“I left London,” he murmured reminiscently, “in April, nineteen hundred and two. Yes, eleven years, Mr. Mangan. It seems queer to find myself in London again, as I dare say you can understand.” “Precisely,” the lawyer murmured. “I was just wondering--I think that last remittance we sent to you could be stopped. I have no doubt you will be glad of a little ready money,” he added, with a confident smile. “Thanks, I don't think I need any just at present,” was the amazing answer. “We'll talk about financial affairs a little later on.” Mr. Mangan metaphorically pinched himself. He had known his present client even during his school days, had received a great many visits from him at different times, and could not remember one in which the question of finance had been dismissed in so casual a manner. “I trust,” he observed chiefly for the sake of saying something, “that you are thinking of settling down here for a time now?” “I have finished with Africa, if that is what you mean,” was the somewhat grave reply. “As to settling down here, well, that depends a little upon what you have to tell me.” The lawyer nodded. “I think,” he said, “that you may make yourself quite easy as regards the matter of Roger Unthank. Nothing has ever been heard of him since the day you left England.” “His--body has not been found?” “Nor any trace of it.” There was a brief silence. The lawyer looked hard at Dominey, and Dominey searchingly back again at the lawyer. “And Lady Dominey?” the former asked at length. “Her ladyship's condition is, I believe, unchanged,” was the somewhat guarded reply. “If the circumstances are favourable,” Dominey continued, after another moment's pause, “I think it very likely that I may decide to settle down at Dominey Hall.” The lawyer appeared doubtful. “I am afraid,” he said, “you will be very disappointed in the condition of the estate, Sir Everard. As I have repeatedly told you in our correspondence, the rent roll, after deducting your settlement upon Lady Dominey, has at no time reached the interest on the mortgages, and we have had to make up the difference and send you your allowance out of the proceeds of the outlying timber.” “That is a pity,” Dominey replied, with a frown. “I ought, perhaps, to have taken you more into my confidence. By the by,” he added, “when--er--about when did you receive my last letter?” “Your last letter?” Mr. Mangan repeated. “We have not had the privilege of hearing from you, Sir Everard, for over four years. The only intimation we had that our payments had reached you was the exceedingly prompt debit of the South African bank.” “I have certainly been to blame,” this unexpected visitor confessed. “On the other hand, I have been very much absorbed. If you haven't happened to hear any South African gossip lately, Mangan, I suppose it will be a surprise to you to hear that I have been making a good deal of money.” “Making money?” the lawyer gasped. “You making money, Sir Everard?”