The Bittermeads Mystery Part 21

"All the same," he thought. "No one who is guilty shall escape through me."

But what this phrase meant, and what he intended to do, he would not permit himself to think out clearly or try to understand.

The boy, having told his story, hurried off to spread the news elsewhere to more appreciative ears, for, he thought disgustedly, it might have been just nothing at all for all the interest the gardener at Bittermeads had shown.

As soon as he was gone, Dunn went across to the house, and going up to the window of the drawing-room where Ella and her mother were having tea, he tapped on the pane.

Ella looked up and saw him, and came at once to open the window, while from behind Mrs. Dawson frowned in severe disapproval of what she considered a great liberty.

"Mr. Clive has been shot," Dunn said abruptly. "They say poachers did it. He was killed instantly."

Ella did not seem at first to understand. She looked puzzled and bewildered, and did not seem to grasp the full import of his words.

"What--what do you say?" she asked. "Mr. Clive--Who's killed?"

Dunn thought to himself that her acting was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen.

It was extraordinary that she should be able to make that grey pallor come over her cheeks as though the meaning of what he said were only now entering her mind; wonderful that she should be able so well to give the idea of a great horror and a great doubt coming slowly into her startled eyes.

"Mr. Clive?" she said again.

"Yes, he's been killed," Dunn said. "By poachers, apparently."

"What is that? What is that man saying?" shrilled Mrs. Dawson from behind. "Mr. Clive--John--why, he was here yesterday."

Dunn turned his back and walked away. He heard Ella call after him, but he would not look back because he feared what he might do if he obeyed her call.

With an odd buzzing in his ears, with the blood throbbing through his brain as though something must soon break there, he walked blindly on, and as he came to the gate of Bittermeads he saw a motor-car coming up the road.

It was Deede Dawson's car, and he was driving it, and by his side sat a sulkily-smiling stranger, his air that of one not sure of his welcome, but determined to enforce it, in whom, with a quick start, Dunn recognized his burglar, the man whose attempt to break into Bittermeads he had frustrated, and whose place he had taken.

He put up his hand instinctively for them to stop, and Deede Dawson at once obeyed the gesture.

Dunn noticed that the smile upon his lips was more gentle and winning than ever, the look in his eyes more dark and menacing.

"Well, Dunn, what is it?" he said as pleasantly as he always spoke. "Mr.

Allen," he added to his companion, "this is my man, Dunn, I told you about, my gardener and chauffeur, and a very industrious steady fellow--and quite trustworthy."

He seemed to lay a certain emphasis on the last two words, and Allen put his head on one side and looked at Dunn with an odd, mixture of familiarity, suspicion, hesitation, and an uncertain a.s.sumption of superiority, but with no hint of recognition showing.

"Glad to hear it," he said. "You always want to know whom you can trust."

"Mr. Clive has been murdered," Dunn said abruptly. "Poachers, it is said. Did you know?"

"We heard about it as we came through the village," answered Deede Dawson. "Very sad, very dreadful. It will be a great shock to poor Ella, I fear. Take the car on to the garage, will you?" he added.

He drove on up the drive, and at the front door they alighted and entered the house together. Dunn followed, and getting into the car, drove it to the garage, where he busied himself cleaning it. As he worked he wondered very much what was the meaning of this sudden appearance on terms of friends.h.i.+p with Deede Dawson of this man Allen, whom he had last seen trying to break into the house at night.

Was Allen an accomplice of Deede Dawson, or a dupe, or, more probably, a new recruit?

At any rate, to Dunn it seemed that the crisis he had expected and prepared for was now fast approaching, and he told himself that if he had failed in Clive's case, those others he was working for he must not fail to save.

"Looks as if Dawson's plans were nearly ready," he said to himself.

"Well, so are mine."

He finished his work and shutting the garage door, he was turning away when he saw Ella coming towards him.

She was extremely pale, and her eyes seemed larger than ever, and very bright against the deathly whiteness of her cheeks.

She was wearing a blouse that was cut a little low, and he notice with a kind of terror how soft and round was her throat, like a column of pale and perfect ivory.

He hoped she would not speak to him, for he thought perhaps he could not bear it if she did, but she halted near by, and said:

"This is very dreadful about poor Mr. Clive."

"Very," he answered moodily.

"Why should poachers kill him?" she asked. "Why should they want to?"

"I don't know," he answered, watching not her but her soft throat, where he could see a pulse fluttering. "Perhaps it wasn't poachers," he added.

She started violently, and gave a quick look that seemed to make yet more certain the certainty he already entertained.

"Who else could it be?" she asked in a low voice.

He did not answer.

After what seemed a long time she said:

"You asked me a question once--do you remember?"

He shook his head.

"Why don't you speak? Why can't you speak?" she cried angrily. "Why can't you say something instead of just shaking your head?"

"You see, I've asked you so many questions," he said slowly. "Perhaps I shall ask you some more some day--which question do you mean?"

"I mean when you asked me if I had ever met any one who spoke in a very shrill, high whistling sort of voice? Do you remember?"

"Yes," he said. "You wouldn't tell me."

"Well, I will now," she said. "I did meet a man once with a voice like that. Do you remember the night you, came here that I drove away in the car with a packing-case you carried downstairs?"

"Do I--remember?" he gasped, for that memory, and the thought of how she had driven away into the night with, that grisly thing behind her on the car had never since left his mind by night or by day.

"Yes," she exclaimed impatiently. "Why do you keep staring so? Are you as stupid as you choose to look? Do you remember?"

"I remember," he answered heavily. "I remember very well."