"Well, go and look through his pockets," Deede Dawson said. "And
see if he's got a revolver. Don't be frightened; if he lowers his
hands he'll be a dead man before he knows it."

"He has a pistol," she said. "He showed it me, it's in his coat
pocket."

"Better get it then," Deede Dawson told her. She obeyed and brought
him the weapon, and he nodded with satisfaction as he put it in his
own pocket.

"I think we might let you put your hands down now," he remarked,
and Dunn gladly availed himself of the permission, for every muscle
in his arms was aching badly.

He remained standing by the wall while Deede Dawson, seating himself
on the chair to which Ella had been bound, rested his chin on his
left hand and, with the pistol still ready in his right, regarded
Dunn with a steady questioning gaze.

Ella was standing near the bed. She had poured a few drops of
eau-de-Cologne on her wrists and was rubbing them softly, and for
ever after the poignant pleasant odour of the scent has remained
associated in Robert Dunn's mind with the strange events of that
night so that always even the merest whiff of it conjures up before
his mind a picture of that room with himself silent by the
fireplace and Ella silent by the bed and Deede Dawson, pistol in
hand, seated between them, as silent also as they, and very watchful.

Ella appeared fully taken up with her occupation and might almost