“I want, if I may, to ask you a favour,” he continued. “If you don’t feel like granting it, please say no and I’ll be off at once. I am on my way to The Hague. I was to have gone by the boat train which left half an hour ago. I had taken a seat, and they assured me that the train would not leave for at least ten minutes, as the mails weren’t in. I went down the platform to buy some papers and stood talking for a moment or two with a man whom I know. I suppose I must have been longer than I thought, or they must have been quicker than they expected with the mailbags. Anyhow, when I came back the train was moving. They would not let me jump in. I could have done it easily, but that fool of an inspector over there held me.” “They are very strict in this country, I know.” Mr. Dunster agreed, without change of expression. “Please go on.” “I saw you arrive--just too late for the train. While I was swearing at the inspector, I heard you speak to the station-master. Since then I have made inquiries. I understand that you have ordered a special train to Harwich.” Mr. John P. Dunster said nothing, only his keen, clear eyes seemed all the time to be questioning this gloomy-looking but apparently harmless young man. “I went to the station-master’s office,” the latter continued, “and tried to persuade them to let me ride in the guard’s van of your special, but he made a stupid fuss about it, so I thought I’d better come to you. Can I beg a seat in your compartment, or anywhere in the train, as far as Harwich?” Mr. Dunster avoided, for the moment, a direct reply. He had the air of a man who, whether reasonably or unreasonably, disliked the request which had been made to him. “You are particularly anxious to cross to-night?” he asked. “I am,” the youth admitted emphatically. “I never ought to have risked missing the train. I am due at The Hague to-morrow.” Mr. John P. Dunster moved his position a little. The light from a rain-splashed gas lamp shone now full upon the face of his suppliant: a boy’s face, which would have been pleasant and even handsome but for the discontented mouth, the lowering forehead, and a shadow in the eyes, as though, boy though he certainly was in years, he had already, at some time or another, looked upon the serious things of life. His nervousness, too, was almost grotesque. He had the air of disliking immensely this asking a favour from a stranger. Mr. Dunster appreciated all these things, but there were reasons which made him slow in granting the young man’s request. “What is the nature of your pressing business at The Hague?” he asked. The youth hesitated. “I am afraid,” he said grimly, “that you will not think it of much importance. I am on my way to play in a golf tournament there.” “A golf tournament at The Hague!” Mr. Dunster repeated, in a slightly altered tone. “What is your name?” “Gerald Fentolin.”