“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 very 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.”