e thing I will tell you--one man already has left this
house hidden in a packing-case with a bullet through his brain, and I
will ask you a question: 'How did your father die?'"

"He was killed in a motor-car accident," answered Clive hesitatingly,
as though not certain whether to continue this strange and puzzling
conversation or break it off.

"There are many accidents," said Dunn. "And that may have been one,
for all I know, or it may not. Well, I've warned you. I had to do that.
You'll probably go on acting like a fool and believing that nowadays
murders don't happen, but if you're wise, you'll go home to bed and run
no more silly risks."

"Of course I'm not going to pay the least attention," began Clive, when
Dunn interrupted him sharply.

"Hush! hush!" he said sharply. "Crouch down: don't make a sound, don't
stir or move. Hush!"

For Dunn's sharp ear had caught the sound of approaching footsteps that
were drawing quickly nearer, and almost instantly he guessed who it
would be, for there were few pedestrians who came along that lonely road
so late at night.

There were two of them apparently, and at the gate of Bittermeads they
halted.

"Well, good night," said then a voice both Dunn and Clive knew at once
for Deede Dawson's. "That was a pretty check by the knight I showed you,
wasn't it?"

A thin, high, somewhat peculiar voice cursed Deede Dawson, chess, and
the pretty mate by the knight very comprehensively.

"It's young Clive that worries me," said the voice when it had finished
these expressions of disapproval.

"No need," answered Deede Dawson's voice with that strange mirthless
laugh of his. "No need at all; before the week's out he'll trouble no
one any more."

When he heard this, Clive would have betrayed himself by some startled
movement or angry exclamation had not Dunn's heavy hand upon his
shoulder held him down with a grave and steady pressure there was no
disregarding.

Deede Dawson and his unknown companion went on towards the house, and
admitted themselves, and as the door closed behind them Clive swung
round sharply in the darkness towards Dunn.

"What's it mean?" he muttered in the bewildered and slightly-pathetic
voice of a child at once frightened and puzzled. "What for? Why should
any one--?"

"It's a long story," began Dunn, and paused.

He saw that the unexpected confirmation of his warning Clive had
thus received from Deede Dawson's own lips had rendered his task of
con