Mr. Fentolin shook his head.

"We cannot spare him quite so soon," he declared. "We must avail
ourselves of this wonderful chance afforded us by my brilliant young
nephew. We must keep him with us for a little time. What is it
that you have in your hands, Doctor? Telegrams, I think. Let me
look at them."

The doctor held them out. Mr. Fentolin took them eagerly between
his thin, delicate fingers. Suddenly his face darkened, and became
like the face of a spoilt and angry child.

"Cipher!" he exclaimed furiously. "A cipher which he knows so well
as to remember it, too! Never mind, it will be easy to decode. It
will amuse me during the afternoon. Very good, Sarson. I will take
charge of these."

"You do not wish anything dispatched?"

"Nothing at present," Mr. Fentolin sighed. "It will be well, I
think, for the poor man to remain undisturbed by any communications
from his friends. Is he restless at all?"

"He wants to get on with his journey."

"We shall see," Mr. Fentolin remarked. "Now feel my pulse, Sarson.
How am I this morning?"

The doctor held the thin wrist for a moment between his fingers,