But he made no discovery by the aid of that instrument, and he neglected, for no man thinks of everything, to expose the letter to a gentle heat, which was what Dunn did when, presently, he received it, apparently unopened and with not the least sign to show that it had been tampered with in any way whatever.

Gradually, however, as Dunn held it to the fire, there appeared between the lines fresh writing, which he read very eagerly, and which ran: 

“Jane Dunsmore, born 1830, married, against family wishes, John Clive and had one son, John, killed early this year in a motor-car accident, leaving one son, John, now of Ramsdon Place and third in line of succession to the Wreste Abbey property.”

When he had read the message thus strangely and with such precaution conveyed to him, Dunn burnt the letter and went that day about his work in a very grave and thoughtful mood.

“I knew it couldn’t be a mere coincidence,” he mused.  “It wasn’t possible.  I must manage to warn him, somehow; but, ten to one, he won’t believe a word, and I don’t know that I blame him—­I shouldn’t in his place.  And he might go straight to Deede Dawson and ruin everything.  I don’t know that it wouldn’t be wiser and safer to say nothing for the present, till I’m more sure of my ground—­and then it may be too late.”

“Just possibly,” he thought, “the job Deede Dawson clearly thinks he can make me useful in may have something to do with Clive.  If so, I may be able to see my way more clearly.”

As it happened, Clive was away for a few days on some business he had to attend to, so that for the present Dunn thought he could afford to wait.

But during the week-end Clive returned, and on the Monday he came again to Bittermeads.

It was never very agreeable to Dunn to have to stand aloof while Clive was laughing and chatting and drinking his tea with Ella and her mother, and of those feelings of annoyance and vexation he made this time a somewhat ostentatious show.

That his manner of sulky anger and resentment did not go unnoticed by Deede Dawson he was very sure, but nothing was said at the time.

Next morning Deede Dawson called him while he was busy in the garage and insisted on his trying to solve another chess problem.

“I haven’t managed the other yet,” Dunn protested.  “It’s not too easy to hit on these key-moves.”

“Never mind try this one,” Deede Dawson said; and Ella, going out for a morning stroll with her mother, saw them thus, poring together over the travelling chess-board.

“They seem busy, don’t they?” she remarked.  “Father is making quite a friend of that man.”

“I don’t like him,” declared Mrs. Dawson, quite vigorously for her.  “I’m sure a man with such a lot of hair on his face can’t be really nice, and I thought he was inclined to be rude yesterday.”

“Yes,” agreed Ella.  “Yes, he was.  I think Mr. Clive was a little vexed, though he took no notice, I suppose he couldn’t very well.”