"A mere scratch. I
scratched it on a bit of wood, a lid that didn't fit properly."
"Well, good-bye and good luck," Dunn said again, and they parted,
Walter disappearing into the darkness and Dunn returning to the
house.
Deede Dawson heard him enter, and he came to the door of the room
in which he had been sitting.
"Oh, there you are," he said. "Been enjoying the night air or
what? You've been a long time."
"I've been thinking," Dunn muttered in the heavy, sulky manner he
always assumed at Bittermeads.
"Not weakening, eh?" asked Deede Dawson.
"No," answered Dunn. "I'm not."
"Good," Deede Dawson exclaimed. "There's a lot to win, and no
fear of failure. I don't see that failure's possible. Do you?"
"No," answered Dunn. "I suppose not."
"The mate's sure this time," Deede Dawson declared. "It's our
turn to move, and whatever reply the other side makes, we're sure
of our mate next move. By the way, did you ever solve that problem
I showed you the other day?"
"Yes, I think so," answered Dunn. "It was a long time before I
could hit on the right move, but I managed it at last, I think."
"Come and show me, then," said Deede Dawson, bustling back into
his room and beginning to set up the pieces on his travelling
chess-board. "This was the position, wasn't it? Now, what's your
move?"
Dunn showed him, and Deede Dawson burst into a laugh that had in
it for once a touch of honest enjoyment.
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