Mr. Fentolin sighed.

“In your own interests,” he said calmly, “they will not be granted to you.”

Mr. Dunster had spoken all the time like a man struggling to preserve his self-control.  There were signs now that his will was ceasing to serve him.  His eyes flashed fire, his voice was raised.

“Will not be granted to me?” he repeated.  “Do you mean to say, then, that I am to be kept here against my will?”

Mr. Fentolin made no immediate reply.  With the delicate fingers of his right hand he pushed back the hair from his forehead.  He looked at his questioner soothingly, as one might look at a spoiled child.

“Against my will?” Mr. Dunster repeated, raising his voice still higher.  “Mr. Fentolin, if the truth must be told, I have heard of you before and been warned against you.  I decline to accept any longer the hospitality of your roof.  I insist upon leaving it.  If you will not provide me with any means of doing so, I will walk.”

He made a motion as though to rise from the bed.  Meekins’ hand very gently closed upon his arm.  One could judge that the grip was like a grip of iron.

“Dear me,” Mr. Fentolin said, “this is really very unreasonable of you!  If you have heard of me, Mr. Dunster, you ought to understand that notwithstanding my unfortunate physical trouble, I am a person of consequence and position in this county.  I am a magistrate, ex-high sheriff, and a great land-owner here.  I think I may say without boasting that I represent one of the most ancient families in this country.  Why, therefore, should you treat me as though it were to my interest to inveigle you under my roof and keep you there for some guilty purpose?  Cannot you understand that it is for your own good I hesitate to part with you?”

“I understand nothing of the sort,” Mr. Dunster exclaimed angrily.  “Let us bring this nonsense to an end.  I want my clothes, and if you won’t lend me a car or a trap, I’ll walk to the nearest railway station.”

Mr. Fentolin shook his head.

“I am quite sure,” he said, “that you are not in a position to travel.  Even in the dining-room just now I heard a disturbance for which I was told that you were responsible.”

“I simply insisted upon having my clothes,” Mr. Dunster explained.  “Your servant refused to fetch them.  Perhaps I lost my temper.  If so, I am sorry.  I am not used to being thwarted.”

“A few days’ rest—­” Mr. Fentolin began.

“A few days’ rest be hanged!” Mr. Dunster interrupted fiercely.  “Listen, Mr. Fentolin,” he added, with the air of one making a last effort to preserve his temper, “the mission with which I am charged is one of greater importance than you can imagine.  So much depends upon it that my own life, if that is in danger, would be a mere trifle in comparison with the issues involved.  If I am not allowed to continue upon my journey at once, the consequences may be more serious than I can tell you, to you and yours, to your own country.  There!—­I am telling you a great deal, but I want you to understand that I am in earnest.  I have a mission which I must perform, and which I must perform quickly.”