row stairs that led to the
attics above.

He listened, crouching there, and heard nothing, and a cold fear came to
him that perhaps Deede Dawson had done up above what he wished to do and
then effected his escape while he himself had been lingering in Ella's
room.

Adopting his plan of a rapid rush to disconcert the aim of any one who
might be about to fire at him, he made a swift dash up the stairs and on
the topmost one crouched down again and waited.

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.

It was such laughter as a devil from the nethermost pit might give vent
to when he saw at last a good man yield to long temptation.

"What's in there?" Rupert said again, pointing to the packing-case, and
it was as though his soul swooned within him for fear of what the answer
might be.

"What do the children say?" Deede Dawson returned with his terrible
smile. "I'll give you three guesses, isn't it? See if you can guess in
three tries."

"What's in there?" Rupert asked the third time, and Deede Dawson laid
down the screw-driver with which he had jus