Book: The Vanished Messenger

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




"And we will walk back together?"

"We will walk back together," she promised him.

"I will take you home another way. I will take you over what they
call the Common, and come down behind the Hall into the gardens.

She dismissed him with a little smile. He strolled along the
village street and plunged into the mysterious recesses of the
one tiny shop.



CHAPTER XXV

Hamel met Kinsley shortly before one o'clock the following afternoon,
in the lounge of the Royal Hotel at Norwich.

"You got my wire, then?" the latter asked, as he held out his hand.
"I had it sent by special messenger from Wells."

"It arrived directly after breakfast," Hamel replied. "It wasn't
the easiest matter to get here, even then, for there are only about
two trains a day, and I didn't want to borrow a car from Mr.
Fentolin."

"Quite right," Kinsley agreed. "I wanted you to come absolutely on
your own. Let's get into the coffee-room and have some lunch now.
I want to catch the afternoon train hack to town."

"Do you mean to say that you've come all the way down here to talk
to me for half an hour or so?" Hamel demanded, as they took their
places at a table.

"All the way from town," Kinsley assented, "and up to the eyes in
work we are, too. Dick, what do you think of Miles Fentolin?"

"Hanged if I know!" Hamel answered, with a sigh.

"Nothing definite to tell us, then?" Nothing!"

"What about Mr. John P. Dunster?"

"He left yesterday morning," Hamel said. "I saw him go. He looked
very shaky. I understood that Mr. Fentolin sent him to Yarmouth."

"Did Mr. Fentolin know that there was an enquiry on foot about this
man's disappearance?" Kinsley asked.

"Certainly. I heard Lord Saxthorpe tell him that the police had
received orders to scour the country for him, and that they were
coming to St. David's Hall."

Kinsley, for a moment, was singularly and eloquently profane.

"That's why Mr. Fentolin let him go, then. If Saxthorpe had only
held his tongue, or if those infernal police hadn't got chattering
with the magistrates, we might have made a coup. As it is, the
game's up. Mr. Dunster left for Yarmouth, you say, yesterday
morning?"

"I saw him go myself. He looked very shaky and ill, but he was
able to smoke a big cigar and walk down-stairs leaning on the
doctor's arm."

"I don't doubt," Kinsley remarked, "but that you saw what you say
you saw. At the same time, you may be surprised to hear that Mr.
Dunster has disappeared again."

"Disappeared again?" Hamel muttered.

"It looks very much," Kinsley continued, "as though your friend
Miles Fentolin has been playing with him like a cat with a mouse.
He has been obliged to turn him out of one hiding-place, and he has
simply transferred him to another."

Hamel looked doubtful.

"Mr. Dunster left quite alone in the car," he said. "He was on his
guard too, for Mr. Fentolin and he had had words. 1 really can't
see how it was possible for him to have got into any more trouble."

"Where is he, then?" Kinsley demanded. "Come, I will let you a
little further into our confidence. We have reason to believe that
he carries with him a written message which is practically the only
chance we have of avoiding disaster during the next few days. That
written message is addressed to the delegates at The Hague, who are
now sitting. Nothing had been heard of Dunster or the document he
carries. No word has come from him of any sort since he left St.
David's Hall."

"Have you tried to trace him from there?" Hamel asked.

"Trace him?" Kinsley repeated. "By heavens, you don't seem to
understand, Dick, the immense, the extraordinary importance of this
man to us! The cleverest detective in England spent yesterday
under your nose at St. David's Hall. There are a dozen others
working upon the job as hard as they can. All the reports confirm
what you say - that Dunster left St. David's Hall at half-past nine
yesterday morning, and he certainly arrived in Yarmouth at a little
before twelve. From there he seems, however, to have completely
disappeared. The car went back to St. David's Hall empty; the man
only stayed long enough in Yarmouth, in fact, to have his dinner.
We cannot find a single smack owner who was approached in any way
for the hire of a boat. Yarmouth has been ransacked in vain. He
certainly has not arrived at The Hague or we should have heard news
at once. As a last resource, I ran down here to see you on the
chance of your having picked up any information."

Hamel shook his head.

"You seem to know a good deal more than I do, already," he said.

"What do you think of Mr. Fentolin? You have stayed in his house.
You have had an opportunity of studying him."

