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 assumption of
superiority, but with no hint of recognition showing.

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