He swung his revolver up, and Dunn saw the crooked forefinger quiver as though in the very act of pressing the trigger.

The pressure of a hair decided, indeed, whether the weapon was to fire or not, as in a high-pitched, stammering voice, Deede Dawson gasped: 

“What—­what do you mean?  What do you mean by that?”

“I only told you my name,” Dunn answered.  “What’s wrong with it?”

Doubtful and afraid, Deede Dawson stood hesitant.  His forehead had become very damp, and he wiped it with a nervous gesture.

“Is that your name—­your real name?” he muttered.

“Never had another that I know of,” Dunn answered.

Deede Dawson sat down again on the chair.  He was still plainly very disturbed and shaken, and Ella seemed scarcely less agitated, though Dunn, watching them both very keenly, noticed that she was now looking at Deede Dawson with a somewhat strange expression and with an air as though his extreme excitement puzzled her and made her—­afraid.

“Nothing wrong with the name, is there?” Dunn muttered again.

“No, no,” Deede Dawson answered.  “No.  It’s merely a coincidence, that’s all.  A coincidence, I suppose, Ella?”

Ella did not answer.  Her expression was very troubled and full of doubt as she stood looking from her stepfather to Dunn and back again.

“It’s only that your name happens to be the same as that of a friend of ours—­a great friend of my daughter’s,” Deede Dawson said as though he felt obliged to offer some explanation.  “That’s all—­a coincidence.  It startled me for the moment.”  He laughed.  “That’s all.  Well, my man, it happens there is something I can make you useful in.  If you do prove useful and do what I tell you, perhaps you may get let off.  I might even keep you on in a job.  I won’t say I will, but I might.  You look a likely sort of fellow for work, and I daresay you aren’t any more dishonest than most people.  Funny how things happen—­quite a coincidence, your name.  Well, come on; it’s that packing-case you saw in the attic upstairs.  I want you to help me downstairs with that—­Charley Wright.”

CHAPTER IX

THE ATTIC OF MYSTERY

Robert Dunn was by no means sure that he was not going to his death as he went out of Ella’s room on his way to the attics above, for he had perceived a certain doubt and suspicion in Deede Dawson’s manner, and he thought it very likely that a fatal intention lay behind.

But he obeyed with a brisk promptitude of manner, like one who saw a prospect of escape opening before him, and as he went he saw that Ella had relapsed into her former indifference and was once more giving all her attention to bathing her wrists with eau-de-Cologne; and he saw, too, that Deede Dawson, following close behind, kept always his revolver ready.

“Perhaps he only wants to get me out of her way before he shoots,” he reflected.  “Perhaps there is room in that packing-case for two.  It will be strange to die.  Shall I try to rush him?  But he would shoot at once, and I shouldn’t have a chance.  One thing, if anything happens to me, no one will ever know what’s become of poor Charley.”