"So far as my impressions go," Hamel replied, "everything which you
have suggested might very well be true. I think that either out of
sheer love of mischief, or from some subtler motive, he is capable
of anything. Every one in the place, except one poor woman, seems
to look upon him as a sort of supernatural being. He gives money
away to worthless people with both hands. Yet I share your opinion
of him. I believe that he is a creature without conscience or morals.
I have sat at his table and shivered when he has smiled."

"Are you staying at St. David's Hall now?"

"I left yesterday."

"Where are you now, then?"

"I am at St. David's Tower - the little place I told you of that
belonged to my father - but I don't know whether I shall be able to
stop there. Mr. Fentolin, for some reason or other, very much
resented my leaving the Hall and was very annoyed at my insisting
upon claiming the Tower. When I went down to the village to get
some one to come up and look after me, there wasn't a woman there
who would come. It didn't matter what I offered, they were all the
same. They all muttered some excuse or other, and seemed only
anxious to show me out. At the village shop they seemed to hate
to serve me with anything. It was all I could do to get a packet
of tobacco yesterday afternoon. You would really think that I was
the most unpopular person who ever lived, and it can only be because
of Mr. Fentolin's influence."

"Mr. Fentolin evidently doesn't like to have you in the locality,"
Kinsley remarked thoughtfully.

"He was all right so long as I was at St. David's Hall," Hamel
observed.

"What's this little place like - St. David's Tower, you call it?"
Kinsley asked.

"Just a little stone building actually on the beach," Hamel
explained. "There is a large shed which Mr. Fentolin keeps locked
up, and the habitable portion consists just of a bedroom and
sitting-room. From what I can see, Mr. Fentolin has been making
a sort of hobby of the place. There is telephonic communication
with the house, and he seems to have used the sitting-room as a
sort of studio. He paints sea pictures and really paints them
ery well."

A man came into the coffee-room, made some enquiry of the waiter
and went out again. Hamel stared at him in a puzzled manner. For
the moment he could only remember that the face was familiar. Then
he suddenly gave vent to a little exclamation.

"Any one would think that I had been followed," he remarked. "The
man who has just looked into the room is one of Mr. Fentolin's
parasites or bodyguards, or whatever you call them."

"You probably have," Kinsley agreed. "What post does he hold in
the household?"

"I have no idea," Hamel replied. "I saw him the first day I arrived
and not since. Sort of secretary, I should think."

"He is a queer-looking fellow, anyway," Kinsley muttered. "Look
out, Dick. Here he comes back again."

Mr. Ryan approached the table a little diffidently.

"I hope you will forgive the liberty, sir," he said to Hamel. "You
remember me, I trust - Mr. Ryan. I am the librarian at St. David's
Hall."

Hamel nodded.

"I thought I'd seen you there."

"I was wondering," the man continued, "whether you had a car of Mr.
Fentolin's in Norwich to-day, and if so, whether I might beg a seat
back in case you were returning before the five o'clock train? I
came in early this morning to go through some manuscripts at a
second-hand bookseller's here, and I have unfortunately missed the
train back."

Hamel shook his head.

"I came in by train myself, or I would have given you a lift back,
with pleasure," he said.

Mr. Ryan expressed his thanks briefly and left the room. Kinsley
watched him from over the top of a newspaper.

"So that is one of Mr. Fentolin's creatures, too," he remarked.
"Keeping his eye on you in Norwich, eh? Tell me, Dick, by-the-by,
how do you get on with the rest of Mr. Fentolin's household, and
exactly of whom does it consist?"

"There is his sister-in-law," Hamel replied, "Mrs. Seymour Fentolin.
She is a strange, tired-looking woman who seems to stand in mortal
fear of Mr. Fentolin. She is always overdressed and never natural,
but it seems to me that nearly everything she does is done to suit
his whims, or at his instigation."

Kinsley nodded thoughtfully.

"I remember Seymour Fentolin he said; "a really fine fellow he was.
Well, who else?"

"Just the nephew and niece. The boy is half sullen, half
discontented, yet he, too, seems to obey his uncle blindly. The
three of them seem to be his slaves. It's a thing you can't live
in the house without noticing."

"It seems to be a cheerful sort of household," Kinsley observed.
"You read the papers, I suppose, Dick?" he asked, after a moment's
pause.

"On and off, the last few days. I seem to have been busy doing all
sorts of things."

