CHAPTER XXIX
A cold twilight had fallen upon the land when Hamel left the Towerthat evening and walked briskly along the foot-way to the Hall. Littlepatches of mist hung over the creeks, the sky was almost frosty. Thelights from St. David's Hall shone like cheerful beacons before him. Hehastened up the stone steps, crossed the terrace, and passed intothe hall. A servant conducted him at once to the drawing-room. Mrs.Fentolin, in a pink evening dress, with a pink ornament in her hair,held out both her hands. In the background, Mr. Fentolin, in hisqueerly-cut evening clothes, sat with folded arms, leaning back in hiscarriage. He listened grimly to his sister-in-law as she stood withHamel's hands in hers.
"My dear Mr. Hamel!" she exclaimed. "How perfectly charming of you tocome up and relieve a little our sad loneliness! Delightful, I call it,of you. I was just saying so to Miles."
Hamel looked around the room. Already his heart was beginning to sink.
"Miss Fentolin is well, I hope?" he asked.
"Well, but a very naughty girl," her mother declared. "I let her go toLady Saxthorpe's to lunch, and now we have had simply the firmest letterfrom Lady Saxthorpe. They insist upon keeping Esther to dine and sleep.I have had to send her evening clothes, but you can't tell, Mr. Hamel,how I miss her."
Hamel's disappointment was a little too obvious to pass unnoticed.There was a shade of annoyance, too, in his face. Mr. Fentolin smoothlyintervened.
"Let us be quite candid with Mr. Hamel, dear Florence," he begged."I have spoken to my sister-in-law and told her the substance of ourconversation this morning," he proceeded, wheeling his chair nearer toHamel. "She is thunderstruck. She wishes to reflect, to consider.Esther chanced to be away. We have encouraged her absence for a few morehours."
"I hope, Mrs. Fentolin," Hamel said simply, "that you will give her tome. I am not a rich man, but I am fairly well off. I should be willingto live exactly where Esther wishes, and I would do my best to make herhappy."
Mrs. Fentolin opened her lips once and closed them again. She laugheda little--a high-pitched, semi-hysterical laugh. The hand which grippedher fan was straining so that the blue veins stood out almost likewhipcord.
"Esther is very young, Mr. Hamel. We must talk this over. You have knownher for such a very short time."
A servant announced dinner, and Hamel offered his arm to his hostess.
"Is Gerald away, too?" he asked.
"We do indeed owe you our apologies," Mr. Fentolin declared. "Geraldis spending a couple of days at the Dormy House at Brancaster--a golfarrangement made some time back."
"He promised to play with me to-morrow," Hamel remarked thoughtfully."He said nothing about going away."
"I fear that like most young men of his age he has little memory," Mr.Fentolin sighed. "However, he will be back to-morrow or the next day. Iowe you my apologies, Mr. Hamel, for our lack of young people. We mustdo our best to entertain our guest, Florence. You must be at your best,dear. You must tell him some of those capital stories of yours."
Mrs. Fentolin shivered for a moment. Hamel, as he handed her to herplace, was struck by a strange look which she threw upon him, halffurtive, full of pain. Her hand almost clung to his. She slipped alittle, and he held her tightly. Then he was suddenly conscious thatsomething hard was being pressed into his palm. He drew his hand away atonce.
"You seem a little unsteady this evening, my dear Florence," Mr.Fentolin remarked, peering across the round table.
She eyed him nonchalantly enough.
"The floor is slippery," she said. "I was glad, for a moment, of Mr.Hamel's strong hand. Where are those dear puppies? Chow-Chow," she wenton, "come and sit by your mistress at once."
Hamel's fingers inside his waistcoat pocket were smoothing out thecrumpled piece of paper which she had passed to him. Soon he had itquite flat. Mrs. Fentolin, as though freed from some anxiety, chatteredaway gaily.
"I don't know that I shall apologise to Mr. Hamel at all for the youngpeople being away," she declared. "Just fancy what we have saved himfrom--a solitary meal served by Hannah Cox! Do you know that they sayshe is half-witted, Mr. Hamel?"
"So far, she has looked after me very well," Hamel observed.
"Her intellect is defective," Mr. Fentolin remarked, "on one point only.The good woman is obsessed by the idea that her husband and sons arestill calling to her from the Dagger Rocks. It is almost pitiful to meether wandering about there on a stormy night. The seacoasts are fullof these little village tragedies--real tragedies, too, howeverinsignificant they may seem to us."
