“I am so sorry,” he said softly, “that you should have been disturbed, Mr. Hamel. We have been a little anxious about our mysterious guest. Doctor Sarson fetched me an hour ago. He discovered that it was necessary to perform a very slight operation, merely the extraction of a splinter of wood. It is all over now, and I think that he will do very well.” Notwithstanding this very plausible explanation, Hamel was conscious of the remains of an uneasiness which he scarcely knew how to put into words. “It was a most distressing cry,” he observed doubtfully, “a cry of fear as well as of pain.” “Poor fellow!” Mr. Fentolin remarked compassionately. “I am afraid that for a moment or two he must have suffered acutely. Doctor Sarson is very clever, however, and there is no doubt that what he did was for the best. His opinion is that by to-morrow morning there will be a marvellous change. Good night, Mr. Hamel. I am quite sure that you will not be disturbed again.” Hamel neither felt nor showed any disposition to depart. “Mr. Fentolin,” he said, “I hope that you will not think that I am officious or in any way abusing your hospitality, but I cannot help suggesting that as Dr. Sarson is purely your household physician, the relatives of this man Dunster might be better satisfied if some second opinion were called in. Might I suggest that you telephone to Norwich for a surgeon?” Mr. Fentolin showed no signs of displeasure. He was silent for a moment, as though considering the matter. “I am not at all sure, Mr. Hamel, that you are not right,” he admitted frankly. “I believe that the case is quite a simple one, but on the other hand it would perhaps be more satisfactory to have an outside opinion. If Mr. Dunster is not conscious in the morning, we will telephone to the Norwich Infirmary.” “I think it would be advisable,” Hamel agreed. “Good night!” Mr. Fentolin said once more. “I am sorry that your rest has been disturbed.” Hamel, however, still refused to take the hint. His eyes were fixed upon that closed door. “Mr. Fentolin,” he asked, “have you any objection to my seeing Mr. Dunster?” There was a moment’s intense silence. A sudden light had burned in Mr. Fentolin’s eyes. His fingers gripped the side of his chair. Yet when he spoke there were no signs of anger in his tone. It was a marvellous effort of self-control. “There is no reason, Mr. Hamel,” he said, “why your curiosity should not be gratified. Knock softly at the door, Gerald.” The boy obeyed. In a moment or two Doctor Sarson appeared on the threshold. “Our guest, Mr. Hamel,” Mr. Fentolin explained in a whisper, “has been awakened by this poor fellow’s cry. He would like to see him for a moment.”