"Well, I'll tell you something," Kinsley continued. "The whole of
our available fleet is engaged in carrying out what they call a
demonstration in the North Sea. They have patrol boats out in every
direction, and only the short distance wireless signals are being
used. Everything, of course, is in code, yet we know this for a
fact: a good deal of private information passing between the Admiral
and his commanders was known in Germany three hours after the signals
themselves had been given. It is suspected - more than suspected,
in fact - that these messages were picked up by Mr. Fentolin's
wireless installation."

"I don't suppose he could help receiving them," Hamel remarked.

"He could help decoding them and sending them through to Germany,
though," Kinsley retorted grimly. "The worst of it is, he has a
private telephone wire in his house to London. If he isn't up
to mischief, what does he need all these things for - private
telegraph line, private telephone, private wireless? We have given
the postmaster a hint to have the telegraph office moved down into
the village, but I don't know that that will help us much."

"So far as regards the wireless," Hamel said, "I rather believe
that it is temporarily dismantled. We had a sailor-man over, the
morning before yesterday, to complain of his messages having been
picked up. Mr. Fentolin promised at once to put his installation
out of work for a time."

"He has done plenty of mischief with it already," Kinsley groaned.
"However, it was Dunster I came down to make enquiries about. I
couldn't help hoping that you might have been able to put us on the
right track."

Hamel sighed.

"I know nothing beyond what I have told you."

"How did he look when he went away?"

"Very ill indeed," Hamel declared. "I afterwards saw the nurse who
had been attending him, and she admitted that he was not fit to
travel. I should say the probabilities are that he is laid up again
somewhere."

"Did you actually speak to him?"

"Just a word or two."

"And you saw him go off in the car?"

"Gerald Fentolin and I both saw him and wished him good-by."

Kinsley glanced at the clock and rose to his feet. "Walk down to
the station with me," he suggested. "I needn't tell you, I am sure,"
he went on, as they left the hotel a few minutes later, "that if
anything does turn up, or if you get the glimmering of an idea,
you'll let me know? We've a small army looking for the fellow, but
it does seem as though he had disappeared off the face of the earth.
If he doesn't turn up before the end of the Conference, we are done."

"Tell me," Hamel asked, after they had walked for some distance in
silence, "exactly why is our fleet demonstrating to such an extent?"

"That Conference I have spoken of," Kinsley replied, "which is being
held at The Hague, is being held, we know, purposely to discuss
certain matters in which we are interested. It is meeting for their
discussion without any invitation having been sent to this country.
There is only one reply possible to such a course. It is there in
the North Sea. But unfortunately -"

Kinsley paused. His tone and his expression had alike become
gloomier.

"Go on," Hamel begged.

"Our reply, after all, is a miserable affair," Kinsley concluded.
"You remember the outcry over the withdrawal of our Mediterranean
Fleet? Now you see its sequel. We haven't a ship worth a snap of
the fingers from Gibraltar to Suez. If France deserts us, it's
good-by to Malta, good-by to Egypt, good-by to India. It's the
disruption of the British Empire. And all this," he wound up, as
he paused before taking his seat in the railway carriage, "all this
might even now be avoided if only we could lay our hands upon the
message which that man Dunster was bringing from New York!"




CHAPTER XXVI

Once more Hamel descended from the little train, and, turning away
from St. David's Hall, made his way across the marshes, seawards.
The sunshine of the last few days had departed. The twilight was
made gloomy by a floating veil of white mist, which hung about in
wet patches. Hamel turned up his coat collar as he walked and
shivered a little. The thought of his solitary night and
uncomfortable surroundings, after all the luxury of St. David's
Hall, was scarcely inspiring. Yet, on the whole, he was splendidly
cheerful. The glamour of a host of new sensations was upon him.
There was a new love of living in his heart. He forgot the cold
east wind which blew in his face, bringing with it little puffs
of damp grey mist. He forgot the cheerlessness which he was about
to face, the lonely night before him. For the first time in his
life a woman reigned in his thoughts.

It was not until he actually reached the very side of the Tower
that he came back to earth. As he opened the door, he found a
surprise in store for him. A fire was burning in the sitting-room,
smoke was ascending from the kitchen chimney. The little round
table was laid with a white cloth. There was a faint odour of
cooking from the back premises. His lamp was lit, there were logs
hissing and crackling upon the fire. As he stood there looking
wonderingly about him, the door from the back was opened. Hannah
Cox came quietly into the room.

"What time would you like your dinner, sir ?" she enquired.

Hamel stared at her.

"Why, are you going to keep house for me, Mrs. Cox?" he asked.