Mr. Fentolin's tone was gently sympathetic. He changed the subject amoment or two later, however.
"Nero fiddles to-night," he said, "while Rome burns. There are hundredsin our position, yet it certainly seems queer that we should be sittinghere so quietly when the whole country is in such a state of excitement.I see the press this morning is preaching an immediate declaration ofwar."
"Against whom?" Mrs. Fentolin asked.
Mr. Fentolin smiled.
"That does seem to be rather the trouble," he admitted. "Russia,Austria, Germany, Italy, and France are all assisting at a Conference towhich no English representative has been bidden. In a sense, of course,that is equivalent to an act of hostility from all these countriestowards England. The question is whether we have or have not a secretunderstanding with France, and if so, how far she will be bound by it.There is a rumour that when Monsieur Deschelles was asked formally whomhe represented, that he replied--'France and Great Britain.' There maybe something in it. It is hard to see how any English statesman couldhave left unguarded the Mediterranean, with all that it means, trustingsimply to the faith of a country with whom we have no binding agreement.On the other hand, there is the mobilisation of the fleet. If Franceis really faithful, one wonders if there was need for such an extremestep."
"I am out of touch with political affairs," Hamel declared. "I have beenaway from England for so long."
"I, on the other hand," Mr. Fentolin continued, his eyes glittering alittle, "have made the study of the political situation in Europe myhobby for years. I have sent to me the leading newspapers of Berlin,Rome, Paris, St. Petersburg, and Vienna. For two hours every day Iread them, side by side. It is curious sometimes to note the commonunderstanding which seems to exist between the Powers not bound by anyformal alliance. For years war seemed a very unlikely thing, andnow," he added, leaning forward in his chair, "I pronounce it almost acertainty."
Hamel looked at his host a little curiously. Mr. Fentolin's gentlenessof expression seemed to have departed. His face was hard, his eyesagleam. He had almost the look of a bird of prey. For some reason, thethought of war seemed to be a joy to him. Perhaps he read something ofHamel's wonder in his expression, for with a shrug of the shoulders hedismissed the subject.
"Well," he concluded, "all these things lie on the knees of the gods. Idare say you wonder, Mr. Hamel, why a poor useless creature like myselfshould take the slightest interest in passing events? It is just thefascination of the looker-on. I want your opinion about that champagne.Florence dear, you must join us. We will drink to Mr. Hamel's health. Wewill perhaps couple that toast in our minds with the sentiment which Iam sure is not very far from your thoughts, Florence."
Hamel raised his glass and bowed to his host and hostess. He was notwholly at his ease. It seemed to him that he was being watched with aqueer persistence by both of them. Mrs. Fentolin continued to talk andlaugh with a gaiety which was too obviously forced. Mr. Fentolinposed for a while as the benevolent listener. He mildly applauded hissister-in-law's stories, and encouraged Hamel in the recital of some ofhis reminiscences. Suddenly the door was opened. Miss Price appeared.She walked smoothly across the room and stood by Mr. Fentolin's side.Stooping down, she whispered in his ear. He pushed his chair back alittle from the table. His face was dark with anger.
"I said not before ten to-night," he muttered.
Again she spoke in his ear, so softly that the sound of her voice itselfscarcely travelled even as
far as where Hamel was sitting. Mr. Fentolinlooked steadfastly for a moment at his sister-in-law and from her toHamel. Then he backed his chair away front the table.
"I shall have to ask to be excused for three minutes," he said. "I mustspeak upon the telephone. It is a call from some one who declares thatthey have important news."
He turned the steering-wheel of his chair, and with Miss Price by hisside passed across the dining-room, out of the Oasis of rose-shadedlights into the shadows, and through the open door. From there he turnedhis head before he disappeared, as though to watch his guest. Mrs.Fentolin was busy fondling one of her dogs, which she had raised to herlap, and Hamel was watching her with a tolerant smile.
"Koto, you little idiot, why can't you sit up like your sister? Was itstail in the way, then! Mr. Hamel," she whispered under her breath, sosoftly that he barely caught the words, although he was only a few feetaway, "don't look at me. I feel as though we were being watched all thetime. You can destroy that piece of paper in your pocket. All that itsays is 'Leave here immediately after dinner.'"
Hamel sipped his wine in a nonchalant fashion. His fingers had strayedover the silky coat of the little dog, which she had held out as thoughfor his inspection.
"How can I?" he asked. "What excuse can I make?"
