“You don't know that?” Walter asked.
“No, he never told me,” answered Dunn. “Poor Charley, it cost him his life. That's another thing we must find out—where they've hidden his body.”
“He was sure from the first,” remarked Walter, “that it was a conspiracy on the part of some one in the line of succession?”
“Yes,” agreed Dunn. “It's likely enough, too. You see, ever since that big family row and dispersion eighty years ago, a whole branch of the family has been entirely lost sight of. There may be half a dozen possible heirs we know nothing about. Like poor John Clive. I daresay if we had known of his existence we should have begun by suspecting him.”
“There's one thing pretty sure,” remarked Walter. “If these pleasant little arrangements did succeed, it would be a fairly safe guess that the inheritor of the title and estates was the guilty person. It might be brought home to him, too.”
“Perhaps,” agreed Dunn dryly. “But just a trifle too late to interest me for one. And I don't mean to let the dad or uncle be sacrificed if I can help it. I failed with Clive, poor fellow, but I don't mean to again, and I don't see how we can. Deede Dawson has exposed his hand. Now we can play ours.”
“But what are you going to do?” Walter asked. “Are you going to follow out his instructions?”
“To the letter,” Dunn answered. “We are dealing with very wary, suspicious people, and the least thing might make them take alarm. The important point, of course, is the promise that Deede Dawson's employer will be at Brook Bourne Spring tomorrow afternoon. That's our trump card. Everything hangs on that. And to make sure there's no hitch, I shall do exactly what I've been told to do. I expect I shall be watched. I shall be there at four o'clock, and ten minutes after I hope we shall have laid hands on—whoever it is.”
Walter nodded.
“I don't see how we can fail,” he said.