And as he mused on this, which seemed to him so strange, though
really it was not strange at all, his attentive ears caught the
sound of a soft step without, beginning to descend the stairs.
Had that name, then, been more than she also could bear?
If so, she must know.
"I don't see why, I don't see what's wrong with it," he said aloud.
"But Robert Dunn will suit me just as well."
"All a matter of taste," said Deede Dawson, his manner more composed
and natural again.
"It's a funny thing now--suppose my name was Charley Wright, then
there would be two Charley Wrights in this attic, eh? A coincidence,
that would be?"
"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.
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