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

"The Bittermeads Mystery"

"I remember. What would be
in it? The same sort of thing that was in--that other?"
"Yes," answered Deede Dawson. "Much the same."
"I shall want to see for myself," said Dunn. "I'm a trustful sort of
person, but I don't go driving about the country with packing-cases
late at night unless I've seen for myself what's inside."

CHAPTER XXII
PLOTS AND PLAYS

"Very wise of you," yawned Deede Dawson. "That's just what Ella
said--what's that?"
For instinctively Dunn had raised his hand, but he lowered it again
at once.
"Oh, cut the cackle," he said impatiently. "Tell me what you want
me to do, and make it plain, very plain, for I can tell you there's
a good deal about all this I don't understand, and I'm not inclined
to trust you far. For one thing, what are you after yourself? Where
do you come in? What are you going to get? And there's another
thing I want to say. If you are thinking of playing any tricks on
me don't do it, unless you are ready to take big risks. There's only
one man alive who ever made a fool of me, and his name is Rupert
Dunsmore, and I don't think he's today what insurance companies call
a good risk. Not by any manner of means." He paused to laugh
harshly. "Let's get to business," he said. "Look here, how do I
know you mean all you say about Rupert Dunsmore? What's he to you?"
"Nothing," answered Deede Dawson promptly.


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