The Vanished Messenger

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER XXIII

  Hamel sliced his ball at the ninth, and after waiting for a few minutespatiently, Esther came to help him look for it. He was standing downon the sands, a little apart from the two caddies who were beating outvarious 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 thecaddies are now busy. Let us sit down here. These sand hummocks aredelightful. It is perfectly sheltered, and the sun is in our faces. Golfis an overrated pastime. Let us sit and watch that little streak of bluefind 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 aresigned sigh.

  "You really are a queer person," she declared. "You have been playinggolf this morning as though your very life depended upon it. You havescarcely missed a shot or spoken a word. And now, all of a sudden, youwant 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 thatsympathetic 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 downrightperson, aren't you, Mr. Hamel?"

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

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

  "A week ago," he said, "I hadn't the faintest idea of coming intoNorfolk. I knew about this little shanty of my father's, but I hadforgotten all about it. I came as the result of a conversation I hadwith 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 Ireally was looking for a quiet spot to do it in. It is true that I hadthis part of the world in my mind, but I do not think that I should everhave really decided to come here if it had not been for my friend inLondon. He was very interested indeed directly I mentioned St. David'sTower. 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, andwhat he did not tell me at the time, he has since supplemented. Isuppose," 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 onetime in the Foreign Office himself. He seemed to have a most brilliantcareer before him when suddenly there was a terrible scandal. Apolitical secret--I don't know what it was--had leaked out. There wererumours that it had been acquired for a large sum of money by a foreignPower. Mr. Fentolin retired to Norfolk, pending an investigation. It wasjust as that time that he met with his terrible accident, and the matterwas dropped."

  "Go on, please," she murmured.

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

  "But he has gone," she said quickly. "Nothing happened to him, afterall. 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 hisdeparture just as the enquiries concerning his whereabouts had reachedsuch a stage that it had become quite impossible to keep him concealedany longer."

  She turned a little in her place and looked at him steadfastly.

  "Mr. Hamel," she said, "tell me--what of your mission? You have had anopportunity of studying my uncle. You have even lived under his roof.Tell me what you think."

  His face was troubled.

  "Miss Fentolin," he said, "I will tell you frankly that up to now I havenot succeeded in solving the problem of your uncle's character. To mepersonally he has been most courteous. He lives apparently astudious and an unselfish life. I have heard him even spoken of as aphilanthropist. And yet you three--you, your mother, and your brother,who are nearest to him, who live in his house and under his protection,have the air of passing your days in mortal fear of him."

  "Mr. Hamel," she exclaimed nervously, "you don't believe that! He isalways very kind."

  "Apparently," Hamel observed drily. "And yet you must remember that you,too, are afraid of him. I need not remind you of our conversations, butthere the truth is. You praise his virtues and his charities, you pityhim, and yet you go about with a load of fear, and--forgive me--ofsecret terror in your heart, you and Gerald, too. As for your mother--"

  "Don't!" she interrupted suddenly. "Why do you bring me here to talklike this? You cannot alter things. Nothing can be altered."

  "Can't it!" he replied. "Well, I will tell you the real reason of myhaving brought you here and of my having made this confession. I broughtyou here because I could not bear to go on living, if not under yourroof, at any rate in the neighbourhood, without telling you the truth.Now you know it. I am here to watch Mr. Fentolin. I am going on watchinghim. You can put him on his guard, if you like; I shan't complain. Oryou can--"

  He paused so long that she looked at him. He moved a little closer toher, his fingers suddenly gripped her hand.

  "Or you can marry me and come away from it all," he concluded quietly."Forgive me, please--I mean it."

  For a moment the startled light in her eyes was followed by a delicioussoftness. Her lips were parted, she leaned a little towards him. Thensuddenly she seemed to remember. She rose with swift alertness to herfeet.

  "I think," she said, "that we had better play golf."

  "But I have asked you to marry me," he protested, as he scrambled up.

  "Your caddy has found your ball a long time ago," she pointed out,walking swiftly on ahead.

  He played his shot and caught her up.

  "Miss Fentolin--Esther," he pleaded eagerly, "do you think that I am notin earnest? Because I am. I mean it. Even if I have only known you for afew days, it has been enough. I think that I knew it was coming from themoment that you stepped into my railway carriage."

  "You knew that what was coming?" she asked, raising her eyes suddenly.

  "That I should care for you."

  "It's the first time you've told me," she reminded him, with a queerlittle smile. "Oh, forgive me, please! I didn't mean to s
ay that.I don't want to have you tell me so. It's all too ridiculous andimpossible."

  "Is it? And why?"

  "I have only known you for three days."

  "We can make up for that."

  "But I don't--care about you. I have never thought of any one in thatway. It is absurd," she went on.

  "You'll have to, sometime or other," he declared. "I'll take youtravelling with me, show you the world, new worlds, unnamed rivers,untrodden mountains. Or do you want to go and see where the little brownpeople live among the mimosa and the cherry blossoms? I'll take you sofar away that this place and this life will seem like a dream."

  Her breath caught a little.

  "Don't, please," she begged. "You know very well--or rather you don'tknow, perhaps, but I must tell you--that I couldn't. I am here, tied andbound, and I can't escape."

  "Ah! dear, don't believe it," he went on earnestly. "There isn't anybond so strong that I won't break it for you, no knot I won't untie, ifyou give me the right."

