Mrs Catherick's extraordinary and shameless letter filled me with disgust. My interest in Sir Percival Glyde's crime was now at an end, but I decided to keep the letter in case it might help me find out who Anne's father really was.

Afterwards, a gentleman who was also at the enquiry walked back to the hotel with me. He had heard from Sir Percival's lawyer that a distant relation abroad would now inherit Blackwater Park. This was obviously the person who should have inherited it twenty-three years before. If I made Sir Percival's crime public, it would be to no one's advantage now. If I kept the secret, the true character of the man who had cheated Laura into marrying him would remain hidden. And for her sake, I wished to keep it hidden.

Later in the morning I went to the legal enquiry into Sir Percival's death. I was only asked to say what had happened. I was not asked how I thought the keys had been taken, how the fire had been caused, or why Sir Percival had gone into the vestry. As no one could explain any of these things, the verdict at the end of the enquiry was "death by accident".

I still could not leave Hampshire, as I had to report to the police station in Knowlesbury the next day. I spent another night at the hotel and in the morning went to the post office to collect the letter from Marian. As promised, we had written to each other every day, and Marian's letters had been full of cheerful news. This morning's letter was short, and terrified me.

Come back as soon as you can. We have had to move. Come to Gower's Walk, Fulham (number five). I will look out for you. Don't be alarmed about us, we are both safe and well. But come back. -- Marian

At the police station, as I expected, no one appeared to continue the action against me and I was allowed to go. Half an hour later I was on the train back to London.

What had happened? What dreadful thing had Count Fosco done while I was away? In spite of my anxiety, I had to wait. I paid my bill at the hotel and took a cab to Knowlesbury.

I got to Gower's Walk in Fulham at about nine o'clock. Both Laura and Marian came to the door to let me in. Laura was much brighter and happier, full of plans for the future and for her drawing and painting. Marian's face was tired and anxious. I could see that she had spared Laura the knowledge of the terrible death in Welmingham and the true reason for moving to new lodgings. When Laura had left us and we could speak freely, I tried to give some expression to my feelings and told Marian how much I admired her for the courage and love she had shown.

"Yes, it did," I admitted. "Was I right in thinking that you moved because of a threat by Count Fosco?"

"I'm so sorry for my letter -- it must have alarmed you."

She was too generous to listen to me, and turned the conversation to my worries.

"Spoke to him? Did he come to the house?"

"He did. Yesterday, when I was passing the window, I saw him in the street. Then there was a knock on the door. I rushed out and there he was, dressed in black, with his smooth face and his deadly smile. I closed the door behind me so that Laura would not see or hear him."

"Perfectly right," she said. "I saw him yesterday, and worse than that, Walter -- I spoke to him."

"He greeted me, then repeated the warning in his letter to me. He said he had not been able to prevent Sir Percival's violence towards you, and he had found out our address in order to protect his own interests. You were followed, Walter, on your return home after your first journey to Hampshire. He used this information only when he heard of Sir Percival's death, because he believed you would act against him next."

"What did he say?" I asked anxiously.

"He was very cool, very polite, and very threatening," said Marian. "He said, "Warn Mr Hartright! He has an intelligent and powerful man to deal with. Let him be content with what he has got. Say to him, if he attacks me, I will use all my power to destroy him. There is nothing I will not do. Dear lady, good morning." Then he just looked at me with his cold grey eyes, and walked away.

"And he was right," I said. "What did he say about me?"

I answered her warmly and gratefully, as I really felt.

But the anxious look remained on her face, and I saw in her eyes her continuing fear of the Count's cleverness and energy.

"I ran back inside, and told Laura we had to move. We needed a quieter neighbourhood with better air for the sake of her health. I said you'd wanted us to do that, and why didn't we do it now to surprise you when you got back. She liked that idea, and was quite happy to move. I found these lodgings through an old school friend. I did the right thing, didn't I, Walter?"

"What do you think of his message, Walter? What do you plan to do next?"

"I know the risks are great," I said, "but it must be done. I'm not foolish enough to try this before I'm well prepared. I can wait. Let him think his message has produced its effect. He will start to feel safe. Also, my position towards you and Laura ought to be a stronger one than it is now."

"I decided weeks ago that Laura will be received in her uncle's house again," I answered. "And my decision remains the same. Count Fosco will answer for his crime to ME."

Marian's eyes lit up. She said nothing, but I could see how strongly she supported this plan.

"How can it be stronger?" she asked, surprised.

The next day Laura knew that death had released her from her marriage, and her husband's name was never mentioned among us again.

"Oh, Walter, so soon? You have a reason for this, don't you?"

"Yes. I cannot speak to Laura yet. But one day, not too distant, I want to tell her that I love her."

"Marian, I would like you to say to Laura, gently, that her husband is dead."

Marian looked at me for a time, then gave a sad, gentle smile. "Yes, I understand. I think I owe it to her and to you, Walter, to tell her of her husband's death."

We wrote to Mr Donthorne, who replied with some very interesting information. Philip Fairlie, Laura's father, had been a great friend of his when they were young, and a frequent house guest. He was a handsome man and fond of female company. Mr Donthorne was fairly certain that Philip Fairlie had been staying at his house when Mrs Catherick was employed as a servant, in the year before Anne was born.

When Marian and I checked the dates; when we considered that Anne and Laura looked so alike; and when we took into account the fact that Laura looked very much like her father, we were in no doubt that here was the solution. Philip Fairlie was Anne's father, and so Anne was Laura's half-sister.

Our life returned to its usual pattern, but I did not forget the Count. I discovered that he had rented his house in St John's Wood for another six months, so I was fairly sure he would still be in London, within my reach, when the time came to act.

We finally solved the puzzle of who Anne Catherick's father was. When I went again to see Mrs Clements and to tell her about Anne's death, she remembered where Mrs Catherick had worked as a servant. Her employer had been a Mr Donthorne.

Four months passed. Laura grew stronger in body and in mind. She was almost her old self, and when we talked, it was as we used to talk at Limmeridge. If I touched her by accident, I felt my heart beating fast, and I saw the answering colour in her face.

In April, we went for a holiday at the seaside. While we were there I told Marian that when we returned to London, I was determined to force a confession from Count Fosco -- to make him tell me the real date of Laura's journey to London.

Now, at last, the woman in white, that strange sad shadow walking in the loneliness of the night, could rest in peace.

"But if I am to challenge the Count, for Laura's safety, I think I should challenge him as her husband. Do you agree, Marian?"

"With every word," she said. "I parted you both once. Wait here, my brother, my best and dearest friend! Till Laura comes, and tells you what I have done now!"

She kissed my forehead and left the room. I waited by the window, staring out at the beach, seeing nothing, hardly able to breathe. The door opened, and Laura came in alone. When we parted at Limmeridge, she had come into the room slowly, in sorrow and hesitation. Now she ran to me, with the light of happiness shining in her face. She put her arms around me, and her sweet lips came to meet mine.

"My darling!" she whispered, "May we say we love each other now? Oh, I am so happy at last!"

Ten days later we were even happier. We were married.