. "Esther is waiting for you in the car, I think, Mr.Hamel."

  Gerald passed on up the stairs to his room, but Hamel lingered. Acurious impulse of pity towards his hostess stirred him. The morningsunlight seemed to have suddenly revealed the tragedy of her life.She stood there, a tired, worn woman, with the burden heavy upon hershoulders.

  "Why not come out with Miss Fentolin and me?" he suggested. "We couldlunch at the Golf Club, out on the balcony. I wish you would. Can't youmanage it?"

  She shook her head.

  "Thank you very much," she said. "Mr. Fentolin does not like to beleft."

  Something in the finality of her words seemed to him curiously eloquentof her state of mind. She did not move on. She seemed, indeed, tohave the air of one anxious to say more. In that ruthless light, theadvantages of her elegant clothes and graceful carriage were suddenlystripped away from her. She was the abject wreck of a beautiful woman,wizened, prematurely aged. Nothing remained but the eyes, which seemedsomehow to have their message for him.

  "Mr. Fentolin is a little peculiar, you know," she went on, her voiceshaking slightly with the effort she was making to keep it low. "Heallows Esther so little liberty, she sees so few young people of her ownage. I do not know why he allows you to be with her so much. Be careful,Mr. Hamel."

  Her voice seemed suddenly to vibrate with a curious note of suppressedfear. Almost as she finished her speech, she passed on. Her littlegesture bade him remain silent. As she went up the stairs, she began tohum scraps of a little French air.