ut a sturdy footman with sound common sense, "get ready to take this
creature into Norwich Hospital. Say that if I do not come in during the
day, a letter of explanation will follow from me. The rest of you, with
the exception of Parkins, please go to bed."

With little exclamations of wonder they began to disperse. Then one
of them paused and pointed across the park. Moving with incredible
swiftness came the gaunt, black figure of Rachael Unthank, swaying
sometimes on her feet, yet in their midst before they could realise it.
She staggered to the prostrate body and threw herself upon her knees.
Her hands rested upon the unseen face, her eyes glared across at
Dominey.

"So you've got him at last!" she gasped.

"Mrs. Unthank," Dominey said sternly, "you are in time to accompany your
son to the hospital at Norwich. The car will be here in two minutes.
I have nothing to say to you. Your own conscience should be sufficient
punishment for keeping that poor creature alive in such a fashion and
ministering during my absence to his accursed desire for vengeance."

"He would have died if I hadn't brought him food," she muttered. "I have
wept all the tears a woman's broken heart could wring out, beseeching
him to come back to me."

"Yet," Dominey insisted, "you shared his foul plot for vengeance against
a harmless woman. You let him come and make his ghoulish noises, night
by night, under these windows, without a word of remonstrance. You knew
very well what their accursed object was--you, with a delicate woman in
your charge who trusted you. You are an evil pair, but of the two you
are worse than your half-witted son."

The woman made no reply. She was still on her knees, bending over the
prostrate figure, from whose lips now came a faint moaning. Then the
lights of the car flashed out as it left the garage, passed through the
iron gates and drew up a few yards away.

"Help him in," Dominey ordered. "You can loosen his cords, Johnson, as
soon as you have started. He has very little strength. Tell them at the
hospital I shall probably be there during the day, or to-morrow."

With a little shiver the two men stooped to their task. Their prisoner
muttered to himself all the time, but made no resistance. Rachael
Unthank, as she stepped in to take her place by his side, turned once
more to Dominey. She was a broken woman.

"You're rid of us," she sobbed, "perhaps forever.--You've said harsh
things of both of us. Roger isn't