His little revolver gleamed for a minute beneath his cuff. He backed his chair slowly and with wonderful skill towards the door. “We will fix the period of your probation, Mr. Dunster, at--say, twenty-four hours,” he decided. “Please make yourself until then entirely at home. My cook, my cellar, my cigar cabinets, are at your disposal. If some happy impulse,” he concluded, “should show you the only reasonable course by dinnertime, it would give me the utmost pleasure to have you join us at that meal. I can promise you a cheque beneath your plate which even you might think worth considering, wine in your glass which kings might sigh for, cigars by your side which even your Mr. Pierpont Morgan could not buy. Au revoir!” The door opened and closed. Mr. Dunster sat staring into the open space like a man still a little dazed. CHAPTER XVIII The beautiful but somewhat austere front of St. David’s Hall seemed, in a sense, transformed, as Hamel and his companion climbed the worn grey steps which led on to the broad sweep of terrace. Evidently visitors had recently arrived. A dark, rather good-looking woman, with pleasant round face and a ceaseless flow of conversation, was chattering away to Mr. Fentolin. By her side stood another woman who was a stranger to Hamel--thin, still elegant, with tired, worn face, and the shadow of something in her eyes which reminded him at once of Esther. She wore a large picture hat and carried a little Pomeranian dog under her arm. In the background, an insignificant-looking man with grey side-whiskers and spectacles was beaming upon everybody. Mr. Fentolin waved his hand and beckoned to Hamel and Esther as they somewhat hesitatingly approached. “This is one of my fortunate mornings, you see, Esther!” he exclaimed, smiling. “Lady Saxthorpe has brought her husband over to lunch. Lady Saxthorpe,” he added, turning to the woman at his side, “let me present to you the son of one of the first men to realise the elusive beauty of our coast. This is Mr. Hamel, son of Peter Hamel, R.A.--the Countess of Saxthorpe.” Lady Saxthorpe, who had been engaged in greeting Esther, held out her hand and smiled good-humouredly at Hamel. “I know your father’s work quite well,” she declared, “and I don’t wonder that you have made a pilgrimage here. They tell me that he painted nineteen pictures--pictures of importance, that is to say--within this little area of ten miles. Do you paint, Mr. Hamel?” “Not at all,” Hamel answered.