CHAPTER XVIII
ROBERT DUNN'S ENEMY
When he had said this he went a step or two aside and sat down on the stump of a tree. He was very agitated and disturbed for he had not in the very least meant to say such a thing, he had not even known that he really felt like that.
It was, indeed, a rush and power of quite unexpected passion that had swept him away and made him for the moment lose all control of himself. Ella showed much more composure. She had become extraordinarily pale, but otherwise she did not appear in any way agitated.
She remained silent, her eyes bent on the ground, her only movement a gesture by which she rubbed softly and in turn each of her wrists as though they hurt her.
“Well, can't you say something?” he asked roughly, annoyed by her persistent silence.
“I don't see that there's anything for me to say,” she answered.
“Oh, well now then,” he muttered; quite disconcerted.
She raised her eyes from the ground, and for the first time looked full at him, in her expression both curiosity and resentment.
“It is perfectly intolerable,” she said with a heaving breast. “Will you tell me who you are?”
“I've told you one thing,” he answered sullenly, his eyes on fire. “I should have thought that was enough. I'll tell you nothing more.”
“I think you are the most horrid man I ever met,” she cried. “And the very, very ugliest—all that hair on your face so that no one can see anything else. What are you like when you cut it off?”
“Does that matter?” he asked, in the same gruff and surly manner.
“I should think it matters a good deal when I ask you,” she exclaimed. “Do you expect any one to care for a man she has never seen—nothing but hair. You hurt my wrists awfully that night,” she added resentfully. “And you've never even hinted you're sorry.”
His reply was unexpected and it disconcerted her greatly and for the first time, for he caught both her wrists in his hands and kissed them passionately where the cords had been.
“You mustn't do that, please don't do that,” she said quickly, trying to release herself.
Her strength was nothing to his and he stood up and put his arm around her and strained her to him in an embrace so passionate and powerful she could not have resisted it though she had wished to.
But no thought of resistance came to her, since for the moment she had lost all consciousness of everything save the strange thrill of his bright, clear eyes looking so closely into hers, of his strong arms holding her so firmly.
He released her, or rather she at last freed herself by an effort he did not oppose, and she fled away down the path.
She had an impression that her hair would come down and that that would make her look a fright, and she put up her hands hurriedly to secure it. She never looked back to where he stood, breathing heavily and looking after her and thinking not of her, but of two dead men whom he had seen of late.
“Shall I make the third?” he wondered. “I do not care if I do, not I.”
The path Ella had fled by led into another along which when she reached it she saw Deede Dawson coming.
She stopped at once and began to busy herself with a flower-bed overrun with weeds, but she could not entirely conceal her agitation from her stepfather's cold grey eyes.
“Oh, there you are, Ella,” he said, with all that false geniality of his that filled the girl with such loathing and distrust. “Have you seen Dunn? Oh, there he is, isn't he? I wanted to ask you, Ella, what do you think of Dunn?”
She glanced over her shoulder towards where Dunn stood, and she managed to answer with a passable air of indifference.
“Well, I suppose,” she said, “that he is quite the ugliest man I ever saw. Of course, if he cut all of that hair off—”
Deede Dawson laughed though his eyes remained as hard and cold as ever.
“I shall have to give him orders to shave,” he said. “Your mother was telling me I ought to the other day, she said it didn't look respectable to have a man about with all that hair on his face. Though I don't see myself why hair isn't respectable, do you?”
“It looks odd,” answered Ella carelessly.
Deede Dawson laughed again, and walked on to where Dunn was standing waiting for him. With his perpetual smile that his cold and evil eyes so strangely contradicted, he said to him:
“Well, what have you and Ella been talking about?”
“Why do you ask?” growled Dunn.
“Because she looks upset,” answered Deede Dawson. “Oh, don't be shy about it. Shall I give you a little good advice?”
“What?”
“Never shave.”
“Why not?”
“Because that thick growth of hair hiding your face gives you an air of mystery and romance no woman could possibly resist. You're a perpetual puzzle, and to pique a woman's curiosity is the surest way to interest her. Why, there are plenty of women who would marry you simply to find out what is under all that hair. So never you shave.”
