“Really,” he declared, “this is most agreeable.  I had an idea, Mr. Dunster, that I should find you a reasonable person.  Men of your eminence in their profession usually are.”

Mr. Dunster looked at the speaker curiously.

“And what might my profession be, Mr. Fentolin?” he asked.  “You seem to know a great deal about me.”

“It is true,” Mr. Fentolin admitted.  “I do know a great deal.”

Mr. Dunster knocked the ash from his cigar.

“Well,” he said, “I have been the hearer of several important communications from my side of the Atlantic to England and to the Continent, and I have always known that there was a certain amount of risk in the business.  Once I had an exceedingly narrow shave,” he continued reminiscently, “but this is the first time I have ever been dead up against it, and I don’t mind confessing that you’ve fairly got me puzzled.  Who the mischief are you, Mr. Fentolin, and what are you interfering about?”

Mr. Fentolin smiled queerly.

“I am what you see,” he replied.  “I am one of those unfortunate human beings who, by reason of their physical misfortunes, are cut off from the world of actual life.  I have been compelled to seek distraction in strange quarters.  I have wealth—­great wealth I suppose I should say; an inordinate curiosity, a talent for intrigue.  As to the direction in which I carry on my intrigues, or even as to the direct interests which I study, that is a matter, Mr. Dunster, upon which I shall not gratify your curiosity nor anybody else’s.  But, you see, I am admitting freely that it does interest me to interfere in great affairs.”

“But how on earth did you get to know about me,” Mr. Dunster asked, “and my errand?  You couldn’t possibly have got me here in an ordinary way.  It was an entire fluke.”

“There, you speak with some show of reason.  I have a nephew whom you have met, who is devoted to me.”

“Mr. Gerald Fentolin,” Mr. Dunster remarked drily.

“Precisely,” Mr. Fentolin declared.  “Well, I admit frankly the truth of what you say.  Your—­shall we say capture, was by way of being a gigantic fluke.  My nephew’s instructions simply were to travel down by the train to Harwich with you, to endeavour to make your acquaintance, to follow you on to your destination, and, if any chance to do so occurred, to relieve you of your pocket-book.  That, however, I never ventured to expect.  What really happened was, as you have yourself suggested, almost in the nature of a miracle.  My nephew showed himself to be possessed of gifts which were a revelation to me.  He not only succeeded in travelling with you by the special train, but after its wreck he was clever enough to bring you here, instead of delivering you over to the mercies of a village doctor.  I really cannot find words to express my appreciation of my nephew’s conduct.”

“I could,” Mr. Dunster muttered, “very easily!”