message of modern times."

Gerald rose to his feet.

"What are you going to do about it?" he asked abruptly. "Do you
want any one in from the telegraph room?"

Mr. Fentolin shook his head slowly.

"At present," he announced, "I am going to reflect. Meekins, my
chair to the north window--so. I am going to sit here," he went
on, "and I am going to look across the sea and reflect. A very
fortunate storm, after all, I think, which kept Mr. John P. Dunster
from the Harwich boat last night. Leave me, Gerald, for a time.
Stand behind my chair, Meekins, and see that no one enters."

Mr. Fentolin sat in his chair, his hands still gripping the wonderful
document, his eyes travelling over the ocean now flecked with
sunlight. His eyes were fixed upon the horizon. He looked steadily
eastward.



CHAPTER VI

Mr. John P. Dunster opened his eyes upon strange surroundings. He
found himself lying upon a bed deliciously soft, with lace-edged
sheets and lavender-perfumed bed hangings. Through the discreetly
opened upper window came a pleasant and ozone-laden breeze. The
furniture in the room was mostly of an old-fashioned type, some of