When Clive had gone that afternoon, Ella, who had accompanied him as far
as the gate, and had from thence waved him a farewell, came back to the
spot where Dunn was working.
She stood still, watching him, and he looked up at her and then went
on with his work without speaking, for now, as always, the appalling
thought was perpetually in his mind: “Must she not have known what it
was she had with her in the car when she went driving that night?”
After a little, she turned away, as if disappointed that he took no
notice of her presence.
At once he raised himself from the task he had been bending over, and
stood moodily watching the slim, graceful figure, about which hung such
clouds of doubt and dread, and she, turning around suddenly, as if
she actually felt the impact of his gaze, saw him, and saw the strange
expression in his eyes.
“Why do you look at me like that?” she asked quickly, her soft and
gentle tones a little shrill, as though swift fear had come upon her.
“Like what?” he mumbled.
“Oh, you know,” she cried passionately. “Am I to be the next?” she
asked.
He started, and looked at her wonderingly, asking himself if these words
of hers bore the grim meaning that his mind instantly gave them.
Was it possible that if she did know something of what was going on in
this quiet country house, during these peaceful autumn days, she knew it
not as willing accomplice, but as a helpless, destined victim who saw no
way of escape.
As if she feared she had said too much, she turned and began to walk
away.
At once he followed.
“Stop one moment,” he exclaimed. “Miss Cayley.”
She obeyed, turning quickly to face him. They were both very pale, and
both were under the influence of strong excitement. But between
them there hung a thick cloud of doubt and dread that neither could
penetrate.
All at once Dunn, unable to control himself longer, burst out with that
question which for so long had hovered on his lips.
“Do you know,” he said, “do you know what you took away with you in the
car that night I came here?”
“The packing-case, you meant,” she asked. “Of course I do; I helped to
get it ready--what's the matter?”
“Nothing,” he muttered, though indeed he had staggered as beneath some
sudden and violent blow. “Oh--did you?” he said, with an effort.
“Certainly,” she answered. “Now I've answered your question, will you
answer me one? Why did you tell us your name was Charley Wright?”
“I knew a man of that name once,” he answered. “He's dead now.”
“I thought perhaps,” she said slowly and quite calmly, “that it was
because you had seen the name written on a photograph in my room.”
“No, it wasn't that,” he answered gravely, and his doubts that for a
moment had seemed so terribly confirmed, now came back again, for though
she had said that she knew of the contents of the packing-case, yet,
if that were really so, how was it conceivable that she should speak of
such a thing so calmly?
And yet again, if she could do it, perhaps also she could talk of it
without emotion. Once more there was fear in his eyes as he watched her,
and her own were troubled and doubtful.
“Why do you have all that hair on your face?” she asked.
“Well, why shouldn't I?” he retorted. “It saves trouble.”
“Does it?” she said. “Do you know what it looks like--like a disguise?”
“A disguise?” he repeated. “Why should I want a disguise?”
“Do you think I'm quite a fool because I'm a woman?” she asked
impatiently. “Do you suppose I couldn't see very well when you came that
night that you were not an ordinary burglar? You had some reason of your
own for breaking into this house. What was it?”
“I'll tell you,” he answered, “if you'll tell me truly what was in that
packing-case?”
“Oh, now I understand,” she cried excitedly. “It was to find that out
you came--and then Mr. Dawson made you help us get it away. That was
splendid.”
He did not speak, for once more a kind of horror held him dumb, as it
seemed to him that she really--knew.
She saw the mingled horror and bewilderment in his eyes, and she laughed
lightly as though that amused her.
“Do you know,” she said, “I believe I guessed as much from the first,
but I'm afraid Mr. Dawson was too clever for you--as he is for most
people. Only then,” she added, wrinkling her brows as though a new point
puzzled her, “why are you staying here like this?”
“Can't you guess that too?” he asked hoarsely.
“No,” she said, shaking her head with a frankly puzzled air. “No, I
can't. That's puzzled me all the time. Do you know--I think you ought to
shave?”
“Why?”
“A beard makes a good disguise,” she answered, “so good it's hardly fair
for you to have it when I can't.”
“Perhaps you need it less,” he answered bitterly, “or perhaps no
disguise could be so effective as the one you have already.”
“What's that?” she asked.
“Bright eyes, a pretty face, a clear complexion,” he answered.
He spoke with an extreme energy and bitterness that she did not in the
least understand, and that quite took away from the words any suspicion
of intentional rudeness.
