Dunn did not speak, but he thought this was a strange thing for the other to say and showed that even he, cold and remorseless and without any natural feeling, as he had seemed to be, yet had about him still some touch of humanity.
And as he mused on this, which seemed to him so strange, though really it was not strange at all, his attentive ears caught the sound of a soft step without, beginning to descend the stairs.
Had that name, then, been more than she also could bear?
If so, she must know.
“I don't see why, I don't see what's wrong with it,” he said aloud. “But Robert Dunn will suit me just as well.”
“All a matter of taste,” said Deede Dawson, his manner more composed and natural again.
“It's a funny thing now—suppose my name was Charley Wright, then there would be two Charley Wrights in this attic, eh? A coincidence, that would be?”
“I suppose so,” answered Dunn. “I knew another man named Charley Wright once.”
“Did you? Where's he?”
“Oh, he's dead,” answered Dunn.