Doctor Sarson opened the door. They all passed in on tiptoe. The doctor led the way towards the bed upon which Mr. Dunster was lying, quite still. His head was bandaged, and his eyes closed. His face was ghastly. Gerald gave vent to a little muttered exclamation. Mr. Fentolin turned to him quickly. “Gerald!” The boy stood still, trembling, speechless. Mr. Fentolin’s eyes were riveted upon him. The doctor was standing, still and dark, a motionless image. “Is he asleep?” Hamel asked. “He is under the influence of a mild anaesthetic,” Doctor Sarson explained. “He is doing very well. His case is quite simple. By to-morrow morning he will be able to sit up and walk about if he wishes to.” Hamel looked steadily at the figure upon the bed. Mr. Dunster’s breathing was regular, and his eyes were closed, but his colour was ghastly. “He doesn’t look like getting up for a good many days to come,” Hamel observed. The doctor led the way towards the door. “The man has a fine constitution,” he said. “I feel sure that if you wish you will be able to talk to him to-morrow.” They separated outside in the passage. Mr. Fentolin bade his guest a somewhat restrained good night, and Gerald mounted the staircase to his room. Hamel, however, had scarcely reached his door before Gerald reappeared. He had descended the stair-case at the other end of the corridor. He stood for a moment looking down the passage. The doors were all closed. Even the light had been extinguished. “May I come in for a moment, please?” he whispered. Hamel nodded. “With pleasure! Come in and have a cigarette if you will. I shan’t feel like sleep for some time.” They entered the room, and Gerald threw himself into an easy-chair near the window. Hamel wheeled up another chair and produced a box of cigarettes. “Queer thing your dropping across that fellow in the way you did,” he remarked. “Just shows how one may disappear from the world altogether, and no one be a bit the wiser.” The boy was sitting with folded arms. His expression was one of deep gloom. “I only wish I’d never brought him here,” he muttered. “I ought to have known better.” Hamel raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t he as well off here as anywhere else?” “Do you think that he is?” Gerald demanded, looking across at Hamel. There was a brief silence. “We can scarcely do your uncle the injustice,” Hamel remarked, “of imagining that he can possibly have any reason or any desire to deal with that man except as a guest.” “Do you really believe that?” Gerald asked. Hamel rose to his feet. “Look here, young man,” he said, “this is getting serious. You and I are at cross-purposes. If you like, you shall have the truth from me.” “Go on.”