So Sergeant Nicholas was sent to get his breakfast in the servants' room, and wait till Lady Chillington was ready to receive him.
At eleven precisely he was summoned to her ladyship's presence. She received him with stately graciousness, and waved him to a chair a yard or two away. She was dressed for the day in one of her stiff brocaded silks, and sat as upright as a dart, manipulating a small fan. Miss Hope stood close at the back of her chair.
"So, my good man, I understand that you were acquainted with my son, the late Captain Chillington, who died in India twenty years ago?"
"I was his body-servant for two years previous to his death."
"Were you with him when he died?"
"I was, your ladyship. These fingers closed his eyes."
The hand that held the fan began to tremble again. She remained silent for a few moments, and by a strong effort overmastered her agitation.
"You have some communication which you wish to make to me respecting my dead son?"
"I have, your ladyship. A communication of a very singular kind."
"Why has it not been made before now?"