The Vanished Messenger

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER XX

  In the middle of that night Hamel sat up in bed, awakened with a suddenstart by some sound, only the faintest echo of which remained in hisconsciousness. His nerves were tingling with a sense of excitement. Hesat up in bed and listened. Suddenly it came again--a long, low moan ofpain, stifled at the end as though repressed by some outside agency. Heleaped from his bed, hurried on a few clothes, and stepped out on to thelanding. The cry had seemed to him to come from the further end of thelong corridor--in the direction, indeed, of the room where Mr. Dunsterlay. He made his way there, walking on tiptoe, although his feet fellnoiselessly upon the thick carpet. A single light was burning from abracket in the wall, insufficient to illuminate the empty spaces, butenough to keep him from stumbling. The corridor towards the south endgradually widened, terminating in a splendid high window with stainedglass, a broad seat, and a table. On the right, the end room was Mr.Dunster's apartment, and on the left a flight of stairs led to the floorabove. Hamel stood quite still, listening. There was a light in theroom, as he could see from under the door, but there was no sound ofany one moving. Hamel listened intently, every sense strained. Thenthe sound of a stair creaking behind diverted his attention. He lookedquickly around. Gerald was descending. The boy's face was white, and hiseyes were filled with fear. Hamel stepped softly back from the door andmet him at the foot of the stairs.

  "Did you hear that cry?" he whispered.

  Gerald nodded.

  "It woke me up. What do you suppose it was?" Hamel shook his head.

  "Some one in pain," he replied. "I don't understand it. It came fromthis room."

  "You know who sleeps there?" Gerald asked hoarsely.

  Hamel nodded.

  "A man with concussion of the brain doesn't cry out like that. Besides,did you hear the end of it? It sounded as though some one were chokinghim. Hush!"

  They had spoken only in bated breath, but the door of the room beforewhich they were standing was suddenly opened. Meekins stood there,fully dressed, his dark, heavy face full of somber warning. He starteda little as he saw the two whispering together. Gerald addressed himalmost apologetically.

  "We both heard the same sound, Meekins. Is any one ill? It sounded likesome one in pain."

  The man hesitated. Then from behind his shoulder came Mr. Fentolin'sstill, soft voice. There was a little click, and Meekins, as thoughobeying an unseen gesture, stepped back. Mr. Fentolin glided on to thethreshold. He was still dressed. He propelled his chair a few yards downthe corridor and beckoned them to approach.

  "I am so sorry," he said softly, "that you should have been disturbed,Mr. Hamel. We have been a little anxious about our mysterious guest.Doctor Sarson fetched me an hour ago. He discovered that it wasnecessary to perform a very slight operation, merely the extraction ofa splinter of wood. It is all over now, and I think that he will do verywell."

  Notwithstanding this very plausible explanation, Hamel was consciousof the remains of an uneasiness which he scarcely knew how to put intowords.

  "It was a most distressing cry," he observed doubtfully, "a cry of fearas well as of pain."

  "Poor fellow!" Mr. Fentolin remarked compassionately. "I am afraid thatfor a moment or two he must have suffered acutely. Doctor Sarson isvery clever, however, and there is no doubt that what he did was forthe best. His opinion is that by to-morrow morning there will be amarvellous change. Good night, Mr. Hamel. I am quite sure that you willnot be disturbed again."

  Hamel neither felt nor showed any disposition to depart.

  "Mr. Fentolin," he said, "I hope that you will not think that I amofficious or in any way abusing your hospitality, but I cannot helpsuggesting that as Dr. Sarson is purely your household physician, therelatives of this man Dunster might be better satisfied if some secondopinion were called in. Might I suggest that you telephone to Norwichfor a surgeon?"

  Mr. Fentolin showed no signs of displeasure. He was silent for a moment,as though considering the matter.

  "I am not at all sure, Mr. Hamel, that you are not right," he admittedfrankly. "I believe that the case is quite a simple one, but on theother hand it would perhaps be more satisfactory to have an outsideopinion. If Mr. Dunster is not conscious in the morning, we willtelephone to the Norwich Infirmary."

  "I think it would be advisable," Hamel agreed.

  "Good night!" Mr. Fentolin said once more. "I am sorry that your resthas been disturbed."

  Hamel, however, still refused to take the hint. His eyes were fixed uponthat closed door.

  "Mr. Fentolin," he asked, "have you any objection to my seeing Mr.Dunster?"

  There was a moment's intense silence. A sudden light had burned in Mr.Fentolin's eyes. His fingers gripped the side of his chair. Yet whenhe spoke there were no signs of anger in his tone. It was a marvellouseffort of self-control.

  "There is no reason, Mr. Hamel," he said, "why your curiosity should notbe gratified. Knock softly at the door, Gerald."

  The boy obeyed. In a moment or two Doctor Sarson appeared on thethreshold.

  "Our guest, Mr. Hamel," Mr. Fentolin explained in a whisper, "has beenawakened by this poor fellow's cry. He would like to see him for amoment."

  Doctor Sarson opened the door. They all passed in on tiptoe. The doctorled the way towards the bed upon which Mr. Dunster was lying, quitestill. His head was bandaged, and his eyes closed. His face was ghastly.Gerald gave vent to a little muttered exclamation. Mr. Fentolin turnedto him quickly.

