"I have. You are not half the man you used to be; your good spirits seem to have quite deserted you, and you keep looking about you in a most suspicious way."
"Tell me, Maria, in what particular way?"
"Well, as if you were afraid somebody was going to pick your pocket, or as if you fancied you had a shadow for a companion. My opinion is that you have not got over that unfortunate visit we paid to the house in Lamb's Terrace."
"Have you got over it?"
"No, and never shall. I can't keep my thoughts away from the place, and I often feel as if something was dragging me to the house again, though a second visit would be the death of me."
"Never be tempted, Maria; don't go near the neighborhood. We both need change of scene to clear the cobwebs away. When I come back from Brighton you shall run off to the seaside for a day or two; you can easily get a lady friend to keep you company, especially if I pay all the expenses."
"Why should we not go together?"
"Because in each other's society we should brood over the frightful adventure we had. Change of company, Maria, as well as change of scene; that is what will do us good."
This conversation proved that my wife had not succeeded in forgetting the adventure, and had only refrained from speaking of it out of consideration for me. Her confession that she sometimes felt as if she was being dragged to the house against her will rather alarmed me, and I determined to adopt some means to send her from London for longer than a day or two. It would be beneficial to her, and would leave me free to act.
Before the hour arrived upon which Bob and I were to set out upon our pretended holiday, I paid a second visit to the inquiry agent, Mr. Dickson, and commissioned him to ascertain for me: