Book: The Vanished Messenger

E >> E. Phillips Oppenheim >> The Vanished Messenger




They helped him into the car. Hamel and Gerald stood under the
great stone portico, watching.

"Well, I'm jiggered!" the boy exclaimed, under his breath.

Hamel was watching the proceedings with a puzzled frown. To his
surprise, neither Doctor Sarson nor Meekins were accompanying the
departing man.

"He's off, right enough," Hamel declared, as the car glided away.
"Do you understand it? I don't."

Gerald did not speak for several moments. His eyes were still fixed
upon the back of the disappearing car. Then he turned towards Hamel.

"There isn't much," he said softly, "that Mr. Fentolin doesn't know.
If that detective was really on his way here, there wasn't any
chance of keeping Mr. Dunster to himself. You see, the whole story
is common property. And yet, there's something about the affair
that bothers me."

"And me," Hamel admitted, watching the car until it became a speck
in the distance.

"He was fairly well cornered," Gerald concluded, as they made their
way back to the dining-room, "but it isn't like him to let go of
anything so easily."

"So you've seen the last of our guest," Mr. Fentolin remarked, as
amel and Gerald re-entered the dining-room. "A queer fellow - almost
a new type to me. Dogged and industrious, I should think. He hadn't
the least right to travel, you know, and I think so long as we had
taken the trouble to telephone to Norwich, he might have waited to
see the physician. Sarson was very angry about it, but what can you
do with these fellows who are never ill? They scarcely know what
physical disability means. Well, Mr. Hamel, and how are you goin
to amuse yourself to-day?"

"I had thought of commencing some reading I brought with me," Hamel
replied, "but Miss Esther has challenged me to another game of golf."

"Excellent!" Mr. Fentolin declared. "It is very kind of you indeed,
Mr. Hamel. It is always a matter of regret for me that society in
these parts is so restricted. My nephew and niece have little
opportunity for enjoying themselves. Play golf with Mr. Hamel, by
all means, my dear child," he continued, turning to his niece. "Make
the most of this glorious spring weather. And what about you, Gerald?
What are you doing to-day?"

"I haven't made up my mind yet, sir," the boy replied.

Mr. Fentolin sighed.

"Always that lack of initiative," he remarked. "A lack of initiative
is one of your worst faults, I am afraid, dear Gerald."

The boy looked up quickly. For a moment it seemed as though he were
about to make a fierce reply. He met Mr. Fentolin's steady gaze,
however, and the words died away upon his lips.

"I rather thought," he said, "of going into Norwich, if you could
spare me. Captain Holt has asked me to lunch at the Barracks."

Mr. Fentolin shook his head gently.

"It is most unfortunate," he declared. "I have a commission for
you later in the day."

Gerald continued his breakfast in silence. He bent over his plate
so that his face was almost invisible. Mr. Fentolin was peeling a
peach. A servant entered the room.

"Lieutenant Godfrey, sir," he announced.

They all looked up. A trim, clean-shaven, hard-featured young man
in naval uniform was standing upon the threshold. He bowed to
Esther.

"Very sorry to intrude, sir, at this hour of the morning," he said
briskly. "Lieutenant Godfrey, my name. I am flag lieutenant of
the Britannia. You can't see her, but she's not fifty miles off at
this minute. I landed at Sheringham this morning, hired a car and
made the best of my way here. Message from the Admiral, sir."

Mr. Fentolin smiled genially.

"We are delighted to see you, Lieutenant Godfrey," he said. "Have
some breakfast."

"You are very good, sir," the officer answered. "Business first.
I'll breakfast afterwards, with pleasure, if I may. The Admiral's
compliments, and he would take it as a favour if you would haul
down your wireless for a few days."

"Had down my wireless," Mr. Fentolin repeated slowly.

"We are doing a lot of manoeuvring within range of you, and likely
to do a bit more," the young man explained. "You are catching up
our messages all the time. Of course, we know they're quite safe
with you, but things get about. As yours is only a private
installation, we'd like you, if you don't mind, sir, to shut up
shop for a few days."

Mr. Fentolin seemed puzzled.

"But, my dear sir," he protested, "we are not at war, are we?"

"Not yet," the young officer replied, "but God knows when we shall
be! We are under sealed or ders, anyway, and we don't want any
risk of our plans leaking out. That's why we want your wireless
disconnected."

"You need say no more," Mr. Fentolin assured him. "The matter is
already arranged. Esther, let me present Lieutenant Godfrey - my
niece, Miss Fentolin; Mr. Gerald Fentolin, my nephew; Mr. Hamel, a
guest. See that Lieutenant Godfrey has some breakfast, Gerald. I
will go myself and see my Marconi operator."

