The view commanded the road by which he had approached Bittermeads, and he wondered if Ella had been standing there and had seen his approach, and then had concealed herself for some reason.

But, if so, why and where was she hiding?  And where was Deede Dawson?  And why was everything so silent and so still?

He turned from the window, and as he did so he caught a faint sound in the passage without.

Instantly he crouched behind the bed, the heavy glass inkpot that was his one weapon poised in his hand.

The sound did not come again, but as he waited, he saw the door begin to open very slowly, very quietly.

Lower still he crouched, the inkpot ready to throw, every nerve taut and tense for the leap at his foe’s throat with which he meant to follow it up.  The door opened a little more, very slowly, very carefully.  It was wide enough now to admit of entry, and through the opening there sidled, pale and red-eyed, Ella’s mother, looking so frail and feeble and so ruffled and disturbed she reminded Rupert irresistibly of a frightened hen.

She edged her way in as though she dared not open the door too widely, and Rupert hesitated in great perplexity and vexation, for he saw that he must show himself, and he feared that she would announce his presence by flight or screams.

But he could not possibly get away without her knowledge; and besides, she might be able to give him useful information.

He stood up quickly, with his finger to his lips.  “Hush!” he said.  “Not a sound—­not a sound.”  The warning seemed unnecessary, for Mrs. Dawson appeared too paralysed with fear to utter even the faintest cry as she dropped tremblingly on the nearest chair.

“Hush!  Hush!” he said.  “Where is Ella?”

“I—­I don’t know,” quavered Mrs. Dawson.

“When did you see her last?”

“A little while ago,” Mrs. Dawson faltered.  “She went upstairs.  She didn’t come down, so I thought I would try to find her.”

“Where’s Deede Dawson?” Rupert asked.

“I—­I don’t know,” she quavered again.

“When did you see him last?”

“I—­I—­a little while ago,” she faltered.  “He went upstairs—­he didn’t come down again.  I thought I would try to find her—­him—­I was so frightened when they didn’t either of them come down again.”

It was evident she was far too confused and upset to give any useful information of any nature, even if she knew anything.

“Deede’s been so strange,” she said.  “And Ella too.  I think it’s very hard on me—­dreams, too.  He said he wanted her to help him get a packing-case ready he had to send away somewhere.  I don’t know where.  I don’t think Ella wanted to—­”

“A packing-case?” Rupert muttered.  “What for?”

“It’s what they came upstairs to do,” Mrs. Dawson said.  “And—­and —­” She began to cry feebly.  “It’s my nerves,” she said.  “He’s looked so strange at us all day—­and neither of them has come down again.”