“Where's Deede Dawson?” Rupert asked.
“I—I don't know,” she quavered again.
“When did you see him last?”
“I—I—a little while ago,” she faltered. “He went upstairs—he didn't come down again. I thought I would try to find her—him—I was so frightened when they didn't either of them come down again.”
It was evident she was far too confused and upset to give any useful information of any nature, even if she knew anything.
“Deede's been so strange,” she said. “And Ella too. I think it's very hard on me—dreams, too. He said he wanted her to help him get a packing-case ready he had to send away somewhere. I don't know where. I don't think Ella wanted to—”
“A packing-case?” Rupert muttered. “What for?”
“It's what they came upstairs to do,” Mrs. Dawson said. “And—and—” She began to cry feebly. “It's my nerves,” she said. “He's looked so strange at us all day—and neither of them has come down again.”