"Invent one," she insisted swiftly. "Leave here before ten o'clock.Don't let anything keep you. And destroy that piece of paper in yourpocket, if you can--now."
"But, Mrs. Fentolin--" he began.
She caught up one of her absurd little pets and held it to her mouth.
"Meekins is in the doorway," she whispered.
"Don't argue with me, please. You are in danger you know nothing about.Pass me the cigarettes."
She leaned back in her chair, smoking quickly. She held one of the dogson her knee and talked rubbish to it. Hamel watched her, leaning backin his carved oak chair, and he found it hard to keep the pity fromhis eyes. The woman was playing a part, playing it with desperate andpitiful earnestness, a part which seemed the more tragical because ofthe soft splendour of their surroundings. From the shadowy walls,huge, dimly-seen pictures hung about them, a strange and yet impressivebackground. Their small round dining-table, with its rare cut glass,its perfect appointments, its bowls of pink roses, was like a spotof wonderful colour in the great room. Two men servants stood at thesideboard a few yards away, a triumph of negativeness. The butler, whohad been absent for a moment, stood now silently waiting behind hismaster's place. Hamel was oppressed, during those few minutes ofwaiting, by a curious sense of unreality, as though he were takingpart in some strange tableau. There was something unreal about hissurroundings and his own presence there; something unreal in theatmosphere, charged as it seemed to be with some omen of impendinghappenings; something unreal in that whispered warning, those fewhoarsely uttered words which had stolen to his hearing across theclusters of drooping roses; the absurd babble of the woman, who satthere with tragic things under the powder with which her face wasdaubed.
"Koto must learn to sit upon his tail--like that. No, not another grapetill he sits up. There, then!"
She was leaning forward with a grape between her teeth, towards the tinyanimal who was trying in vain to balance his absurdly shaped little bodyupon the tablecloth. Hamel, without looking around, knew quite well whatwas happening. Soon he heard the click of the chair. Mr. Fentolin wasback in his place. His skin seemed paler and more parchment-like thanever. His eyes glittered.
"It seems," he announced quietly, as he raised his wine-glass to hislips with the air of one needing support, "that we entertained an angelunawares here. This Mr. Dunster is lost for the second time. A veryimportant personage he turns out to be."
"You mean the American whom Gerald brought home after the accident?"Mrs. Fentolin asked carelessly.
Mr. Fentolin replied. "He insisted upon continuing his journey before hewas strong enough. I warned him of what might happen. He has evidentlybeen take ill somewhere. It seems that he was on his way to The Hague."
"Do you mean that he has disappeared altogether this time?" Hamel asked.
Mr. Fentolin shook his head.
"No, he has found his way to The Hague safely enough. He is lying thereat a hotel in the city, but he is unconscious. There is some talk abouthis having been robbed on the way. At any rate, they are tracing hismovements backwards. We are to be honoured with a visit from one ofScotland Yard's detectives, to reconstruct his journey from here. Ourquiet little corner of the world is becoming quite notorious. Florencedear, you are tired. I can see it in your eyes. Your headache continues,I am sure. We will not be selfish. Mr. Hamel and I are going to have along evening in the library. Let me recommend a phenacetin and bed."
She rose at once to her feet, with a dog under either arm.
"I'll take the phenacetin," she promised, "but I hate going to bedearly. Shall I see you again, I wonder, Mr. Hamel?"
"Not this evening, I fear," he answered. "I am going to ask Mr. Fentolinto excuse me early."
She passed out of the room. Hamel escorted her as far as the door andthen returned. Mr. Fentolin was sitting quite still in his chair. Hiseyes were fixed upon the tablecloth. He looked up quickly as Hamelresumed his seat.
"You are not in earnest, I hope, Mr. Hamel," he said, "when you tell methat you must leave early? I have been anticipating a long evening. Mylibrary is filled with books on South America which I want to discusswith you."
"Another evening, if you don't mind," Hamel begged. "To-night I must askyou to excuse my hurrying away."
Mr. Fentolin looked up from underneath his eyelids. His glance was quickand penetrating.
"Why this haste?"
Hamel shrugged his shoulders.
"To tell you the truth," he admitted, "I had an idea while I was readingan article on cantilever bridges this morning. I want to work it out."
Mr. Fentolin glanced behind him. The door of the dining-room was closed.The servants had disappeared. Meekins alone, looking more like a prizefighter than ever in his somber evening clothes, had taken the place ofthe butler behind his master's chair.
"We shall see," Mr. Fentolin said quietly.
The Vanished Messenger Page 29