“If I have all that, I suppose it's natural and not a disguise,” she
remarked.
“My beard is natural too,” he retorted.
“All the same, I wish you would cut it off,” she answered. “I should
like to see what you look like.”
She turned and walked away, and the more Dunn thought over this
conversation, the less he felt he understood it.
What had she meant by that strange start and look she had given him
when she had asked if she were to be the next? And when she asserted so
confidently that she knew what was in the packing-case, was that true,
or was she speaking under some mistaken impression, or had she wished to
deceive him?
The more he thought, the more disturbed he felt, and every hour that
passed he seemed to feel more and more strongly the influence of her
gracious beauty, the horror of his suspicions of her.
The next day Clive came again, and again Ella seemed very pleased to see
him, and again Dunn, hanging about in their vicinity, watched gloomily
their friendly intercourse.
That Clive was in love with Ella seemed fairly certain; at any rate,
he showed himself strongly attracted by her, and very eager for her
company.
How she felt was more doubtful, though she made no concealment of the
fact that she liked to see him, and found pleasure in having him there.
Dunn, moving about near at hand, was aware of an odd impression that she
knew he was watching them, and that she wished him to do so for several
times he saw her glance in his direction.
He could always move with a most extraordinary lightness of foot, so
that, big and clumsy as he seemed in build, he could easily go unheard
and even unseen, and John Clive seemed to have little idea that he
remained so persistently near at hand.
This gift or power of Dunn's he had acquired in far-off lands,
where life may easily depend on the snapping of a twig or the right
interpretation of a trampled grass-blade, and he was using it now,
almost unconsciously, so as to make his presence near Ella and Clive as
unobtrusive as possible, when his keen eye caught sight of a bush, of
which leaves and branches were moving against the wind.
For that he knew there could be but one explanation, and when he walked
round, so as to get behind this bush, he was not surprised to see Deede
Dawson crouching there, his eyes very intent and eager, his unsmiling
lips drawn back to show his white teeth in a threatening grin or snarl.
Near by him was his little chess-board and men, and as Dunn came up
behind he looked round quickly and saw him.
For a moment his eyes were deadly and his hand dropped to his
hip-pocket, where Dunn had reason to believe he carried a formidable
little automatic pistol.
But almost at once his expression changed, and with a gesture he invited
Dunn to crouch down at his side. For a little they remained like this,
and then Deede Dawson moved cautiously away, signing to Dunn to follow
him.
When they were at a safe distance he turned to Dunn and said
“Is he serious, do you think, or is he playing with her? I'll make him
pay for it if he is.”
“How should I know?” answered Dunn, quite certain it was no such anxiety
as this that had set Deede Dawson watching them so carefully.
Deede Dawson seemed to feel that the explanation he had offered was a
little crude, and he made no attempt to enlarge on it.
With a complete change of manner, with his old smile on his lips and his
eyes as dark and unsmiling as ever, he said,
“Pretty girl, Ella--isn't she?”
“She is more than pretty, she is beautiful,” Dunn answered with an
emphasis that made Deede Dawson look at him sharply.
“Think so?” he said, and gave his peculiar laugh that had so little
mirth in it. “Well, you're right, she is. He'll be a lucky man that
gets her--and she's to be had, you know. But I'll tell you one thing, it
won't be John Clive.”
“I thought it rather looked,” observed Dunn, “as if Miss Cayley might
mean--”
Deede Dawson interrupted with a quick jerk of his head.
“Never mind what she means, it'll be what I mean,” he declared. “I am
boss; and what's more, she knows it. I believe in a man being master in
his own family. Don't you?”
“If he can be,” retorted Dunn. “But still, a girl naturally--”
“Naturally nothing,” Deede Dawson interrupted again. “I tell you what I
want for her, a man I can trust--trust--that's the great thing. Some one I
can trust.”
He nodded at Dunn as he said this and then walked off, and Dunn felt
very puzzled as he, too, turned away.
“Was he offering her to me?” he asked himself. “It almost sounded like
it. If so, it must mean there's something he wants from me pretty bad.
She's beautiful enough to turn any man's head--but did she know about
poor Charlie's murder?--help in it, perhaps?--as she said she did with
the packing-case.”
He paused, and all his body was shaken by strong and fierce emotion.
“God help me,” he groaned. “I believe I would marry her tomorrow if I
could, innocent or guilty.”