"If you please, sir. I heard that you had been in the village,
looking for some one. I am sorry that I was away. There is no one
else who would come to you."

"So I discovered," he remarked, a little grimly.

"No one else," she went on, "would come to you because of Mr.
Fentolin. He does not wish to have you here. They love him so
much in the village that he had only to breathe the word. It was
enough."

"Yet you are here," he reminded her.

"I do not count," she answered. "I am outside all these things."

Hamel gave a little sigh of satisfaction.

"Well, I am glad you could come, anyhow. If you have something for
dinner, I should like it in about half an hour."

He climbed the narrow stairs which led to his bedroom. To his
surprise, there were many things there for his comfort which he had
forgotten to order - clean bed-linen, towels, even a curtain upon
the window.

"Where did you get all the linen up-stairs from, Mrs. Cox?" he
asked her, when he descended. "The room was almost empty yesterday,
and I forgot nearly all the things I meant to bring home from
Norwich."

"Mrs. Seymore Fentolin sent down a hamper for you," the woman
replied, "with a message from Mr. Fentolin. He said that nothing
among the oddments left by your father had been preserved, but
that you were welcome to anything you desired, if you would let
them know at the Hall."

"It is very kind of both of them," Hamel said thoughtfully.

The woman stood still for a moment, looking at him. Then she drew
a step nearer.

"Has Mr. Fentolin given you the key of the shed?" she asked, very
quietly.

Hamel shook his head.

"We don't need the place, do we?"

"He did not give you the key?" she persisted.

"Mr. Fentolin said that he had some things in there which he wished
to keep locked up," he explained.

She remained thoughtful for several moments. Then she turned away.

"No," she said, "it was not likely he would not give you that key!"

Hamel dined simply but comfortably. Mrs. Cox cleared away the
things, brought him his coffee, and appeared a few minutes later,
her shawl wrapped around her, ready for departure.

"I shall be here at seven o'clock in the morning, sir," she
announced.

Hamel was a little startled. He withdrew the pip from his mouth
and looked at her.

"Why, of course," he remarked. "I'd forgotten. There is no place
for you to stay here."

"I shall go back to my brother's." she said.

Hamel put some money upon the table.

"Please get anything that is necessary," he directed. "I shall
leave you to do the housekeeping for a few days."

"Shall you be staying here long, sir?" she asked.

"I am not sure," he replied.

"I do not suppose," she said, "that you will stay for very long.
I shall get only the things that you require from day to day. Good
night, sir.

She left the room. Hamel looked after her for a moment with a frown.
In some indescribable way, the woman half impressed, half irritated
him. She had always the air of keeping something in the background.
He followed her out on to the little ridge of beach, a few minutes
after she had left. The mist was still drifting about. Only a few
yards away the sea rolled in, filling the air with dull thunder.
The marshland was half obscured. St. David's Hall was invisible,
but like strangely-hung lanterns in an empty space he saw the line
of lights from the great house gleam through the obscurity. There
was no sound save the sound of the sea. He shivered slightly. It
was like an empty land, this.

Then, moved by some instinct of curiosity, he made his way round to
the closed door of the boat-house, only to find it, as he had
expected, locked. He shook Lt slightly, without result. Then he
strolled round to the back, entered his own little abode by the
kitchen, and tried the other door which led into the boat-house.
It was not only locked, but a staple had been put in, and it was
fastened with a padlock of curious design which he did not remember
to have seen there before. Again, half unconsciously, he listened,
and again he found the silence oppressive. He went back to his
room, brought out some of the books which it had been his intention
to study, and sat and read over the fire.

At ten o'clock he went to bed. As he threw open his window before
undressing, it seemed to him that he could catch the sound of voices
from the sea. He listened intently. A grey pall hung everywhere.
To the left, with strange indistinctness, almost like something
human struggling to assert itself, came the fitful flash from the
light at the entrance to the tidal way. Once more he strained his
ears. This time there was no doubt about it. He heard the sound
of fishermen's voices. He heard one of them say distinctly:

"Hard aport, Dave lad! That's Fentolin's light. Keep her out a bit.
Steady, lad!"

Through a rift in the mist, he caught a glimpse of the brown sail
of a fishing-boat, dangerously near the land. He watched it alter
its course slightly and pass on. Then again there was silence. He
undressed slowly and went to bed.

