The Bittermeads Mystery by E. R. (Ernest Robertson) Punshon
page 71 of 260 (27%)
page 71 of 260 (27%)
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"It's big enough," he said. "Would you like to know?" asked Deede Dawson slowly with his slow, perpetual smile. "Would you like to know what's in it--Charley Wright?" And again Dunn was certain that a faint suspicion hung about those last two words, and that his life and death hung very evenly in the balance. "Silver, you said," he muttered. "Didn't you?" "Ah, yes--yes--to be sure," answered Deede Dawson. "Yes, so I did. Silver. I want the lid nailed down. There's a hammer and nails there. Get to work and look sharp." Dunn stepped forward and began to set about a task that was so terrible and strange, and that yet he had, at peril of his life--at peril of more than that, indeed--to treat as of small importance. Standing a little distance from the lighted gas-jet, Deede Dawson watched him narrowly, and as Dunn worked he was very sure that to betray the least sign of his knowledge would be to bring instantly a bullet crashing through his brain. It seemed curious to him that he had so carefully replaced everything after making his discovery, and that without any forethought or special intention he had put back everything so exactly as he had found it when the slightest neglect or failure |
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