"Oh, I'm beginning to understand," said Clive. "I suppose you're
one of my poaching friends--are you? Look here, if you know who
it was who attacked me the other night you can earn fifty pounds
any time you like."

"Your poaching friends, as you call them," answered Dunn, "are
most likely only anxious to keep out of your way. This has
nothing to do with them."

"Well, come nearer and let me see you," Clive said. "You needn't
be afraid. You can't expect me to take any notice of some one I
can't see, talking rubbish in the dark."

"I don't much care whether you take any notice or not," answered
Dunn. "You can go your own silly way if you like, it's nothing to
me. I've warned you, and if you care to listen I'll make my warning
a little clearer. And one 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."