“Obviously, then,” Mr. Dunster concluded, “you wish those who sent me to believe that my message has been delivered.  Yet there I must confess that you puzzle me.  What I cannot see is, to put it bluntly, where you come in.  Any one of the countries represented at this little conference would only be the gainers by the miscarriage of my message, which is, without doubt, so far as they are concerned, of a distasteful nature.  Your own country alone could be the sufferer.  Now what interest in the world, then, is there left—­what interest in the world can you possibly represent—­which can be the gainer by your present action?”

Mr. Fentolin’s eyes grew suddenly a little brighter.  There was a light upon his face strange to witness.

“The power which is to be the gainer,” he said quietly, “is the power encompassed by these walls,”

He touched his chest; his long, slim fingers were folded upon it.

“When I meet a man whom I like,” he continued softly, “I take him into my confidence.  Picture me, if you will, as a kind of Puck.  Haven’t you heard that with the decay of the body comes sometimes a malignant growth in the brain; a Caliban-like desire for evil to fall upon the world; a desire to escape from the loneliness of suffering, the isolation of black misery?”

Mr. John P. Dunster let his cigar burn out.  He looked steadfastly at this strange little figure whose chair had imperceptibly moved a little nearer to his.

“You know what the withholding of this message you carry may mean,” Mr. Fentolin proceeded.  “You come here, bearing to Europe the word of a great people, a people whose voice is powerful enough even to still the gathering furies.  I have read your ciphered message.  It is what I feared.  It is my will, mine—­Miles Fentolin’s—­that that message be not delivered.”

“I wonder,” Mr. Dunster muttered under his breath, “whether you are in earnest.”

“In your heart,” Mr. Fentolin told him, “you know that I am.  I can see the truth in your face.  Now, for the first time, you begin to understand.”

“To a certain extent,” Mr. Dunster admitted.  “Where I am still in the dark, however, is why you should expect that I should become your confederate.  It is true that by holding me up and obstructing my message, you may bring about the evil you seek, but unless that word is cabled back to New York, and my senders believe that my message has been delivered, there can be no certainty.  What has been trusted to me as the safest means of transmission, might, in an emergency, be committed to a cable.”

“Excellent reasoning,” Fentolin agreed.  “For the very reasons you name that word will be given.”

Mr. Dunster’s face was momentarily troubled.  There was something in the still, cold emphasis of this man’s voice which made him shiver.