"
"Where is Ella?"
Deede Dawson laughed again.
"That's a thing I know and you don't," he said. "Well, she's safe
away in London by this time."
"That's a lie, for her mother's here still," answered Rupert, even
though his heart leapt merely to hear the words.
"Unbelieving Thomas," smiled the other. "Well, then, she is where
she is, and that you can find out for yourself. But I'll make
another suggestion. We are both good shots, and if we start to fire
we shall kill each other. I am certain of killing you, but I shan't
escape myself. Well, then, why not toss for it? Equal chances for
both, and certain safety for one. Will you toss me, the one who
loses to give up his pistol to the other?"
"It seems to me a good idea," Deede Dawson argued. "Here we are
watching each other like cats, and knowing that the least movement
of either will start the other off, and both of us pulling trigger
as hard as we can. My idea would mean a chance for one. Well,
let's try another way; the best shot to win. You don't trust me,
but I will you."
Leaving his pistol lying where he had put it down, he crossed the
attic, and with a pencil he took from his pocket drew a circle on
the panel of the wardrobe door that Rupert had split with the
inkpot he had thrown.
In the centre of the circle he marked a dot, and turned smilingly
to the frowning and suspicious Rupert.
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