“No, no,” answered Walter with a little laugh. “A mere scratch. I scratched it on a bit of wood, a lid that didn't fit properly.”
“Well, good-bye and good luck,” Dunn said again, and they parted, Walter disappearing into the darkness and Dunn returning to the house.
Deede Dawson heard him enter, and he came to the door of the room in which he had been sitting.
“Oh, there you are,” he said. “Been enjoying the night air or what? You've been a long time.”
“I've been thinking,” Dunn muttered in the heavy, sulky manner he always assumed at Bittermeads.
“Not weakening, eh?” asked Deede Dawson.
“No,” answered Dunn. “I'm not.”
“Good,” Deede Dawson exclaimed. “There's a lot to win, and no fear of failure. I don't see that failure's possible. Do you?”
“No,” answered Dunn. “I suppose not.”
“The mate's sure this time,” Deede Dawson declared. “It's our turn to move, and whatever reply the other side makes, we're sure of our mate next move. By the way, did you ever solve that problem I showed you the other day?”