“You’re a good chap, Walter,” said Dunn, putting his hand on the other’s shoulder again.  “Well, I think it’s all settled now.  I tell you I’m looking forward a good deal to four o’clock tomorrow afternoon.  I feel as if I would give all I possess to know who it is.”

“Don’t make that offer,” Waiter said with a smile, “or the fates may accept it.”

“I feel as though there’s only one thing in the world I want one half so much,” Dunn said.  “As to know who this—­devil is.”

“Devil?” repeated Walter.  “Well, yes, devil’s a word like any other.”

“I think it’s justified in this case,” said Dunn sternly.  “Poor Charley Wright dead!  One thing I can’t understand about that is how they got him back here when you saw him in London when you did.  But they’re a cunning lot.  They must have worked it somehow.  Then Clive.  I feel to blame for Clive’s death—­as if I ought to have managed better and saved him.  Now there’s this other devilry they are planning.  I tell you, Walter, I feel the whole world will be a sweeter place after four o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

“At any rate,” said Walter, “I think we may be sure of one thing —­after four o’clock tomorrow afternoon you will know all—­all.”  He paused and repeated, slightly varying the phrase:  “Yes, after four o’clock tomorrow afternoon you will know everything—­everything.”  He added in a brisker tone:  “There’s nothing else to arrange?”

“No,” said Dunn, “I don’t think so, and I had better go now or Deede Dawson will be suspecting something.  He’ll want to know what I’ve been stopping out so late for.  Good-bye, old chap, and good luck.”

They shook hands.

“Good-bye and good luck, Rupert, old man,” Walter said.  “You may depend on me—­you know that.”

“Yes, I do know that,” Dunn answered.

They shook hands again, and Dunn said:  “You’ve hurt your hand.  It’s tied up.  Is it anything much?”

“No, no,” answered Walter with a little laugh.  “A mere scratch.  I scratched it on a bit of wood, a lid that didn’t fit properly.”

“Well, good-bye and good luck,” Dunn said again, and they parted, Walter disappearing into the darkness and Dunn returning to the house.

Deede Dawson heard him enter, and he came to the door of the room in which he had been sitting.

“Oh, there you are,” he said.  “Been enjoying the night air or what?  You’ve been a long time.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Dunn muttered in the heavy, sulky manner he always assumed at Bittermeads.

“Not weakening, eh?” asked Deede Dawson.

“No,” answered Dunn.  “I’m not.”

“Good,” Deede Dawson exclaimed.  “There’s a lot to win, and no fear of failure.  I don’t see that failure’s possible.  Do you?”

“No,” answered Dunn.  “I suppose not.”

“The mate’s sure this time,” Deede Dawson declared.  “It’s our turn to move, and whatever reply the other side makes, we’re sure of our mate next move.  By the way, did you ever solve that problem I showed you the other day?”