“Is your St. David’s Tower anywhere near a place called Salthouse?” he asked reflectively.

“That’s the name of the village,” Hamel admitted.  “My father used to spend quite a lot of time in those parts, and painted at least a dozen pictures down there.”

“This is a coincidence,” Reginald Kinsley declared, lighting a cigarette.  “I think, if I were you, Dick, I’d go down and claim my property.”

“Tired of me already?” Hamel asked, smiling.

Reginald Kinsley knocked the ash from his cigarette.

“It isn’t that.  The fact is, that job I was speaking to you about was simply this.  We want some one to go down to Salthouse—­not exactly as a spy, you know, but some one who has his wits about him.  We are all of us very curious about this man Fentolin.  There are no end of rumours which I won’t mention to you, for they might only put you off the scent.  But the man seems to be always intriguing.  It wouldn’t matter so much if he were our friend, or if he were simply a financier, but to tell you the truth, we have cause to suspect him.”

“But he’s an Englishman, surely?” Hamel asked.  “The Fentolin who was my father’s friend was just a very wealthy Norfolk squire—­one of the best, from all I have heard.”

“Miles Fentolin is an Englishman,” Kinsley admitted.  “It is true, too, that he comes of a very ancient Norfolk family.  It doesn’t do, however, to build too much upon that.  From all I can learn of him, he is a sort of Puck, a professional mischief-maker.  I don’t suppose there’s anything an outsider could find out which would be really useful to us, but all the same, if I had the time, I should certainly go down to Norfolk myself.”

The conversation drifted away for a while.  Mutual acquaintances entered, there were several introductions, and it was not until the two found themselves together in Kinsley’s rooms for a few minutes before parting that they were alone again.  Hamel returned then once more to the subject.

“Reggie,” he said, “if you think it would be of the slightest use, I’ll go down to Salthouse to-morrow.  I am rather keen on going there, anyway.  I am absolutely fed up with life here already.”

“It’s just what I want you to do,” Kinsley said.  “I am afraid Fentolin is a little too clever for you to get on the right side of him, but if you could only get an idea as to what his game is down there, it would be a great help.  You see, the fellow can’t have gone into all this sort of thing blindfold.  We’ve lost several very useful agents abroad and two from New York who’ve gone into his pay.  There must be a method in it somewhere.  If it really ends with his financial operations—­why, all right.  That’s very likely what it’ll come to, but we should like to know.  The merest hint would be useful.”

“I’ll do my best,” Hamel promised.  “In any case, it will be just the few days’ holiday I was looking forward to.”