"Awfully good of you, sir," the young man declared, "and I am sure
we are very sorry to trouble you. In a week or two's time you can
go into business again as much as you like. It's only while we
are fiddling around here that the Admiral's jumpy about things.
May my man have a cup of coffee, sir? I'd like to be on the way
back in a quarter of an hour."

Mr. Fentolin halted his chair by the side of the bell, and rang it.

"Pray make use of my house as your own, sir," he said gravely.
"From what you leave unsaid, I gather that things are more serious
than the papers would have us believe. Under those circumstances,
I need not assure you that any help we can render is entirely yours."

Mr. Fentolin left the room. Lieutenant Godfrey was already
attacking his breakfast. Gerald leaned towards him eagerly.

"Is there really going to be war?" he demanded.

"Ask those chaps at The Hague," Lieutenant Godfrey answered.
"Doing their best to freeze us out, or something. All I know is,
if there's going to be fighting, we are ready for them. By-the-by,
what have you got wireless telegraphy for here, anyway?"

"It's a fad of my uncle's," Gerald replied. "Since his accident he
amuses himself in all sorts of queer ways."

Lieutenant Godfrey nodded.

"Poor fellow!" he said. "I heard he was a cripple, or something
of the sort. Forgive my asking, but - you people are English,
aren't you?"

"Rather!" Gerald answered. "The Fentolins have lived here for
hundreds of years. Why do you ask that?"

Lieutenant Godfrey hesitated. He looked, for the moment, scarcely
at his ease.

"Oh, I don't know," he replied. "The old man was very anxious I
should find out. You see, a lot of information seems to have got
over on the other side, and we couldn't think where it had leaked
out, except through your wireless. However, that isn't likely, of
course, unless you've got one of these beastly Germans in your
receiving-room. Now if I can borrow a cigarette, a cigar, or a
pipe of tobacco - any mortal thing to smoke - I'll be off, if I may.
The old man turned me out at an unearthly hour this morning, and in
Sheringham all the shops were closed. Steady on, young fellow," he
laughed, as Gerald filled his pockets with cigarettes. "Well, here's
good morning to you, Miss Fentolin. Good morning, sir. How long
ought it to take me to get to Sheringham?"

"About forty minutes," Gerald told him, "if your car's any good at
all."

"It isn't much," was the somewhat dubious reply. "However, we'll
shove along. You in the Service?" he enquired, as they walked down
the hall together.

"Hope I shall be before long," Gerald answered. I'm going into the
army, though."

"Have to hurry up, won't you?"

Gerald sighed.

"It's a little difficult for me. Here's your car. Good luck to you!"

"My excuses to Mr. Fentolin," Lieutenant Godfrey shouted, "and many
thanks."

He jumped into the automobile and was soon on his way back. Gerald
watched him until he was nearly out of sight. On the knoll, two of
the wireless operators were already at work. Mr. Fentolin sat in
his chair below, watching. The blue sparks were flashing. A message
was just being delivered. Presently Mr. Fentolin turned his chair,
and with Meekins by his side, made his way back to the house. He
passed along the ball and into his study. Gerald, who was on his
way to the dining-room, heard the ring of the telephone bell and the
call for the trunk special line. He hesitated for a moment. Then
he made his way slowly down towards the study and stood outside the
door, listening. In a moment he heard Mr. Fentolin's clear voice,
very low yet very penetrating.

"The Mediterranean Fleet will be forty-seven hours before it comes
together," was the message he heard. "The Channel Fleet will
manoeuvre off Sheerness, waiting for it. The North Sea Fleet is
seventeen units under nominal strength."

Gerald turned the handle of the door slowly and entered. Mr.
Fentolin was just replacing the receiver on its stand. He looked
up at his nephew, and his eyebrows came together.

"What do you mean by this?" he demanded. "Don't you know that I
allow no one in here when I am telephoning on the private wire?"

Gerald closed the door behind him and summoned up all his courage.

"It is because I have heard what you were saying over the telephone
that I am here," he declared. "I want to know to whom you were
sending that message which you have intercepted outside."




CHAPTER XXII

Mr. Fentolin sat for a moment in his chair with immovable face.
Then he pointed to the door, which Gerald had left open behind him.

"Close that door, Gerald."

The boy obeyed. Mr. Fentolin waited until he had turned around
again.

"Come and stand over here by the side of the table," he directed.