“I don't mean to.”
“Unless, of course, you have to—for purposes of disguise, for example.”
“I thought you were hinting that the beard itself was a disguise,” retorted Dunn.
“Removing it might become a better one,” answered Deede Dawson. “You told me once you knew this part fairly well. Do you know Wreste Abbey?”
Dunn gave his questioner a scowling look that seemed full of anger and suspicion.
“What about it if I do?” he asked.
“I am asking if you do know it,” said Deede Dawson.
“Yes, I do. Well?”
“It belongs to Lord Chobham, doesn't it?”
Dunn nodded.
“Old man, isn't he?”
“I'm not a book of reference about Lord Chobham,” answered Dunn. “If you want to know his age, you can easily find out, I suppose. What's the sense of asking me a lot of questions like that?”
“He has no family, and his heir is his younger brother, General Dunsmore, who has one son, Rupert, I believe. Do you know if that's so?”
“Look here,” said Dunn, speaking with a great appearance of anger. “Don't you go too far, or maybe something you won't like will happen. If you've anything to say, say it straight out. Or there'll be trouble.”
Deede Dawson seemed a little surprised at the vehemence of the other's tone.
“What's the matter?” he asked. “Don't you like the family, or what's upsetting you?”
Dunn seemed almost choking with fury. He half-lifted one hand and let it fall again.
“If ever I get hold of that young Rupert Dunsmore,” he said with a little gasp for breath. “If ever I come face to face with him—man to man—”
“Dear me!” smiled Deede Dawson, lifting his eyebrows. “I'm treading on sore toes, it seems. What's the trouble between you?”
“Never you mind,” replied Dunn roughly. “That's my business. But no man ever had a worse enemy than he's been to me.”
“Has he, though?” said Deede Dawson, who seemed very interested and even a little excited. “What did he do?”
“Never you mind,” Dunn repeated. “That's my affair, but I swore I'd get even with him some day and I will, too.”
“Suppose,” said Deede Dawson. “Suppose I showed you a way?”
Dunn did not answer at first, and for some moments the two men stood watching each other and staring into each other's eyes as though each was trying to read the depths of the other's soul.
“Suppose,” said Deede Dawson very softly. “Suppose you were to meet Rupert Dunsmore—alone—quite alone?”
Still Dunn did not answer, but somehow it appeared that his silence was full of a very deadly significance.
“Suppose you did—what would you do?” murmured Deede Dawson again, and his voice sank lower with each word he uttered till the last was a scarce-audible whisper.
Dunn stopped and picked up a hoe that was lying near by. He placed the tough ash handle across his knee, and with a movement of his powerful hands, he broke the hoe across.
The two smashed pieces he dropped on the ground, and looking at Deede Dawson, he said:
“Like that—if ever Rupert Dunsmore and I meet alone, only one of us will go away alive.” And he confirmed it with an oath.
Deede Dawson clapped him on the shoulder, and laughed.
“Good!” he cried. “Why, you're the man I've been looking for for a long time. The fact is, Rupert Dunsmore played me a nasty trick once, and I want to clear accounts with him. Now, suppose I show him to you—?”
“You do that,” said Dunn, and he repeated the oath he had sworn before. “You show him to me, and I'll take care he never troubles any one again.”
“That's the way I like to hear a man talk,” cried Deede Dawson. “Dunsmore has been away for a time on business I can make a guess at, but he is coming back soon. Should you know him if you saw him?”
“Should I know him?” repeated Dunn contemptuously. “Should I know myself?”
“That's good,” said Deede Dawson again. “By the way, perhaps you can tell me, hasn't Lord Chobham a rather distant cousin, Walter Dunsmore, living with him as secretary or something of the sort—quite a distant relative, I believe, though in the direct line of succession?”
“Very likely,” said Dunn indifferently. “I think so, but I don't care anything about the rest of them. It's only Rupert Dunsmore I have anything against.”