“Wrecked,” she answered. “Bad steering it must have been. James would steer, and they say that he drank a bit. Bad steering! Yes, you’ll meet Squire Fentolin before long. He’s queer to look at--a small body but a great, kind heart. A miserable life, his, but it will be made up to him. It will be made up to him!” She turned away. Her lips were moving all the time. She walked about a dozen steps, and then she returned. “You’re Hamel’s son, the painter,” she said. “You’ll be welcome down here. He’ll have you to stay at the Hall--a brave place. Don’t let him be too kind to you. Sometimes kindness hurts.” She passed on, walking with a curious, shambling gait, and soon she disappeared on her way to the village. Hamel watched her for a moment and then turned his head towards St. David’s Hall. He felt somehow that her abrupt departure was due to something which she had seen in that direction. He rose to his feet. His instinct had been a true one. CHAPTER XII From where Hamel stood a queer object came strangely into sight. Below the terrace of St. David’s Hall--from a spot, in fact, at the base of the solid wall--it seemed as though a gate had been opened, and there came towards him what he at first took to be a tricycle. As it came nearer, it presented even a weirder appearance. Mr. Fentolin, in a black cape and black skull cap, sat a little forward in his electric carriage, with his hand upon the guiding lever. His head came scarcely above the back of the little vehicle, his hands and body were motionless. He seemed to be progressing without the slightest effort, personal or mechanical, as though he rode, in deed, in some ghostly vehicle. From the same place in the wall had issued, a moment or two later, a man upon a bicycle, who was also coming towards him. Hamel was scarcely conscious of this secondary figure. His eyes were fixed upon the strange personage now rapidly approaching him. There was something which seemed scarcely human in that shrunken fragment of body, the pale face with its waving white hair, the strange expression with which he was being regarded. The little vehicle came to a standstill only a few feet away. Mr. Fentolin leaned forward. His features had lost their delicately benevolent aspect; his words were minatory. “I am under the impression, sir,” he said, “that I saw you with my glasses from the window attempting to force an entrance into that building.” Hamel nodded. “I not only tried but I succeeded,” he remarked. “I got in through the window.” Mr. Fentolin’s eyes glittered for a moment. Hamel, who had resumed his place upon the rock close at hand, had been mixed up during his lifetime in many wild escapades. Yet at that moment he had a sudden feeling that there were dangers in life which as yet he had not faced. “May I ask for your explanation or your excuse?”