Mr. Fentolin smiled reassuringly.

“My dear sir,” he said, “my dear Mr. Dunster, I believe I may have the pleasure of calling you—­your conclusions seem to me just a little melodramatic.  My nephew—­Gerald Fentolin—­did what I consider the natural thing, under the circumstances.  You had been courteous to him, and he repaid the obligation to the best of his ability.  The accident to your train happened in a dreary part of the country, some thirty miles from here.  My nephew adopted a course which I think, under the circumstances, was the natural and hospitable one.  He brought you to his home.  There was no hospital or town of any importance nearer.”

“Very well,” Mr. Dunster decided.  “I will accept your version of the affair.  I will, then, up to this point acknowledge myself your debtor.  But will you tell me why my dressing-case has been opened, my clothes removed, and a pocket-book containing papers of great importance to me has been tampered with?”

“My dear Mr. Dunster,” his host repelled calmly, “you surely cannot imagine that you are among thieves!  Your dressing-case was opened and the contents of your pocket-book inspected with a view to ascertaining your address, or the names of some friends with whom we might communicate.”

“Am I to understand that they are to be restored to me, then?” Mr. Dunster demanded.

“Without a doubt, yes!” Mr. Fentolin assured him.  “You, however, are not fit for anything, at the present moment, but to return to your bed, from which I understand you rose rather suddenly a few minutes ago.”

“On the contrary,” Mr. Dunster insisted, “I am feeling absolutely well enough to travel.  I have an appointment on the Continent of great importance, as you may judge by the fact that at Liverpool Street I chartered a special train.  I trust that nothing in my manner may have given you offence, but I am anxious to get through with the business which brought me over to this side of the water.  I have sent for you to ask that my pocket-book, dressing-case, and clothes be at once restored to me, and that I be provided with the means of continuing my journey without a moment’s further delay.”

Mr. Fentolin shook his head very gently, very regretfully, but also firmly.

“Mr. Dunster,” he pleaded, “do be reasonable.  Think of all you have been through.  I can quite sympathise with you in your impatience, but I am forced to tell you that the doctor who has been attending you since the moment you were brought into this house has absolutely forbidden anything of the sort.”

Mr. Dunster seemed, for a moment, to struggle for composure.

“I am an American citizen,” he declared.  “I am willing to listen to the advice of any physician, but so long as I take the risk, I am not bound to follow it.

“In the present case I decline to follow it.  I ask for facilities to leave this house at once.”