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

"The Bittermeads Mystery"

"
"I daresay he's clever," agreed Walter. "He is playing for big
stakes. Anyhow, we'll have him tomorrow all right; that seems
certain--at last."
"At last," agreed Dunn, with a long-drawn sigh. "Ugh! it's all
been such a nightmare. It's been pretty awful, knowing there was
some one--not able to guess who. Ever since you discovered that
first attempt, ever since we became certain there was a plot going
on to clear out every one in succession to the Chobham estates--
and that was jolly plain, though the fools of police did babble
about no evidence, as if pistol bullets come from nowhere and
poisoned cups of tea--"
"Ah, I was to blame there, that was my fault," said Walter. "You
see, we had no proof about the shooting, and when I had spilt that
tea, no proof of poison either. I shall always regret that."
"A bit of bad luck," Dunn agreed. "But accidents will happen.
Anyhow, it was clear enough some one was trying to make a jolly
clear sweep. It may be a madman; it may be some one with a grudge
against us; it may be, as poor Charley thought, some one in the
line of succession, who is just clearing the way to inherit the
title and estates himself. I wish I knew what made Charley
suspicious of Deede Dawson in the first place."
"You don't know that?" Walter asked.
"No, he never told me," answered Dunn. "Poor Charley, it cost him
his life.


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