Gerald came without hesitation. He stood before his uncle with
folded arms. There was something else besides sullenness in his
face this morning, something which Mr. Fentolin was quick to
recognise.

"I do not quite understand the nature of your question, Gerald,"
Mr. Fentolin began. "It is unlike you. You do not seem yourself.
Is there anything in particular the matter?"

"Only this," Gerald answered firmly. "I don't understand why this
naval fellow should come here and ask you to close up your wireless
because secrets have been leaking out, and a few moments afterwards
you should be picking up a message and telephoning to London
information which was surely meant to be private. That's all.
I've come to ask you about it."

"You heard the message, then?"

"I did."

"You listened - at the keyhole?"

"I listened outside," Gerald assented doggedly. "I am glad I
listened. Do you mind answering my question?

"Do I mind!" Mr. Fentolin repeated softly. "Really, Gerald, your
politeness, your consideration, your good manners, astound me. I
am positively deprived of the power of speech."

"I'll wait here till it comes to you again, then," the boy declared
bluntly. "I've waited on you hand and foot, done dirty work for
you, put up with your ill-humours and your tyranny, and never
grumbled. But there is a limit! You've made a poor sort of
creature of me, but even the worm turns, you know. When it comes
to giving away secrets about the movements of our navy at a time
when we are almost at war, I strike."

"Melodramatic, almost dramatic, but, alas! so inaccurate," Mr.
Fentolin sighed. "Is this a fit of the heroics, boy, or what has
come over you? Have you by any chance - forgotten?"

Mr. Fentolin's voice seemed suddenly to have grown in volume. His
eyes dilated, he himself seemed to have grown in size. Gerald
stepped a little back. He was trembling, but his expression had
not changed.

"No, I haven't forgotten. There's a great debt we are doing our
best to pay, but there's such a thing as asking top much, there's
such a thing as drawing the cords to snapping point. I'm speaking
for Esther and mother as well as myself. We have been your slaves;
in a way I suppose we are willing to go on being your slaves. It's
the burden that Fate has placed around our necks, and we'll go
through with it. All I want to point out is that there are limits,
and it seems to me that we are up against them now."

Mr. Fentolin nodded. He had the air of a man who wishes to be
reasonable.

"You are very young, my boy," he said, "very young indeed. Perhaps
that is my fault for not having let you see more of the world. You
have got some very queer ideas into your head. A little too much
novel reading lately, eh? I might treat you differently. I might
laugh at you and send you out of the room. I won't. I'll tell you
what you ask. I'll explain what you find so mysterious. The person
to whom I have been speaking is my stockbroker."

"Your stockbroker!" Gerald exclaimed.

Mr. Fentolin nodded.

"Mr. Bayliss," he continued, "of the firm of Bayliss, Hundercombe
& Dunn, Throgmorton Court. Mr. Bayliss is a man of keen
perceptions. He understands exactly the effect of certain classes
of news upon the market. The message which I have just sent to him
is practically common property. It will be in the Daily Mail
to-morrow morning. The only thing is that I have sent it to him
just a few minutes sooner than any one else can get it. There is a
good deal of value in that, Gerald. I do not mind telling you that
I have made a large fortune through studying the political situation
and securing advance information upon matters of this sort. That
fortune some day will probably be yours. It will be you who will
benefit. Meanwhile, I am enriching myself and doing no one any harm."

"But how do you know," Gerald persisted, "that this message would
ever have found its way to the Press? It was simply a message from
one battleship to another. It was not intended to be picked up on
land. There is no other installation but ours that could have picked
it up. Besides, it was in code. I know that you have the code, but
the others haven't."

Mr. Fentolin yawned slightly.

"Ingenious, my dear Gerald, but inaccurate. You do not know that
the message was in code, and in any case it was liable to be picked
up by any steamer within the circle. You really do treat me, my boy,
rather as though I were a weird, mischief-making person with a
talent for intrigue and crime of every sort. Look at your suspicions
last night. I believe that you and Mr. Hamel had quite made up your
minds that I meant evil things for Mr. John P. Dunster. Well, I had
my chance. You saw him depart."

"What about his papers?"

"I will admit," Mr. Fentolin replied, "that I read his papers. They
were of no great consequence, however, and he has taken them away
with him. Mr. Dunster. as a matter of fact, turned out to be
rather a mare's-nest. Now, come, since you are here, finish
everything you have to say to me. I am not angry. I am willing to
listen quite reasonably."

Gerald shook his head.

