She nodded pleasantly, and the doctor followed his host into the dining-room and took his seat at the table where the dessert still remained.
“Old woman threatening mischief?” the latter asked, with a keen glance from under his shaggy grey eyebrows.
“I think she means it,” Dominey replied, as he filled his guest's glass. “Personally,” he went on, after a moment's pause, “the present situation is beginning to confirm an old suspicion of mine. I am a hard and fast materialist, you know, Doctor, in certain matters, and I have not the slightest faith in the vindictive mother, terrified to death lest the razing of a wood of unwholesome character should turn out into the cold world the spirit of her angel son.”
“What do you believe?” the doctor asked bluntly.
“I would rather not tell you at the present moment,” Dominey answered. “It would sound too fantastic.”
“Your note this afternoon spoke of urgency,” the doctor observed.
“The matter is urgent. I want you to do me a great favour—to remain here all night.”
“You are expecting something to happen?”
“I wish, at any rate, to be prepared.”
“I'll stay, with pleasure,” the doctor promised. “You can lend me some paraphernalia, I suppose? And give me a shake-down somewhere near Lady Dominey's. By-the-by,” he began, and hesitated.