THE ATTIC
It was evident that more had occurred to make Mrs.Dawson afraid that she would, or perhaps could, say.
"Wait here," Rupert said to her."Don't stir." The command seemed superfluous, for she had not at that moment the appearance of still possessing the power to move.Without speaking again, Rupert left the room and went quickly to the foot of the narrow stairs that led to the attics above.
He listened, crouching there, and heard nothing, and a cold fear came to him that perhaps Deede Dawson had done up above what he wished to do and then effected his escape while he himself had been lingering in Ella's room.
Adopting his plan of a rapid rush to disconcert the aim of any one who might be about to fire at him, he made a swift dash up the stairs and on the topmost one crouched down again and waited.
But still nothing happened, all was very quiet, and the door of one attic, the one which had been assigned to him as a bed-chamber, was wide open so that he could see into it and see that it was unoccupied.
But the doors of both the others were closed, and as he looked he made out in the gloom, for this landing by the attic was very badly-lighted by a small and awkwardly-placed skylight, a scattered dozen or so of hairpins, and a tortoiseshell comb such as he had seen sometimes in Ella's hair, lying on the floor near the door of the larger of the two attics, the one in which he remembered well he had found Deede Dawson on a certain night busy measuring and examining and empty packing-case.
With one quick rush he crossed the landing and flung himself at the door.
It opened at once, for it was not locked, and within he saw Deede Dawson, screw-driver in his hand, standing behind a large packing-case, the lid of which he had apparently that minute finished fastening down.
He looked up as Rupert entered thus precipitately, and he showed no sign of surprise or alarm.
"You're back early," he said."Something gone wrong?""What are you doing? What's in there?" Rupert asked, looking at the packing-case, his mouth and lips so suddenly dry he found it difficult to speak at all.
Deede Dawson began to laugh, a low and dreadful laughter that had in it no trace of merriment at all, but only of mockery and malice.
It was such laughter as a devil from the nethermost pit might give vent to when he saw at last a good man yield to long temptation.
"What's in there?" Rupert said again, pointing to the packing-case, and it was as though his soul swooned within him for fear of what the answer might be.
"What do the children say?" Deede Dawson returned with his terrible smile."I'll give you three guesses, isn't it? See if you can guess in three tries.""What's in there?" Rupert asked the third time, and Deede Dawson laid down the screw-driver with which he had just driven home the last screw.
"Oh, see for yourself, if you want to," he said."But you ought to know.You know what was in the other case I sent away from here, the one I got Ella to take in the car for me? I want you to take this one away now, the sooner it's away the better.""That's it, is it?" Rupert muttered.
He no longer doubted, and for a moment all things swam together before him and he felt dizzy and a little sick, and so weak he staggered and nearly fell, but recovered himself in time.
The sensation passed and he saw Deede Dawson as it were a long way off, and between them the packing-case, huge, monstrous, and evil, like a thing of dread from some other world.Violent shudderings swept though him one after the other, and he was aware that Deede Dawson was speaking again.
"What did you say?" he asked vacantly, when the other paused.
"You look ill," Deede Dawson answered."Anything wrong? Why have you come back so soon? Have you failed?"Rupert passed his hand before his eyes to clear away the mist that hung there and that hampered his sight.
He perceived that Deede Dawson held his right hand in the pocket of his coat, grasping something that bulged out curiously.
He divined that it was a pistol, and that Deede Dawson was ready to shoot at any moment, but that he wished very greatly to know first of all what had happened and why Rupert had returned so soon and whether there was immediate necessity for flight or not.
That he was uneasy was certain, for his cold eyes showed a hesitation and a doubt such as Rupert had never seen in them before.
"I'll tell you what's happened," Rupert heard himself saying hoarsely."If you'll tell me what's in there.""A bargain, eh?" Deede Dawson said."It's easy enough.You can look for yourself if you unscrew the lid, but then, after all, why should we take all that trouble?"As he spoke his pistol showed in his hand, and at once the heavy glass inkpot Rupert had held all this time flew straight and true, and with tremendous force, at Deede Dawson's head.
He avoided it only by the extreme rapidity with which he dropped behind the packing-case, and it flew over his head and crashed against the centre panel of a big wardrobe that stood in one corner of the room, splitting the panel it struck from top to bottom.
Following it, Rupert hurled himself forward with one great spring, but agile as a cat that leaps away from the mastiff's teeth, Deede Dawson slipped from his grasp to the other side of the room.In doing so he knocked his arm against the corner of the packing-case, so that his revolver fell to the ground.
With a shout Rupert stooped and seized it, and straightened himself to see that Deede Dawson had already another revolver in his hand - a second one that he had drawn from an inner pocket.