"Oh, I can't!" he declared bitterly. "You always get the best of it.
I'll only ask you one more question. Are you having the wireless
hauled down?"

Mr. Fentolin pointed out of the window. Gerald followed his finger.
Three men were at work upon the towering spars.

"You see," Mr. Fentolin continued tolerantly, "that I am keeping my
word to Lieutenant Godfrey. You are suffering from a little too
much imagination, I am afraid. It is really quite a good fault.
By-the-by, how do you get on with our friend Mr. Hamel?"

"Very well," the boy replied. "I haven't seen much of him."

"He and Esther are together a great deal, eh?" Mr. Fentolin asked
quickly.

"They seem to be quite friendly."

"It isn't Mr. Hamel, by any chance, who has been putting these
ideas into your head?"

"No one has been putting any ideas into my head," Gerald answered
hotly. "It's simply what I've seen and overheard. It's simply
what I feel around, the whole atmosphere of the place, the whole
atmosphere you seem to create around you with these brutes Sarson
and Meekins; and those white-faced, smooth-tongued Marconi men of
yours, who can't talk decent English; and the post-office man, who
can't look you in the face; and Miss Price, who looks as though
she were one of the creatures, too, of your torture chamber.
That's all."

Mr. Fentolin waited until he had finished. Then be waved him away.

"Go and take a long walk, Gerald," he advised. "Fresh air is what
you need, fresh air and a little vigorous exercise. Run along now
and send Miss Price to me."

Gerald overtook Hamel upon the stairs.

"By this time," the latter remarked, "I suppose that our friend
Mr. Dunster is upon the sea."

Gerald nodded silently. They passed along the corridor. The door
of the room which Mr. Dunster had occupied was ajar. As though by
common consent, they both stopped and looked in. The windows were
all wide open, the bed freshly made. The nurse was busy collecting
some medicine bottles and fragments of lint. She looked at them in
surprise.

"Mr. Dunster has left, sir," she told them.

"We saw him go," Gerald replied.

"Rather a quick recovery, wasn't it, nurse?" Hamel asked.

"It wasn't a recovery at all, sir," the woman declared sharply.
"He'd no right to have been taken away. It's my opinion Doctor
Sarson ought to be ashamed of himself to have permitted it."

"They couldn't exactly make a prison of the place, could they?"
Hamel pointed out. "The man, after all, was only a guest."

"That's as it may be, sir," the nurse replied. "All the same, those
that won't obey their doctors aren't fit to be allowed about alone.
That's the way I look at it."

Mrs. Fentolin was passing along the corridor as they issued from
the room. She started a little as she saw them.

"What have you two been doing in there?" she asked quickly.

"We were just passing," Hamel explained. "We stopped for a moment
to speak to the nurse."

"Mr. Dunster has gone," she said. "You saw him go, Gerald. You
saw him, too, didn't you, Mr. Hamel?"

"I certainly did," Hamel admitted.

Mrs. Fentolin pointed to the great north window near which they
were standing, through which the clear sunlight streamed a little
pitilessly upon her worn face and mass of dyed hair.

"You ought neither of you to be indoors for a minute on a morning
like this," she declared. "Esther is waiting for you in the car,
I think, Mr. Hamel."

Gerald passed on up the stairs to his room, but Hamel lingered.
A curious impulse of pity towards his hostess stirred him. The
morning sunlight seemed to have suddenly revealed the tragedy of
her life. She stood there, a tired, worn woman, with the burden
heavy upon her shoulders.

"Why not come out with Miss Fentolin and me? he suggested. "We
could lunch at the Golf Club, out on the balcony. I wish you
would. Can't you manage it?"

She shook her head.

"Thank you very much," she said. "Mr. Fentolin does not like
to be left."

Something in the finality of her words seemed to him curiously
eloquent of her state of mind. She did not move on. She seemed,
indeed, to have the air of one anxious to say more. In that
ruthless light, the advantages of her elegant clothes and
graceful carriage were suddenly stripped away from her. She was
the abject wreck of a beautiful woman, wizened, prematurely aged.
Nothing remained but the eyes, which seemed somehow to have their
message for him.

"Mr. Fentolin is a little peculiar, you know," she went on, her
voice shaking slightly with the effort she was making to keep it
low. "He allows Esther so little liberty, she sees so few young
people of her own age. I do not know why he allows you to be with
her so much. Be careful, Mr. Hamel."

Her voice seemed suddenly to vibrate with a curious note of
suppressed fear. Almost as she finished her speech, she passed on.
Her little gesture bade him remain silent. As she went up the
stairs, she began to hum scraps of a little French air.




