the morning for
Norwich by motor-car and thence to Harwich. Dominey, having changed into
travelling clothes, sent a messenger for Mrs. Unthank, who came to him
presently in his study. He held out a chair to her, which she declined,
however, to take.

"Mrs. Unthank," he said, "I should like to know why you have been
content to remain my wife's attendant for the last ten years?"

Mrs. Unthank was startled by the suddenness of the attack.

"Lady Dominey has needed me," she answered, after a moment's pause.

"Do you consider," he asked, "that you have been the best possible
companion for her?"

"She has never been willing to accept any other," the woman replied.

"Are you very devoted to my wife?" he enquired.

Mrs. Unthank, grim and fierce though she was and appeared to be, was
obviously disconcerted by Dominey's line of questions.

"If I weren't," she demanded, "should I have been here all these years?"

"I scarcely see," he continued, "what particular claim my wife has had
upon you. I understand, moreover, that you are one of those who firmly
believe that I killed your son. Is this attendance upon my wife a
Christian act, then--the returning of good for evil?"

"Exactly what do you want to say to me, Sir Everard?" she asked harshly.

"I wish to say this," Dominey replied, "that I am determined to bring
about my wife's restoration to health. For that reason I am going to
have specialists down here, and above all things to change for a time
her place of residence. My own feeling is that she will stand a much
better chance of recovery without your attendance."

"You would dare to send me away?" the woman demanded.

"That is my intention," Dominey confessed. "I have not spoken to Lady
Dominey yet, but I hope that very soon my influence over her will be
such that she will be content to obey my wishes. I look upon your future
from the financial point of view, as my care. I shall settle upon you
the sum of three hundred pounds a year."

The woman showed her first sign of weakness. She began to shake. There
was a curious look of fear in her eyes.

"I can't leave this place, Sir Everard," she cried. "I must stay here!"

"Why?" he demanded.

"Lady Dominey couldn't do without me," she answered sullenly.

"That," he replied, "is for her to decide. Personally, from enquiries
I have made, I believe that you have encouraged in her that ridiculous
superstition about the ghost of your son. I also believe that you have