There were two of them apparently, and at the gate of Bittermeads they halted.

“Well, good night,” said then a voice both Dunn and Clive knew at once for Deede Dawson’s.  “That was a pretty check by the knight I showed you, wasn’t it?”

A thin, high, somewhat peculiar voice cursed Deede Dawson, chess, and the pretty mate by the knight very comprehensively.

“It’s young Clive that worries me,” said the voice when it had finished these expressions of disapproval.

“No need,” answered Deede Dawson’s voice with that strange mirthless laugh of his.  “No need at all; before the week’s out he’ll trouble no one any more.”

When he heard this, Clive would have betrayed himself by some startled movement or angry exclamation had not Dunn’s heavy hand upon his shoulder held him down with a grave and steady pressure there was no disregarding.

Deede Dawson and his unknown companion went on towards the house, and admitted themselves, and as the door closed behind them Clive swung round sharply in the darkness towards Dunn.

“What’s it mean?” he muttered in the bewildered and slightly-pathetic voice of a child at once frightened and puzzled.  “What for?  Why should any one—?”

“It’s a long story,” began Dunn, and paused.

He saw that the unexpected confirmation of his warning Clive had thus received from Deede Dawson’s own lips had rendered his task of convincing Clive immensely more easy.

What he had wished to say had now at least a certainty of being listened to, a probability of being believed, and there was at any rate, he supposed, no longer the danger he had before dreaded of Clive’s going straight with the whole story to Deede Dawson in arrogant disbelief of a word of it.

But he still distrusted Clive’s discretion, and feared some rash and hasty action that might ruin all his plans, and allow Deede Dawson time to escape.

Besides he felt that the immediate task before him was to find out who Deede Dawson’s new companion was, and, if possible, overhear anything they might have to say to each other.

That, and the discovery of the new-comer’s identity, might prove to be of the utmost importance.

“I can’t explain now,” he said hurriedly.  “I’ll see you tomorrow sometime.  Don’t do anything till you hear from me.  Your life may depend on it—­and other people’s lives that matter more.”

“Tell me who you are first,” Clive said quickly, incautiously raising his voice.  “I can manage to take care of myself all right, I think, but I want to know who you are.”

“H-ssh!” muttered Dunn.  “Not so loud.”

“There was a fellow made an attack on me one night a little while ago,” Clive went on unheedingly.  “You remind me of him somehow.  I don’t think I trust you, my man.  I think you had better come along to the police with me.”

But Dunn’s sharp ears had caught the sound of the house door opening cautiously, and he guessed that Deede Dawson had taken the alarm and was creeping out to see who invaded so late at night the privacy of his garden.