Deede Dawson was plainly puzzled, and for the first time a little doubt seemed to show in his hard grey eyes.
Dunn perceived that a need was on him to know for certain whether his dreadful secret had been discovered or not.
Until he had assured himself on that point Dunn felt comparatively safe, but he still knew also that to allow the faintest suspicion to dawn in Deede Dawson's mind would mean for him instant death.
He saw, too, watching very warily and ready to take advantage of any momentary slip or forgetfulness, how steady was Deede Dawson's hand, how firm and watchful his eyes.
With many men, with most men indeed, Dunn would have seized or made some opportunity to dash in and attack, taking the chance of being shot down first, since there are few indeed really skilled in the use of a revolver, the most tricky if the most deadly of weapons.
But he realized he had small hope of taking unawares this fat little smiling man with the unsmiling eyes and steady hand, and he was well convinced that the first doubtful movement he made would bring a bullet crashing through his brain.
His only hope was in delay and in diverting suspicion, and Deede Dawson's voice was very soft and deadly as he said:
“So you've been looking in the bedrooms, have you? What did you find there?”
“Nothing, sir, not a thing,” protested Dunn. “I didn't touch a thing, I only wanted to look round before coming down here to see about the silver.”
“And the attics?” asked Deede Dawson. “What did you find there?”