Cautiously and carefully he crept on, and entered the one adjoining, where he turned the light of the electric flashlight he carried on a large, empty packing-case that stood in one corner.
With a two-foot rule he took from his pocket he measured it carefully and nodded with great satisfaction.
“A little smaller than the other,” he said to himself. “But, then, it hasn't got to hold so much.” He laughed in his silent, mirthless way, as at something that amused him. “A good deal less,” he thought. “And Dunn shall drive.”
He laughed again, and for a moment or two stood there in the darkness, laughing silently to himself, and then, speaking aloud, he called out:
“You can come in, Dunn.”
Dunn, whom a creaking board had betrayed, came forward unconcernedly in his sleeping attire.
“I saw it was you,” he remarked. “At first I thought something was wrong.”
“Nothing, nothing,” answered Deede Dawson. “I was only looking at this packing-case. I may have to send one away again soon, and I wanted to be sure this was big enough. If I do, I shall want you to drive.”
“Not Miss Cayley?” asked Dunn.
“No, no,” answered Deede Dawson. “She might be with you perhaps, but she wouldn't drive. Night driving is always dangerous, I think, don't you?”