My hiding-places are not as other people's." Mr.Dunster beat lightly with his square, blunt forefinger upon the table which stood by his side.
"That's not the sort of talk I understand," he declared curtly.

"Let us understand one another, if we can.

What is to happen to me, if I refuse to give you that word ?" Mr.Fentolin held his hand in front of his eyes, as though to shut out some unwelcome vision.
"Dear me," he exclaimed, "how unpleasant! Why should you force me to disclose my plans?
Be content, dear Mr.Dunster, with the knowledge of this one fact: we cannot part with you.

I have thought it over from every point of view, and I have come to that conclusion; always presuming," he went on, "that the knowledge of that little word of which we have spoken remains in its secret chamber of your memory." Mr.Dunster smoked in silence for a few minutes.
"I am very comfortable here," he remarked.
"You delight me," Mr.Fentolin murmured.
"Your cook," Mr.Dunster continued, "has won my heartfelt appreciation.
Your cigars and wines are fit for any nobleman.

Perhaps, after all, this little rest is good for me." Mr.Fentolin listened attentively.
"Do not forget," he said, "that there is always a limit fixed, whether it be one day, two days, or three days." "A limit to your complacence, I presume ?" Mr.Fentolin assented.
"Obviously, then," Mr.Dunster concluded, "you wish those who sent me to believe that my message has been delivered.