He spoke the name softly and lingeringly, and then all at once he
began to laugh, a low and somewhat dreadful laughter that had in it
no mirth at all, and that sounded horrible and strange in the chill
emptiness of the attic.

Leaning one hand on the packing-case that served as the coffin of
his dead friend, Dunn swore a silent oath to exact full retribution,
and henceforth to put that purpose on a level with the mission on
which originally he had come.

Aloud, and in a grumbling tone he said:

"What's the matter with my name? It's a name like any other. What's
wrong with it?"

"What should there be?" flashed Deede Dawson in reply.

"I don't know," Dunn answered. "You keep repeating it so, that's all."

"It's a very good name," Deede Dawson said. "An excellent name.
But it's not suitable. Not here." He began to laugh again and then
stopped abruptly.

"Do you know, I think you had better choose another?" he said.

"It's all one to me," declared Dunn. "If Charley Wright don't suit,
how will Robert Dunn do? I knew a man of that name once."

"It's a better name than Charley Wright," said Deede Dawson. "We'll