“Like that—if ever Rupert Dunsmore and I meet alone, only one of us will go away alive.” And he confirmed it with an oath.
Deede Dawson clapped him on the shoulder, and laughed.
“Good!” he cried. “Why, you're the man I've been looking for for a long time. The fact is, Rupert Dunsmore played me a nasty trick once, and I want to clear accounts with him. Now, suppose I show him to you—?”
“You do that,” said Dunn, and he repeated the oath he had sworn before. “You show him to me, and I'll take care he never troubles any one again.”
“That's the way I like to hear a man talk,” cried Deede Dawson. “Dunsmore has been away for a time on business I can make a guess at, but he is coming back soon. Should you know him if you saw him?”
“Should I know him?” repeated Dunn contemptuously. “Should I know myself?”
“That's good,” said Deede Dawson again. “By the way, perhaps you can tell me, hasn't Lord Chobham a rather distant cousin, Walter Dunsmore, living with him as secretary or something of the sort—quite a distant relative, I believe, though in the direct line of succession?”
“Very likely,” said Dunn indifferently. “I think so, but I don't care anything about the rest of them. It's only Rupert Dunsmore I have anything against.”