But still nothing happened, all was very quiet, and the door of one
attic, the one which had been assigned to him as a bed-chamber, was
wide open so that he could see into it and see that it was unoccupied.
But the doors of both the others were closed, and as he looked he
made out in the gloom, for this landing by the attic was very
badly-lighted by a small and awkwardly-placed skylight, a scattered
dozen or so of hairpins, and a tortoiseshell comb such as he had
seen sometimes in Ella's hair, lying on the floor near the door of
the larger of the two attics, the one in which he remembered well
he had found Deede Dawson on a certain night busy measuring and
examining and empty packing-case.
With one quick rush he crossed the landing and flung himself at the
door.
It opened at once, for it was not locked, and within he saw Deede
Dawson, screw-driver in his hand, standing behind a large
packing-case, the lid of which he had apparently that minute
finished fastening down.
He looked up as Rupert entered thus precipitately, and he showed no
sign of surprise or alarm.
"You're back early," he said. "Something gone wrong?"
"What are you doing? What's in there?" Rupert asked, looking at
the packing-case, his mouth and lips so suddenly dry he found it
difficult to speak at all.
Deede Dawson began to laugh, a low and dreadful laughter that had
in it no trace of merriment at all, but only of mockery and malice.
Pages:
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230