  They were climbing slowly on to the tee. He stepped forward and pulledher up. Her hand was cold. Her eyes were raised to his, very softly yetalmost pleadingly.

  "Please don't say anything more," she begged. "I can't--quite bear itjust now. You know, you must remember--there is my mother. Do you thinkthat I could leave her to struggle alone?"

  His caddy, who had teed the ball, and who had regarded the proceedingswith a moderately tolerant air, felt called upon at last to interfere.

  "We'd best get on," he remarked, pointing to two figures in thedistance, "or they'll say we've cut in."

  Hamel smote his ball far and true. On a more moderate scale she followedhis example. They descended the steps together.

  "Love-making isn't going to spoil our golf," he whispered, smiling, ashe touched her fingers once more.

  She looked at him almost shyly.

  "Is this love-making?" she asked.

  They walked together from the eighteenth green towards the club-house.A curious silence seemed suddenly to have enveloped them. Hamel wasconscious of a strange exhilaration, a queer upheaval of ideas, anexcitement which nothing in his previous life had yet been able to yieldhim. The wonder of it amazed him, kept him silent. It was not until theyreached the steps, indeed, that he spoke.

  "On our way home--" he began.

  She seemed suddenly to have stiffened. He looked at her, surprised. Shewas standing quite still, her hand gripping the post, her eyes fixedupon the waiting motor-car. The delicate softness had gone fromher face. Once more that look of partly veiled suffering was there,suffering mingled with fear.

  "Look!" she whispered, under her breath. "Look! It is Mr. Fentolin! Hehas come for us himself; he is there in the car."

  Mr. Fentolin, a strange little figure lying back among the cushions ofthe great Daimler, raised his hat and waved it to them.

  "Come along, children," he cried. "You see, I am here to fetch youmyself. The sunshine has tempted me. What a heavenly morning! Come andsit by my side, Esther, and fight your battle all over again. That isone of the joys of golf, isn't it?" he asked, turning to Hamel. "Youneed not be afraid of boring me. To-day is one of my bright days. Isuppose that it is the sunshine and the warm wind. On the way here wepassed some fields. I could swear that I smelt violets. Where are yougoing, Esther?"

  "To take my clubs to my locker and pay my caddy," she replied.

  "Mr. Hamel will do that for you," Mr. Fentolin declared. "Come andtake your seat by my side, and let us wait for him. I am tired of beingalone."

  She gave up her clubs reluctantly. All the life seemed to have gone fromher face.

  "Why didn't mother come with you?" she asked simply.

  "To tell you the truth, dear Esther," he answered, "when I started, Ihad a fancy to be alone. I think--in fact I am sure--that your motherwanted to come. The sunshine, too, was tempting her. Perhaps it wasselfish of me not to bring her, but then, there is a great deal to beforgiven me, isn't there, Esther?"

  "A great deal," she echoed, looking steadily ahead of her.

  "I came," he went on, "because it occurred to me that, after all, Ihad my duties as your guardian, dear Esther. I am not sure that we canpermit flirtations, you know. Let me see, how old are you?"

  "Twenty-one," she replied.

  "In a magazine I was reading the other day," he continued, "I wasinterested to observe that the modern idea as regards marriage isa changed one. A woman, they say, should not marry until she istwenty-seven or twenty-eight--a very excellent idea. I think we agree,do we not, on that, Esther?"

  "I don't know," she replied. "I have never thought about the matter."

  "Then," he went on, "we will make up our minds to agree. Twenty-seven ortwenty-eight, let us say. A very excellent age! A girl should knowher own mind by then. And meanwhile, dear Esther, would it be wise,I wonder, to see a little less of our friend Mr. Hamel? He leaves usto-day, I think. He is very obstinate about that. If he were stayingstill in the house, well, it might be different. But if he persists inleaving us, you will not forget, dear, that association with a guestis one thing; association with a young man living out of the house isanother. A great deal less of Mr. Hamel I think that we must see."

  She made no reply whatever. Hamel was coming now towards them.

  "Really a very personable young man," Mr. Fentolin remarked, studyinghim through his eyeglass. "Is it my fancy, I wonder, as an observantperson, or is he just a little--just a little taken with you, Esther? Apity if it is so--a great pity."

  She said nothing, but her hand which rested upon the rug was trembling alittle.

  "If you have an opportunity," Mr. Fentolin suggested, dropping hisvoice, "you might very delicately, you know--girls are so clever at thatsort of thing--convey my views to Mr. Hamel as regards his leaving us andits effect upon your companionship. You understand me, I am sure?"

  For the first time she turned her head towards him.

  "I understand," she said, "that you have some particular reason for notwishing Mr. Hamel to leave St. David's Hall."

  He smiled benignly.

  "You do my hospitable impulses full justice, dear Esther," he declared."Sometimes I think that you understand me almost as well as your dearmother. If, by any chance, Mr. Hamel should change his mind as to takingup his residence at the Tower, I think you would not find me in anysense of the word an obdurate or exacting guardian. Come along, Mr.Hamel. That seat opposite to us is quite comfortable. You see, I resignmyself to the inevitable. I have come to fetch golfers home to luncheon,and I compose myself to listen. Which of you will begin the epic ofmissed putts and brassey shots which failed by a foot to carry?"