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Punshon, E. R. (Ernest Robertson), 1872-1956

"The Bittermeads Mystery"


With a two-foot rule he took from his pocket he measured it
carefully and nodded with great satisfaction.
"A little smaller than the other," he said to himself. "But, then,
it hasn't got to hold so much." He laughed in his silent, mirthless
way, as at something that amused him. "A good deal less," he thought.
"And Dunn shall drive."
He laughed again, and for a moment or two stood there in the
darkness, laughing silently to himself, and then, speaking aloud,
he called out:
"You can come in, Dunn."
Dunn, whom a creaking board had betrayed, came forward unconcernedly
in his sleeping attire.
"I saw it was you," he remarked. "At first I thought something was
wrong."
"Nothing, nothing," answered Deede Dawson. "I was only looking at
this packing-case. I may have to send one away again soon, and I
wanted to be sure this was big enough. If I do, I shall want you to
drive."
"Not Miss Cayley?" asked Dunn.
"No, no," answered Deede Dawson. "She might be with you perhaps, but
she wouldn't drive. Night driving is always dangerous, I think, don't
you?"
"There's things more dangerous," Dunn remarked.
"Oh, quite true," answered Deede Dawson. "Well, did you enjoy your
visit to Wreste Abbey?"
"No," answered Dunn roughly. "I didn't see Rupert Dunsmore, and it
wouldn't have been any good if I had with all those people about.


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