Later on he woke with a start and sat up in bed, listening intently,
listening for he knew not what. Except for the backward scream of
the pebbles, dragged down every few seconds by the receding waves,
an unbroken silence seemed to prevail. He struck a match and looked
at his watch. It was exactly three o'clock. He got out of bed. He
was a man in perfect health, ignorant of the meaning of nerves, a
man of proved courage. Yet he was conscious that his pulses were
beating with absurd rapidity. A new feeling seemed to possess him.
He could almost have declared that he was afraid. What sound had
awakened him? He had no idea, yet he seemed to have a distinct and
absolute conviction that it had been a real sound and no dream.
He drew aside the curtains and looked out of the window. The mist
now seemed to have become almost a fog, to have closed in upon sea
and land. There was nothing whatever to be seen. As he stood there
for a moment, listening, his face became moist with the drifting
vapour. Suddenly upon the beach he saw what at first he imagined
must be an optical illusion - a long shaft of light, invisible in
itself except that it seemed to slightly change the density of the
mist. He threw on an overcoat over his pyjamas, thrust on his
slippers, and taking up his own electric torch, hastily descended
the stairs. He opened the front door and stepped out on to the
beach. He stood in the very place where the light had seemed to
be, and looked inland. There was no sign of any human person, not
a sound except the falling of the sea upon the pebbly beach. He
raised his voice and called out. Somehow or other, speech seemed
to be a relief.

"Hullo!"

There was no response. He tried again.

"Is any one there?"

Still no answer. He watched the veiled light from the harbour
appear and disappear. It threw no shadow of illumination upon the
spot to which he had gazed from his window. One window at St.
David's Hall was illuminated. The rest of the place was wrapped
now in darkness. He walked up to the boat-house. The door was
still locked. There was no sign that any one had been there.
Reluctantly at last he re-entered the Tower and made his way
up-stairs.

"Confound that fellow Kinsley!" he muttered, as he threw off his
overcoat. "All his silly suggestions and melodramatic ideas have
given me a fit of nerves. I am going to bed, and I am going to
sleep. That couldn't have been a light I saw at all. I couldn't
have heard anything. I am going to sleep."




CHAPTER XXVII

Hamel awoke to find his room filled with sunshine and a soft wind
blowing in through the open window. There was a pleasant odour of
coffee floating up from the kitchen. He looked at his watch - it
was past eight o'clock. The sea was glittering and bespangled with
sunlight. He found among his scanty belongings a bathing suit, and,
wrapped in his overcoat, hurried down-stairs.

"Breakfast in half an hour, Mrs. Cox," he called out.

She stood at the door, watching him as he stepped across the pebbles
and plunged in. For a few moments he swam. Then he turned over on
his back. The sunlight was gleaming from every window of St. David's
Hall. He even fancied that upon the terrace he could see a
white-clad figure looking towards him. He turned over and swam once
more. From her place in the doorway Mrs. Cox called out to him.

"Mind the Dagger Rocks, sir!"

He waved his hand. The splendid exhilaration of the salt water
seemed to give him unlimited courage. He dived, but the woman's
cry of fear soon recalled him. Presently he swam to shore and
hurried up the beach. Mrs. Cox, with a sigh of relief, disappeared
into the kitchen.

"Those rocks on your nerves again, Mrs. Cox?" he asked,
good-humouredly, as he took his place at the breakfast table a
quarter of an hour later.

"It's only us who live here, sir," she answered, "who know how
terrible they are. There s one - it comes up like my hand - a long
spike. A boat once struck upon that, and it's as though it'd been
sawn through the middle."

"I must have a look at them some day," he declared. "I am going to
work this morning, Mrs. Cox. Lunch at one o'clock."

He took rugs and established himself with a pile of books at the
back of a grassy knoll, sheltered from the wind, with the sea almost
at his feet. He sharpened his pencil and numbered the page of his
notebook. Then he looked up towards the Hall garden and found
himself dreaming. The sunshine was delicious, and a gentle optimism
seemed to steal over him.

"I am a fool!" he murmured to himself. "I am catching some part of
these people's folly. Mr. Fentolin is only an ordinary, crotchety
invalid with queer tastes. On the big things he is probably like
other men. I shall go to him this morning.

A sea-gull screamed over his head. Little, brown sailed
fishing-boats came gliding down the harbourway. A pleasant,
sensuous joyfulness seemed part of the spirit of the day. Hamel
stretched himself out upon the dry sand.

"Work be hanged!" he exclaimed.

A soft voice answered him almost in his ear, a voice which was
becoming very familiar.

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