“Nothing so clumsy as that, I hope,” he murmured gently. “I will not insult a person of your experience and intelligence by enumerating the various ways in which the seal of a dispatch may be liquefied. It is quite true that I have read with much pleasure the letter which you are carrying from a certain group of very distinguished men to a certain person now in The Hague. The letter, however, is replaced in its envelope; the seal is still there. You need have no fears whatever concerning it. All that I require is that one word from you.” “And if I give you that one word?” Mr. Dunster asked. “If you give it me, as I think you will,” Mr. Fentolin replied suavely, “I shall then telegraph to my agent, or rather I should say to a dear friend of mine who lives at The Hague, and that single word will be cabled by him from The Hague to New York.” “And in that case,” Mr. Dunster enquired, “what would become of me?” “You would give us the great pleasure of your company here for a very brief visit,” Mr. Fentolin answered. “We should, I can assure you, do our very best to entertain you.” “And the dispatch which I am carrying to The Hague?” “Would remain here with you.” Mr. Dunster knocked the ash from his cigar. Without being a man of great parts, he was a shrewd person, possessed of an abundant stock of common sense. He applied himself, for a few moments, to a consideration of this affair, without arriving at any satisfactory conclusion. “Come, Mr. Fentolin,” he said at last, “you must really forgive me, but I can’t see what you’re driving at. You are an Englishman, are you not?” “I am an Englishman,” Mr. Fentolin confessed “or rather,” he added, with ghastly humour, “I am half an Englishman.” “You are, I am sure,” Mr. Dunster continued, “a person of intelligence, a well-read person, a person of perceptions. Surely you can see and appreciate the danger with which your country is threatened?” “With regard to political affairs,” Mr. Fentolin admitted, “I consider myself unusually well posted--in fact, the study of the diplomatic methods of the various great Powers is rather a hobby of mine.” “Yet,” Mr. Dunster persisted, “you do not wish this letter delivered to that little conference in The Hague, which you must be aware is now sitting practically to determine the fate of your nation?” “I do not wish,” Mr. Fentolin replied, “I do not intend, that that letter shall be delivered. Why do you worry about my point of view? I may have a dozen reasons. I may believe that it will be good for my country to suffer a little chastisement.” “Or you may,” Mr. Dunster suggested, glancing keenly at his host, “be the paid agent of some foreign Power.” Mr. Fentolin shook his head.