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"I think we might let you put your hands down now," he remarked, and Dunn gladly availed himself of the permission, for every muscle in his arms was aching badly.

He remained standing by the wall while Deede Dawson, seating himself on the chair to which Ella had been bound, rested his chin on his left hand and, with the pistol still ready in his right, regarded Dunn with a steady questioning gaze.

Ella was standing near the bed. She had poured a few drops of eau-de-Cologne on her wrists and was rubbing them softly, and for ever after the poignant pleasant odour of the scent has remained associated in Robert Dunn's mind with the strange events of that night so that always even the merest whiff of it conjures up before his mind a picture of that room with himself silent by the fireplace and Ella silent by the bed and Deede Dawson, pistol in hand, seated between them, as silent also as they, and very watchful.

Ella appeared fully taken up with her occupation and might almost have forgotten the presence of the two men. She did not look at either of them, but continued to rub and chafe her wrists softly.

Deede Dawson had forgotten for once to smile, his brow was slightly wrinkled, his cold grey eyes intent and watchful, and Dunn felt very sure that he was thinking out some plan or scheme.

The hope came to him that Deede Dawson was thinking he might prove of use, and that was the thought which, above all others, he wished the other to have. It was, indeed, that thought which all his recent actions had been aimed to implant in Deede Dawson's mind till his dreadful discovery in the attic had seemed to make at last direct action possible. How, in his present plight that thought, if Deede Dawson should come to entertain it, might yet prove his salvation. Now and again Deede Dawson gave him quick, searching glances, but when at last he spoke it was Ella he addressed.

"Wrists hurt you much?" he asked.

"Not so much now," she answered. "They were beginning to hurt a great deal, though."

"Were they, though?" said Deede Dawson. "And to think you might have been like that for hours if I hadn't chanced to come home. Too bad, what a brute this fellow is."

"Men mostly are, I think," she observed indifferently.

"And women mostly like to get their own back again," he remarked with a chuckle, and then turned sharply to Dunn. "Well, my man," he asked, "what have you got to say for yourself?"

"Nothing," Dunn answered. "It was a fair cop."

"You've had a taste of penal servitude before, I suppose?" Deede Dawson asked.

"Maybe," Dunn answered, as if not wishing to betray himself. "Maybe not."

"Well, I think I remember you said something about not being long out of Dartmoor," remarked Deede Dawson. "How do you relish the prospect of going back there?"

"I wonder," interposed Ella thoughtfully. "I wonder what it is in you that makes you so love to be cruel, father?"

"Eh what?" he exclaimed, quite surprised. "Who's being cruel?"

"You," she answered. "You enjoy keeping him wondering what you are going to do with him, just as you enjoyed seeing me tied to that chair and would have liked to leave me there."

"My dear Ella!" he protested. "My dear child!"

"Oh, I know," she said wearily. "Why don't you hand the man over to the police if you're going to, or let him go at once if you mean to do that?"

"Let him go, indeed!" exclaimed Deede Dawson. "What an idea! What should I do that for?"

"If you'll give me another chance," said Dunn quickly, "I'll do anything--I should get it pretty stiff for this lot, and that wouldn't be any use to you, sir, would it? I can do almost anything --garden, drive a motor, do what I'm told, It's only because I've never had a chance I've had to take to this line."

"If you could do what you're told you certainly might be useful," said Deede Dawson slowly. "And I don't know that it would do me any good to send you off to prison--you deserve it, of course. Still--you talk sometimes like an educated man?"

"I had a bit of education," Dunn answered.

"I see," said Deede Dawson. "Well,