CHAPTER XXIII

Hamel sliced his ball at the ninth, and after waiting for a few
minutes patiently, Esther came to help him look for it. He was
standing down on the sands, a little apart from the two caddies
who were beating out various tufts of long grass.

"Where did it go?" she asked.

"I have no idea," he admitted.

"Why don't you help look for it?"

"Searching for balls," he insisted, "is a caddy's occupation. Both
the caddies are now busy. Let us sit down here. These sand hummocks
are delightful. It is perfectly sheltered, and the sun is in our
faces. Golf is an overrated pastime. Let us sit and watch that
little streak of blue find its way up between the white posts."

She hesitated for a moment.

"We shall lose our place."

"There is no one behind."

She sank on to the little knoll of sand to which he had pointed,
with a resigned sigh.

"You really are a queer person," she declared. "You have been
playing golf this morning as though your very life depended upon it.
You have scarcely missed a shot or spoken a word. And now, all of
a sudden, you want to sit on a sand hummock and watch the tide."

"I have been silent," he told her, "because I have been thinking."

"That may be truthful," she remarked, "but you wouldn't call it
polite, would you?"

"The subject of my thoughts is my excuse. I have been thinking of
you."

For a single moment her eyes seemed to have caught something of that
sympathetic light with which he was regarding her. Then she looked
away.

"Was it my mashie shots you were worrying about?" she asked.

"It was not," he replied simply. "It was you - you yourself."

She laughed, not altogether naturally.

"How flattering!" she murmured. "By-the-by, you are rather a
downright person, aren't you, Mr. Hamel?"

"So much so," he admitted, "that I am going to tell you one or two
things now. I am going to be very frank indeed."

She sat suddenly quite still. Her face was turned from him, but
for the first time since he had known her there was a slight
undertone of colour in her cheeks.

"A week ago," he said, "I hadn't the faintest idea of coming into
Norfolk. I knew about this little shanty of my father's, but I
had forgotten all about it. I came as the result of a conversation
I had with a friend who is in the Foreign Office."

She looked at him with startled eyes.

"What do you mean?" she asked quickly. "You are Mr. Hamel, aren't
you?"

"Certainly," he replied. "Not only am I Richard Hamel, mining
engineer, but I really have all that reading to do I have spoken
about, and I really was looking for a quiet spot to do it in. It
is true that I had this part of the world in my mind, but I do not
think that I should ever have really decided to come here if it
had not been for my friend in London. He was very interested
indeed directly I mentioned St. David's Tower. Would you like to
know what he told me?"

"Yes! Go on, please."

"He told me a little of the history of your uncle, Mr. Fentolin,
and what he did not tell me at the time, he has since supplemented.
I suppose," he added, hesitatingly, "that you yourself -"

"Please go on. Please speak as though I knew nothing."

"Well, then," Hamel continued, "he told me that your uncle was at
one time in the Foreign Office himself. He seemed to have a most
brilliant career before him when suddenly there was a terrible
scandal. A political secret - I don't know what it was - had leaked
out. There were rumours that it had been acquired for a large sum
of money by a foreign Power. Mr. Fentolin retired to Norfolk,
pending an investigation. It was just as that time that he met with
his terrible accident, and the matter was dropped."

"Go on, please," she murmured.

"My friend went on to say that during the last few years Mr. Fentolin
has once again become an object of some suspicion to the head of our
Secret Service Department. For a long time they have known that he
was employing agents abroad, and that he was showing the liveliest
interest in underground politics. They believed that it was a mere
hobby, born of his useless condition, a taste ministered to, without
doubt, by the occupation of his earlier life. Once or twice lately
they have had reason to change their minds. You know, I dare say,
in what a terribly disturbed state European affairs are just now.
Well, my friend had an idea that Mr. Fentolin was showing an
extraordinary amount of interest in a certain conference which we
understand is to take place at The Hague. He begged me to come down,
and to watch your uncle while I was down here, and report to him
anything that seemed to me noteworthy. Since then I have had a
message from him concerning the American whom you entertained - Mr.
John P. Dunster. It appears that he was the bearer of very important
dispatches for the Continent."

"But he has gone," she said quickly. "Nothing happened to him,
after all. He went away without a word of complaint. We all saw
him."

"That is quite true," Hamel admitted. "Mr. Dunster has certainly
gone. It is rather a coincidence, however, that he should have
taken his departure just as the enquiries concerning his whereabouts
had reached such a stage that it had become quite impossible to keep
him concealed any longer."

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