# The Bittermeads Mystery/Chapter 12
### CHAPTER XII AN AVOWAL

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.”