E. R. Punshon

“ Tomorrow, at four in the afternoon, Rupert Dunsmore is to be killed—and I've undertaken to do the deed.”
“What do you mean?” exclaimed Walter, starting.
“I've promised that if Deede Dawson will bring me face to face with Rupert Dunsmore, I'll murder him,” answered Dunn, laughing softly.
“A fairly safe offer on your part, isn't it?” observed Walter. “At least, unless there's any saving clause about mirrors.”
“Oh, none,” answered Dunn. “I told Deede Dawson Rupert Dunsmore was my worst enemy, and that's true enough, for I think every man's worst enemy is himself.” ”

“ Dunn said smilingly. “But come across the road. It'll be safer on the common. Deede Dawson is so cunning one is never safe from him. One can never be sure he isn't creeping up behind.”
“Well, I daresay it's wise to take every precaution,” observed Walter. “But I can't imagine either him or any one else getting near you without your knowledge.”
Robert Dunn,—or rather, Rupert Dunsmore, as was his name by right of birth—laughed again to himself, very softly in the darkness. ”

“ Ever since you discovered that first attempt, ever since we became certain there was a plot going on to clear out every one in succession to the Chobham estates—and that was jolly plain, though the fools of police did babble about no evidence, as if pistol bullets come from nowhere and poisoned cups of tea—”
“Ah, I was to blame there, that was my fault,” said Walter. “You see, we had no proof about the shooting, and when I had spilt that tea, no proof of poison either. I shall always regret that.” ”