  "Gerald!"

  The boy stood still, trembling, speechless. Mr. Fentolin's eyes wereriveted upon him. The doctor was standing, still and dark, a motionlessimage.

  "Is he asleep?" Hamel asked.

  "He is under the influence of a mild anaesthetic," Doctor Sarsonexplained. "He is doing very well. His case is quite simple. Byto-morrow morning he will be able to sit up and walk about if he wishesto."

  Hamel looked steadily at the figure upon the bed. Mr. Dunster'sbreathing was regular, and his eyes were closed, but his colour wasghastly.

  "He doesn't look like getting up for a good many days to come," Hamelobserved.

  The doctor led the way towards the door.

  "The man has a fine constitution," he said. "I feel sure that if youwish you will be able to talk to him to-morrow."

  They separated outside in the passage. Mr. Fentolin bade his guest asomewhat restrained good night, and Gerald mounted the staircase tohis room. Hamel, however, had scarcely reached his door before Geraldreappeared. He had descended the stair-case at the other end of thecorridor. He stood for a moment looking down the passage. The doors wereall closed. Even the light had been extinguished.

  "May I come in for a moment, please?" he whispered.

  Hamel nodded.

  "With pleasure! Come in and have a cigarette if you will. I shan't feellike sleep for some time."

  They entered the room, and Gerald threw himself into an easy-chairnear the window. Hamel wheeled up another chair and produced a box ofcigarettes.

  "Queer thing your dropping across that fellow in the way you did," heremarked. "Just shows how one may disappear from the world altogether,and no one be a bit the wiser."

  The boy was sitting with folded arms. His expression was one of deepgloom.

  "I only wish I'd never brought him here," he muttered. "I ought to haveknown better."

  Hamel raised his eyebrows. "Isn't he as well off here as anywhere else?"

  "Do you think that he is?" Gerald demanded, looking across at Hamel.

  There was a brief silence.

  "We can scarcely do your uncle the injustice," Hamel remarked, "ofimagining that he can possibly have any reason or any desire to dealwith that man except as a guest."

  "Do you really believe that?" Gerald asked.

  Hamel rose to his feet.

  "Look here, young man," he said, "this is getting serious. You and I areat cross-purposes. If you like, you shall have the truth from me."

  "Go on."

  "I was warned about your uncle be
fore I came down into this part ofthe world," Hamel continued quietly. "I was told that he is a dangerousconspirator, a man who sticks at nothing to gain his ends, a personaltogether out of place in these days. It sounds melodramatic, but Ihad it straight from a friend. Since I have been here, I have had atelegram--you brought it to me yourself--asking for information aboutthis man Dunster. It was I who wired to London that he was here. It wasthrough me that Scotland Yard communicated with the police station atWells, through me that a man is to be sent down from London. I didn'tcome here as a spy--don't think that; I was coming here, anyhow. On theother hand, I believe that your uncle is playing a dangerous game. I amgoing to have Mr. John P. Dunster put in charge of a Norwich physicianto-morrow."

  "Thank God!" the boy murmured.

  "Look here," Hamel continued, "what are you doing in this business,anyway? You are old enough to know your own mind and to go your ownway."

  "You say that because you don't know," Gerald declared bitterly.

  "In a sense I don't," Hamel admitted, "and yet your sister hinted to meonly this afternoon that you and she--"

  "Oh, I know what she told you!" the boy interrupted. "We've worn thechains for the last eight years. They are breaking her. They've brokenmy mother. Sometimes I think they are breaking me. But, you know, therecomes a time--there comes a time when one can't go on. I've seen somestrange things here, some that I've half understood, some that I haven'tunderstood at all. I've closed my eyes. I've kept my promise. I'vedone his bidding, where ever it has led me. But you know there is atime--there is a limit to all things. I can't go on. I spied on thisman Dunster. I brought him here. It is I who am responsible for anythingthat may happen to him. It's the last time!"

  Gerald's face was white with pain. Hamel laid his hand upon hisshoulder.

  "My boy," he said, "there are worse things in the world than breakinga promise. When you gave it, the conditions which were existing at thetime made it, perhaps, a right and reasonable undertaking, but sometimesthe whole of the conditions under which a promise was given, change.Then one must have courage enough to be false even to one's word."

  "Have you talked to my sister like that?" Gerald asked eagerly.

  "I have and I will again," Hamel declared. "To-morrow morning I leavethis house, but before I go I mean to have the affair of this manDunster cleared up. Your uncle will be very angry with me, without adoubt. I don't care. But I do want you to trust me, if you will, andyour sister. I should like to be your friend."

  "God knows we need one!" the boy said simply. "Good night!"

  Once more the house was quiet. Hamel pushed his window wide open andlooked out into the night. The air was absolutely still, there was nowind. The only sound was the falling of the low waves upon the stonybeach and the faint scrunching of the pebbles drawn back by the ebb.He looked along the row of windows, all dark and silent now. A rush ofpleasant fancies suddenly chased away the grim depression of the lastfew minutes. Out of all this sordidness and mystery there remained atleast something in life for him to do. A certain aimlessness of purposewhich had troubled him during the last few months had disappeared. Hehad found an object in life.