“On the contrary,” Mr. Dunster insisted, “I am feeling absolutely well enough to travel. I have an appointment on the Continent of great importance, as you may judge by the fact that at Liverpool Street I chartered a special train. I trust that nothing in my manner may have given you offence, but I am anxious to get through with the business which brought me over to this side of the water. I have sent for you to ask that my pocket-book, dressing-case, and clothes be at once restored to me, and that I be provided with the means of continuing my journey without a moment’s further delay.” Mr. Fentolin shook his head very gently, very regretfully, but also firmly. “Mr. Dunster,” he pleaded, “do be reasonable. Think of all you have been through. I can quite sympathise with you in your impatience, but I am forced to tell you that the doctor who has been attending you since the moment you were brought into this house has absolutely forbidden anything of the sort.” Mr. Dunster seemed, for a moment, to struggle for composure. “I am an American citizen,” he declared. “I am willing to listen to the advice of any physician, but so long as I take the risk, I am not bound to follow it. “In the present case I decline to follow it. I ask for facilities to leave this house at once.” Mr. Fentolin sighed. “In your own interests,” he said calmly, “they will not be granted to you.” Mr. Dunster had spoken all the time like a man struggling to preserve his self-control. There were signs now that his will was ceasing to serve him. His eyes flashed fire, his voice was raised. “Will not be granted to me?” he repeated. “Do you mean to say, then, that I am to be kept here against my will?” Mr. Fentolin made no immediate reply. With the delicate fingers of his right hand he pushed back the hair from his forehead. He looked at his questioner soothingly, as one might look at a spoiled child. “Against my will?” Mr. Dunster repeated, raising his voice still higher. “Mr. Fentolin, if the truth must be told, I have heard of you before and been warned against you. I decline to accept any longer the hospitality of your roof. I insist upon leaving it. If you will not provide me with any means of doing so, I will walk.” He made a motion as though to rise from the bed. Meekins’ hand very gently closed upon his arm. One could judge that the grip was like a grip of iron.