“She has been showing me those abominations,” he said. “They must be cleared out, every one of them. I won’t have the ugly rubbish in my house. You hear me?”
He understood the man to give a little gasping, nervous response, and walked on fuming. At the stair-head he turned again. Whimple had not moved, and his face was drawn and white.
“Where did she pick up that filthy relic?” said he sternly.
“The head, sir?”
“The head, of course. There is no need to misapprehend me.”
The other seemed to have some difficulty in replying. More than once he cleared his husky throat; and when at length he spoke, it was in a strained, mumbling voice.
“She wanders far afield. It was at the foot of the gallows on the downs she found it fallen, and brought it home.”
“Lately?”
“Oh, sir, no. It was the first year of our coming.”
“Well, it must be got rid of. I won’t have it here.”