Mr. Fentolin sat for a moment in his chair with immovable face.
Then he pointed to the door, which Gerald had left open behind him.
"Close that door, Gerald."
The boy obeyed. Mr. Fentolin waited until he had turned around again.
"Come and stand over here by the side of the table," he directed.
Gerald came without hesitation. He stood before his uncle with folded arms. There was something else besides sullenness in his face this morning, something which Mr. Fentolin was quick to recognise.
"I do not quite understand the nature of your question, Gerald,"
Mr. Fentolin began. "It is unlike you. You do not seem yourself.
Is there anything in particular the matter?"
"Only this," Gerald answered firmly. "I don't understand why this naval fellow should come here and ask you to close up your wireless because secrets have been leaking out, and a few moments afterwards you should be picking up a message and telephoning to London information which was surely meant to be private. That's all.
I've come to ask you about it."
"You heard the message, then?"
"I did."
"You listened - at the keyhole?"
"I listened outside," Gerald assented doggedly. "I am glad I listened. Do you mind answering my question?
"Do I mind!" Mr. Fentolin repeated softly. "Really, Gerald, your politeness, your consideration, your good manners, astound me. I am positively deprived of the power of speech."
"I'll wait here till it comes to you again, then," the boy declared bluntly. "I've waited on you hand and foot, done dirty work for you, put up with your ill-humours and your tyranny, and never grumbled. But there is a limit! You've made a poor sort of creature of me, but even the worm turns, you know. When it comes to giving away secrets about the movements of our navy at a time when we are almost at war, I strike."
"Melodramatic, almost dramatic, but, alas! so inaccurate," Mr.
Fentolin sighed. "Is this a fit of the heroics, boy, or what has come over you? Have you by any chance - forgotten?"
Mr. Fentolin's voice seemed suddenly to have grown in volume. His eyes dilated, he himself seemed to have grown in size. Gerald stepped a little back. He was trembling, but his expression had not changed.
"No, I haven't forgotten. There's a great debt we are doing our best to pay, but there's such a thing as asking top much, there's such a thing as drawing the cords to snapping point. I'm speaking for Esther and mother as well as myself. We have been your slaves; in a way I suppose we are willing to go on being your slaves. It's the burden that Fate has placed around our necks, and we'll go through with it. All I want to point out is that there are limits, and it seems to me that we are up against them now."
Mr. Fentolin nodded. He had the air of a man who wishes to be reasonable.
"You are very young, my boy," he said, "very young indeed. Perhaps that is my fault for not having let you see more of the world. You have got some very queer ideas into your head. A little too much novel reading lately, eh? I might treat you differently. I might laugh at you and send you out of the room. I won't. I'll tell you what you ask. I'll explain what you find so mysterious. The person to whom I have been speaking is my stockbroker."
"Your stockbroker!" Gerald exclaimed.
Mr. Fentolin nodded.
"Mr. Bayliss," he continued, "of the firm of Bayliss, Hundercombe & Dunn, Throgmorton Court. Mr. Bayliss is a man of keen perceptions. He understands exactly the effect of certain classes of news upon the market. The message which I have just sent to him is practically common property. It will be in the Daily Mail to-morrow morning. The only thing is that I have sent it to him just a few minutes sooner than any one else can get it. There is a good deal of value in that, Gerald. I do not mind telling you that I have made a large fortune through studying the political situation and securing advance information upon matters of this sort. That fortune some day will probably be yours. It will be you who will benefit. Meanwhile, I am enriching myself and doing no one any harm."
"But how do you know," Gerald persisted, "that this message would ever have found its way to the Press? It was simply a message from one battleship to another. It was not intended to be picked up on land. There is no other installation but ours that could have picked it up. Besides, it was in code. I know that you have the code, but the others haven't."
Mr. Fentolin yawned slightly.
"Ingenious, my dear Gerald, but inaccurate. You do not know that the message was in code, and in any case it was liable to be picked up by any steamer within the circle. You really do treat me, my boy, rather as though I were a weird, mischief-making person with a talent for intrigue and crime of every sort. Look at your suspicions last night. I believe that you and Mr. Hamel had quite made up your minds that I meant evil things for Mr. John P. Dunster. Well, I had my chance. You saw him depart."
"What about his papers?"
