The two men made their way across the very fine hall, the walls of which had suffered a little through lack of heating, into the library, and seated themselves in easy-chairs before the blazing log fire. Parkins silently served them with coffee and brandy. He had scarcely left the room before there was a timid knock and Middleton made his somewhat hesitating entrance.
“Come in and close the door,” Dominey directed. “What is it, Middleton? Parkins says you wish to speak to me.”
The man came hesitatingly forward. He was obviously distressed and uneasy, and found speech difficult. His face glistened with the rain which had found its way, too, in long streaks down his velveteen coat. His white hair was wind-tossed and disarranged.
“Bad night,” Dominey remarked.
“It's to save its being a worse one that I'm here, Squire,” the old man replied hoarsely. “I've come to ask you a favour and to beg you to grant it for your own sake. You'll not sleep in the oak room to-night?”
“And why not?” Dominey asked.
“It's next her ladyship's.”
“Well?”
The old man was obviously perturbed, but his master, as though of a purpose, refused to help him. He glanced at Mangan and mumbled to himself.
“Say exactly what you wish to, Middleton,” Dominey invited. “Mr. Mangan and his father and grandfather have been solicitors to the estate for a great many years. They know all our family history.”