“Don't make that offer,” Walter 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?”