“Mrs. Fentolin,” he said, “I am glad to have you speak so plainly. Let me answer you in the same spirit. I am leaving this house mainly because I have conceived certain suspicions with regard to Mr. Fentolin. I do not like him, I do not trust him, I do not believe in him. Therefore, I mean to remove myself from the burden of his hospitality. There are reasons,” he went on, “why I do not wish to leave the neighbourhood altogether. There are certain investigations which I wish to make. That is why I have decided to go to the Tower.” “Miles was right, then!” she cried suddenly. “You are here to spy upon him!” He turned towards her swiftly. “To spy upon him, Mrs. Fentolin? For what reason? Why? Is he a criminal, then?” She opened her lips and closed them again. There was a slight frown upon her forehead. It was obvious that the word had unintentionally escaped her. “I only know what it is that he called you, what he suspects you of being,” she explained. “Mr. Fentolin is very clever, and he is generally at work upon something. We do not enquire into the purpose of his labours. The only thing I know is that he suspects you of wanting to steal one of his secrets.” “Secrets? But what secrets has he?” Hamel demanded. “Is he an inventor?” “You ask me idle questions,” she sighed. “We have gone, perhaps, a little further than I intended. I came to plead with you for all our sakes, if I could, to make things more comfortable by remaining here instead of insisting upon your claim to the Tower.” “Mrs. Fentolin,” Hamel said firmly. “I like to do what I can to please and benefit my friends, especially those who have been kind to me. I will be quite frank with you. There is nothing you could ask me which I would not do for your daughter’s sake--if I were convinced that it was for her good.” Mrs. Seymour Fentolin seemed to be trembling a little. Her hands were crossed upon her bosom. “You have known her for so short a time,” she murmured. Hamel smiled confidently. “I will not weary you,” he said, “with the usual trite remarks. I will simply tell you that the time has been long enough. I love your daughter.” Mrs. Fentolin sat quite still. Only in her eyes, fixed steadily seawards, there was the light of something new, as though some new thought was stirring in her brain. Her lips moved, although the sound which came was almost inaudible. “Why not?” she murmured, as though arguing with some unseen critic of her thoughts. “Why not?” “I am not a rich man,” Hamel went on, “but I am fairly well off. I could afford to be married at once, and I should like--” She turned suddenly upon him and gripped his wrist. “Listen,” she interrupted, “you are a traveller, are you not? You have been to distant countries, where white people go seldom; inaccessible countries, where even the arm of the law seldom reaches. Couldn’t you take her away there, take her right away, travel so fast that nothing could catch you, and hide--hide for a little time?”