They remained very still, watching each other intently, neither eager to fire, since both wished first to make the other speak.For Rupert desired very greatly that Deede Dawson should tell him where Ella was, and Deede Dawson needed that Rupert should explain what had gone wrong, and how imminent and great was the danger that therefore most likely threatened him.
Each knew, too, that the slightest movement he made would set the other shooting, and each realized that in that close and narrow space any exchange of shots must almost of necessity mean the death of both, since both were cool and deadly marksmen, well accustomed to the use of the revolver.
Deede Dawson was the first to speak.
"Well, what next?" he said."If that inkpot of yours had hit me it would pretty well have knocked my brains out, and if I hadn't hit my elbow against the corner of the packing-case I would have had you shot through with holes like a sieve by now.So far the score's even.Let's chat a bit, and see if we can't come to some arrangement.
Look, I'll show I trust you,"
As he spoke he laid down, much to Rupert's surprise, and to his equal suspicion, his revolver on the top of a moth-eaten roll of old carpet that leaned against the wall near where he was standing.
"You see, I trust you," he said once more.
"Take your pistol up again," answered Rupert grimly."I do not trust you.""Ah, that's a pity." Deede Dawson smiled, making no effort to do as the other said."You see, we are both good shots, and if we start blazing away at each other up here we shall both be leaking pretty badly before long.That's a prospect that has no attraction for me;I don't know if it has for you.But there are things I can tell you that might be interesting, and things you can tell me I want to know.
Why not exchange a little information, and then separate calmly, rather than indulge in pistol practice that can only mean the death of us both? For if your first bullet goes though my brain I swear my first will be in your heart.""Likely enough," agreed Rupert, "but worth while perhaps.""Oh, that's fanaticism," Deede Dawson answered."Flattering perhaps to me, but not quite reasonable, eh?""There's only one thing I want to know from you," Rupert said slowly.
"Then why not ask it, why not agree to the little arrangement Isuggest, eh? Eh, Rupert Dunsmore?"
"You know me, then?"
"Oh, long enough."
"Where is Ella?"
Deede Dawson laughed again.
"That's a thing I know and you don't," he said."Well, she's safe away in London by this time.""That's a lie, for her mother's here still," answered Rupert, even though his heart leapt merely to hear the words.
"Unbelieving Thomas," smiled the other."Well, then, she is where she is, and that you can find out for yourself.But I'll make another suggestion.We are both good shots, and if we start to fire we shall kill each other.I am certain of killing you, but I shan't escape myself.Well, then, why not toss for it? Equal chances for both, and certain safety for one.Will you toss me, the one who loses to give up his pistol to the other?
"It seems to me a good idea," Deede Dawson argued."Here we are watching each other like cats, and knowing that the least movement of either will start the other off, and both of us pulling trigger as hard as we can.My idea would mean a chance for one.Well, let's try another way; the best shot to win.You don't trust me, but I will you."Leaving his pistol lying where he had put it down, he crossed the attic, and with a pencil he took from his pocket drew a circle on the panel of the wardrobe door that Rupert had split with the inkpot he had thrown.
In the centre of the circle he marked a dot, and turned smilingly to the frowning and suspicious Rupert.
"There you are," he said, and made another circle near the first one."Now you put a bullet into the middle of this circle and I'll put one afterwards through the second circle, and the one who is nearest to the dots I've marked, wins.What have you to say to that?
Seems to me better than our killing each other.Isn't it?""I think you're playing the fool for some reason of your own,"answered Rupert."There's only one thing I want to know from you.
Where is Ella?"
"Let me know how you can shoot," answered Deede Dawson, "and I'll tell you, by all that's holy, I will."Rupert hesitated.He did not understand all this, he could not imagine what motive was in Deede Dawson's mind, though it was certainly true enough that once they began shooting at each other neither man was at all likely to survive, for Rupert knew he would not miss and he did not think Deede Dawson would either.
Above all, there was the one thing he wished to know, the one consideration that weighed with him above all others - what had become of Ella? And this time there had been in Deede Dawson's voice an accent of twisted and malign sincerity that seemed to say he really would be willing to tell the truth about her if Rupert would gratify his whim about this sort of shooting-match that he was suggesting.
The purpose of it Rupert could not understand, but it did not seem to him there would be any risk of harm in agreeing, for Deede Dawson was standing so far away from his own weapon he could not well be contemplating any immediate mischief or treachery.
It did occur to him that the pistol he held might be loaded in one chamber only and that Deede Dawson might be scheming to induce him to throw away his solitary cartridge.
But a glance reassured him on that point.
"Let me see how you can shoot," Deede Dawson repeated, leaning carelessly with folded arms against the wall a little distance away.
"And I promise you I'll tell you where Ella is."Rupert lifted his pistol and was indeed on the very point of firing when he caught a glimpse of such evil triumph and delight in Deede Dawson's cold eyes that he hesitated and lowered the weapon, and at the same time, looking more closely, searching more intently for some indication of Deede Dawson's hidden purpose, he noticed, caught in the crack of the wardrobe door, a tiny shred of some blue material only just visible.
He remembered that sometimes of an afternoon Ella had been accustomed to wear a frock made of a material exactly like that of which so tiny a fragment showed now in the crack of the wardrobe door.
