“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?”