"I suppose so," answered Dunn. "I knew another man named Charley
Wright once."

"Did you? Where's he?"

"Oh, he's dead," answered Dunn.

Deede Dawson could not repress the start he gave and for a moment
Dunn thought that his suspicions were really roused. He came a
little nearer, his pistol still ready in his hand.

"Dead, is he?" he said. "That's a pity. He's not here, then; but
it would be funny wouldn't it, if there were two Charley Wrights in
one room?"

"I don't know what you mean," Dunn answered. "I think there are
lots of funnier things than that would be."

"That's where you're wrong," retorted Deede Dawson, and he laughed
again, shrilly and dreadfully, a laughter that had in it anything
but mirth.

"Can you carry that packing-case downstairs if I help you get it on
your shoulder?" he asked abruptly.

"It's heavy, but I might," Dunn answered.

He supposed that now it was about to be hidden somewhere and he felt
that he must know where, since that knowledge would mean everything